[Dark Age IC] Cruelty and Wickedness

[Thanqol]

Between the far away past history of the world, and that which lies near to us; in the time when the wisdom of the ancient times was dead and had passed away, and our own days of light had not yet come, there lay a great black gulf in human history, a gulf of ignorance, of superstition, of cruelty, and of wickedness. That time we call the dark or Middle Ages. Few records remain to us of that dreadful period in our world's history, and we only know of it through broken and disjointed fragments that have been handed down to us through the generations.

- Howard Pyle


Wolves of Altdorf
A game of Apocalypse World: Dark Age

OOC Thread (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?463041-Dark-Age-OOC-Wolves-of-Altdorf)


STARRING
PhoeKun as Layna D'Alleinecourt (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=20179982&postcount=91), Sixthborn Daughter of the Lord of the Lonely Castle
Anarion as Daerek Soft Spoken (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=20173122&postcount=77)
Raz Fox as Ollerus Atroxheim (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=20174651&postcount=79), General of the Kislev Wolf Legion
Elanorin as Edentraud (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=20188611&postcount=112)
The Amish Pirate as Ardashir the Learned (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=20185787&postcount=105), Sorcerer to the Crown, Curator of the Humboldt Reserve


PhoeKun as Revya D'Allienecourt (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=20626803&postcount=760)
Anarion as Heydar Atroxheim (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=20637213&postcount=773)
Raz Fox as Badira Atroxheim (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=20626401&postcount=753)
Elanorin as The Siren (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=20633342&postcount=765)

[Thanqol]

The seasons turn, though those who are wise do not take this for granted.

Winter, the season of the quiet and dead, is fading in the raucous laughter of birds and the blooming of unnaturally bright flowers. Fog drifts through the forests like a predator. The skies rage with rain and then break out into giggling sunshine as swiftly as a child's moods. The last of the snow seeps away though the wind still strikes lethally at those who mistakenly believe winter is gone for good. Colour bursts back into the world like a waking puppy. And before too long, Summer - the season of war - shall arrive and end so many of these new lives.

The people of Altdorf, as they do with all things, are hosting a mighty celebration to honour the gods for granting them another spring. The gates are opened and all are welcome, and pennants of white and orange hang boldly in the morning sun. The last of the firewood is piled high to make huge bonfires - and on the horizon, as though in sympathy, the signal fires of the watchtowers have caught flame.

Everyone, pick a season move and make it, and tell me how you spent the long winter. Then place yourselves at the Altdorf celebration and feast and prepare yourself for dark and uninvited guests.

[Raz_Fox]

I have spent the winter attempting to ready Altdorf for what comes. Attempting.

It's not enough. Never enough.

[Prepare for What's Coming: 6]

My household has turned out for the festival. Tonight, I am not petitioning the Council of Urgency again, but simply enjoying the sights of the festival with Vasilka. I have been neglecting her too often this winter, and she deserves to know that she is still the first in my thoughts.

Doesn't she look beautiful? That's a new headscarf, purchased for her sake from one of the street vendors surrounding the University's bonfire. Together, we watch the students piling up the bonfire higher, stacking the logs and not caring for the danger posed by their haphazard work. I am keeping half an eye on Alexis, who is off being young and feckless among the students. He'll doubtless walk away with a woman on his arm or a duel of honor scheduled.

For a moment, we are happy.

How long does this moment last?

[Anarion]

I've spent the winter working tenant labor at the estate in Altdorf. Dwarves are handy enough, and I spent many a long cold night helping to mend timbers, scrub pots, and keep the chapel clean and well-tended to. It is always a pleasure to engage in such work, and it strengthens both the arm and the soul. For those that would listen, I preached in that chapel on the weekends, of the strength and coming of Gaia and importance of honoring the old ways and maintaining the warmth of hearth and home to all visitors.

Today, at the celebration, I have made my way to the head of the table. For every great feast in Altdorf is a festival and I plan to lead the people in prayer to the earth as thanks for the harvest feast.

[PhoeKun]

I have spent the winter learning why people say that Altdorf is doomed. The knights of the city had been very reluctant to accept my challenges of sport and skill, but when the cold began to creep into the woods and hunting season came upon us, they became eager to bring me along. "Now you will have your challenge!" they said.

Hunting in Altdorf's forests, it turns out, primarily means foxes. They're quick and clever creatures, foxes, and a hunting party needs to think quickly to hem one in, but once you've done that there's really not much left but the slaughter. It's a strange sort of ritual; it takes an entire hunting party an entire day or longer to flush one out and catch it, and in the end only one person is able to take home the pelt as proof of their accomplishments. The idea is to hunt long enough to bring a prize home for each person in the group, but after every kill they circle and debate who among them is the most deserving, and sometimes who wins already has several pelts to his name. I think for some of them, this part of the game was the real sport. Certainly they are all much better than I am at it, and by the end of a month I think they were ready to leave me behind, having proven I was in all ways their lesser.

Our last hunt brought us to a place thick with scattered bark from trees half torn to ribbons from some fantastically huge beast. Everyone halted at once and declared the hunt a failure. "What lives here?" I asked. They told me stories of a monster, a great, black bear with skin like iron that repelled even the sharpest swords. To hear the talk, it had claimed the lives of dozens of traders and travelers who had wandered too near this place. I asked them why we didn't hunt this beast instead. They responded with quiet stares, until one offered to sponsor a feast in my memory if I wanted to throw my life away.

The rest of the story is, that is to say, hm. It requires more skilled lips than mine for the telling. It's enough for me to say that I returned to a city that had given me up for dead, dragging the carcass of a monstrous bear behind me. I've left its pelt hanging on the wall in the common room of the inn where I make my lodgings, and I find that the people there with fox furs can no longer meet my gaze. And if these are the people who keep Altdorf safe, I wonder how it could have stayed so splendorous, how it isn't already in cinders?

But, today is not a day for questions like this. Today, I wander the streets dressed as well as I can manage, admiring the people as they set up their bonfires, and the bright banners that announce the spring thaw. There's a smile on my lips. The festival will bring with it many travelers, and among them knights of the wider world. At last! Yes, I think today will be one to remember.

[TheAmishPirate]

What becomes of the old gods, long-forgotten?

That is the question that has burned in my brain all Winter long, kept me running hot when the fires burned low.

Altdorf is uniquely positioned to investigate such a question. The people have only just forgotten Janus, and every day he fades further from the public consciousness. But it is not so long that his rites have been lost to time. I have spent the Winter observing the rituals of Janus, observing the rituals of the Architect, and simply...observing.

Matthias ensured I did not freeze to death, which would have been exceptionally disadvantageous to my studies.

I would have observed straight into Spring, had it not been for this festival. The turning of the seasons is an important event both in this world and the next, which means that - yes indeed - this is one of the Important Festivals. I am making my necessary appearances, and ensuring all is proceeding as it ought to. Which this year also includes the pleasure of praying that my young ward doesn't get her arm lopped off for sport. I told her that such a tournament was foolhardy at best, and an utter waste of energy and life at worst, and yet there is a box seat with my name on it.

So that's going to be wonderful.

[Thanqol]

I have spent the winter attempting to ready Altdorf for what comes. Attempting.

It's not enough. Never enough.

[Prepare for What's Coming: 6]

The signal fires burn so beautifully in the distance it's almost hard to remember that they shouldn't be.

The dwarves of King Khar have just executed a raid you have feared was coming all winter. Under cover of darkness, raiders have fallen upon every one of your distant watchtowers and patrol stations, killing their garrisons and putting the buildings to the torch. Without them you are blind and dumb - the dwarves can move as they like throughout the woods and rivers and you will not be able to track their passage, and all the roads are now sure to be watched by highwaymen. Though daylight will permit you a little safety the lands beyond the walls now belong to King Khar.

You can cross out the watchtowers stronghold fortification. Expect a siege.


My household has turned out for the festival. Tonight, I am not petitioning the Council of Urgency again, but simply enjoying the sights of the festival with Vasilka. I have been neglecting her too often this winter, and she deserves to know that she is still the first in my thoughts.

Doesn't she look beautiful? That's a new headscarf, purchased for her sake from one of the street vendors surrounding the University's bonfire. Together, we watch the students piling up the bonfire higher, stacking the logs and not caring for the danger posed by their haphazard work. I am keeping half an eye on Alexis, who is off being young and feckless among the students. He'll doubtless walk away with a woman on his arm or a duel of honor scheduled.

How long does this moment last?

Long minutes. Long enough to appreciate Vasilka's skin under your hand, cool and hard, like stone. Long enough to appreciate her thoughtful smile. Long enough to see the fire reflected in her eyes.

And then, one of the mercenaries of the Gyrfalcon Regiment, gold and black and slouching, approaches you with three of his tawdy fellows behind. His neck is heavy with pillaged jewelry and by his side are sword and musket. He slaps your wife on the behind with one unwashed hand, leaving a dark mark on her new dress, and then addresses you bluntly while scratching his codpiece. "The Gyrfalcon sent me to get you," he says.

This man has denied your right. What do you do?


I've spent the winter working tenant labor at the estate in Altdorf. Dwarves are handy enough, and I spent many a long cold night helping to mend timbers, scrub pots, and keep the chapel clean and well-tended to. It is always a pleasure to engage in such work, and it strengthens both the arm and the soul. For those that would listen, I preached in that chapel on the weekends, of the strength and coming of Gaia and importance of honoring the old ways and maintaining the warmth of hearth and home to all visitors.

Today, at the celebration, I have made my way to the head of the table. For every great feast in Altdorf is a festival and I plan to lead the people in prayer to the earth as thanks for the harvest feast.

When you arrive at your expected position at the head of the table, by the left hand of the Countess, you find that the space is occupied. A tall, thin, dark skinned man with a braided white beard is sitting where you should be, face full of kindness and benevolence. "Architect's hand upon you, traveler," says the Star Priest as you approach, but he makes no move to stand even though he knows full well this is an act of defiance. He fully intends to steal your congregation.

This man has denied your right. What do you do?


But, today is not a day for questions like this. Today, I wander the streets dressed as well as I can manage, admiring the people as they set up their bonfires, and the bright banners that announce the spring thaw. There's a smile on my lips. The festival will bring with it many travelers, and among them knights of the wider world. At last! Yes, I think today will be one to remember.

You happen upon the brewer and inn-keeper, Seth. He is wandering with a shaking lip and watering eyes, bustling with each step like haste is the only thing preventing him from breaking down into tears. When he spies you he hastens towards you, bobs his head and cleans his hands with his napkin, half trying to get your attention and half trying to get the jumbled rant in his head clear.

"Sir Lanya," he says, voice stiff and awkward as he blurts out what is obviously a well-rehearsed speech, "I am afraid that my situation has become dire. Yes, dire, for the merciless vampire Martleod of Kinnich has asked of me a truly ruinous sum. Now, I have for these past months put you up without complaint, honoured to do what I can in the service of so bold a knight, but so long as this parasite moneylender has his teeth buried in my neck then I cannot sustain such an expense." He takes a deep breath, works up his courage, and then says something very bold, even rude.

"Unless, of course, you would see fit to repay me by helping me with this scoundrel in my time of need, as I have always been there to help you in yours," and you see the bitterness of hate in his eyes, spilling over beyond his capacity to control.

This man has denied your right. What do you do?


I would have observed straight into Spring, had it not been for this festival. The turning of the seasons is an important event both in this world and the next, which means that - yes indeed - this is one of the Important Festivals. I am making my necessary appearances, and ensuring all is proceeding as it ought to. Which this year also includes the pleasure of praying that my young ward doesn't get her arm lopped off for sport. I told her that such a tournament was foolhardy at best, and an utter waste of energy and life at worst, and yet there is a box seat with my name on it.

So that's going to be wonderful.

"Excuse me, Muster Ardashir," comes the low, despondent voice of Skattelmar, Chief of the Witchhunters.

The Witchhunter seems to you much like a pit bull. To a stranger he would be fearsome, voice deep, all beard and hat and more pistols than brain cells. To one who knows him, he seems slightly derpy, with eyes askance, speech slow and unsteady and in need of guidance. Like a hound in every respect that matters.

"I understand it's your day off but we need your help. There's been an omen, see, at the gallows," he says. "We need you to tell us what it means."

This man has denied your right. What do you do?

[Elanorin]

I don't mind the cold. I know most do, but i just... don't. Therefore, when I woke to the first frost I felt the urge to walk to places I had not seen before. I found surprisingly little resistance, cold ends to make even the most generous forget their manners as they become so utterly focused on their own needs. It's as if all the world around falls away and hardly anyone directs their eyes to the very same horizon that beckons them in spring or summer.

But I went, and I went alone, and I went North. I sought the legendary forest spirits, small mischievous people. Despite travelling for several months in the vast Northern forests I only ever saw them twice. I heard their distant giggling laughter as they lured me deeper and before long to a little brook that was almost completely frozen, and a Nix. I'm sure I was supposed to meet my fate there, I guess they couldn't know that water is in my veins too. I am grateful though, for the introduction, The Nix was an unusually cheerful man in the depth of winter and I stayed with him for the midwinter.

As the snow began to thaw I ventured back south. I did not see any more forest spirits, but I crossed paths with more beasts than I can remember, and the closer I came towards Altdorf the more frequent came the echo of hunting horns through the trees, until it felt almost impossible to evade these persistent hunting parties. I took lengthy detours to avoid them, giving on to lengthy irritated mutterings of humans and their endless need for conquest in blood.

It's not without a certain fitting poetic irony then that a Hunter should be the one to answer my prayer as I blundered in to the lair of a bear in search for shelter and whose company I quickly came to desire above that of any other. She brought me back to not too far outside the city where we reluctantly parted ways. I lingered there a while before returning back, a lot had changed and I needed to gather myself before returning to civilisation.

As I walk the streets now in the festive city of Altdorf, it is the first time since I got back and I come straight here and have not yet been home. This festival is important and several of my people make the effort to join in or host their own celebrations, for Spring is the height of the Riek, when its waters run fastest, it threatens to burst its banks and when water magic is at its strongest.

I arrive at the festivities and I keep to the edges for now, still acclimatising to being back in civilisation after my long travels. My cloak is muddied at the hem and my boots are unclean, but my long free hair shines as I take off my hood. I breathe a deep breath through my nose. Mmm. I'm hungry.

[Anarion]

A high priest of an upstart god daring to claim my place at the head of the gathering?! "Up, you ignorant goat-brained bastard son of a whore!" I roar to the gathering. "You dare deny Gaia her appointed seat at the greatest feast of springtime?! Her wrath be upon you! Up and get you gone to the fields this instant to make sacrifice in her honor if you seek any hope of her mercy!"

[I will forego this violation of my right if the priest leaves immediately and makes a sacrifice to Gaia publicly]

[Raz_Fox]

Long minutes. Long enough to appreciate Vasilka's skin under your hand, cool and hard, like stone. Long enough to appreciate her thoughtful smile. Long enough to see the fire reflected in her eyes.

And then, one of the mercenaries of the Gyrfalcon Regiment, gold and black and slouching, approaches you with three of his tawdy fellows behind. His neck is heavy with pillaged jewelry and by his side are sword and musket. He slaps your wife on the behind with one unwashed hand, leaving a dark mark on her new dress, and then addresses you bluntly while scratching his codpiece. "The Gyrfalcon sent me to get you," he says.

This man has denied your right. What do you do?

I do not fly into a hot, furious rage. If I were younger, more foolish, and still had strength in my bones, I would have hoisted this small, vulgar man up off the cobblestones one-handed. As he squirmed in my hand like a fish on a line, I would have told him my intentions: that I meant to have his life for the dishonor shown to Vasilka, either executed by his commander or dead in a duel, but that either way he would be dead by the time that the sun rose again over our heads. This is the way it is done in Kislev.

But I am older, now, and I know that the quickest way for this city to fall is for its warriors to descend into petty infighting. I restrain myself, but I step firmly between Vasilka and the Gyrfalcon's soldiers. Likely as not they are testing me, looking for some reason for the Gyrfalcon to decry me and discredit my name. To navigate between my responsibilities and the fact that this man touched my wife... this will be difficult.

I take a moment to compose myself. Feats of arms might win men's fear, but words well-chosen win their hearts. And it is not enough to possess a great name: if you cannot prove to men why that name deserves respect, it is nothing but ash in their mouths.

size the soldier up: 7. How might I get you to honestly apologize to my wife? I also accept this injustice with dignity.]

[PhoeKun]

You happen upon the brewer and inn-keeper, Seth. He is wandering with a shaking lip and watering eyes, bustling with each step like haste is the only thing preventing him from breaking down into tears. When he spies you he hastens towards you, bobs his head and cleans his hands with his napkin, half trying to get your attention and half trying to get the jumbled rant in his head clear.

"Sir Lanya," he says, voice stiff and awkward as he blurts out what is obviously a well-rehearsed speech, "I am afraid that my situation has become dire. Yes, dire, for the merciless vampire Martleod of Kinnich has asked of me a truly ruinous sum. Now, I have for these past months put you up without complaint, honoured to do what I can in the service of so bold a knight, but so long as this parasite moneylender has his teeth buried in my neck then I cannot sustain such an expense." He takes a deep breath, works up his courage, and then says something very bold, even rude.

"Unless, of course, you would see fit to repay me by helping me with this scoundrel in my time of need, as I have always been there to help you in yours," and you see the bitterness of hate in his eyes, spilling over beyond his capacity to control.

This man has denied your right. What do you do?

"You disappoint me, Seth," It is difficult to keep my voice even, so I do not bother. My rising frustration with this city and nearly everyone in it is plain on my face, "That you would come to a knight in good standing and dare ask of her a boon in such an evil manner. Have I not spoken well of your ale? Does not my presence bring you more customers and improve your fortunes? Have I not split your firewood unasked, though it is beneath my station?

Yet here you stand, speaking to me like some mark upon your ledger! No, innkeeper, begin again. If you have a problem, then explain to me how this moneylender came to hold such power over you and ask me as a friend, and I might forgive you and help you as I can. Talk to me like this again and I swear on my name your debts will be the least of your concerns."

[Thanqol]

I arrive at the festivities and I keep to the edges for now, still acclimatising to being back in civilisation after my long travels. My cloak is muddied at the hem and my boots are unclean, but my long free hair shines as I take off my hood. I breathe a deep breath through my nose. Mmm. I'm hungry.

There is a pause in the crowd as you take off your hood and reveal your face and form. After all, you are radiant and stunning, and you're making an entrance - would you like to roll Bold?


A high priest of an upstart god daring to claim my place at the head of the gathering?! "Up, you ignorant goat-brained bastard son of a whore!" I roar to the gathering. "You dare deny Gaia her appointed seat at the greatest feast of springtime?! Her wrath be upon you! Up and get you gone to the fields this instant to make sacrifice in her honor if you seek any hope of her mercy!"



The Star Priest smiles at you gently. "My dear friend, it seems your choler has overcome you. It has you ranting about pagan gods in the presence of the Countess herself, so the situation must be very dire. I would be happy to offer you treatment as I have some small skill in medicine."


I do not fly into a hot, furious rage. If I were younger, more foolish, and still had strength in my bones, I would have hoisted this small, vulgar man up off the cobblestones one-handed. As he squirmed in my hand like a fish on a line, I would have told him my intentions: that I meant to have his life for the dishonor shown to Vasilka, either executed by his commander or dead in a duel, but that either way he would be dead by the time that the sun rose again over our heads. This is the way it is done in Kislev.

But I am older, now, and I know that the quickest way for this city to fall is for its warriors to descend into petty infighting. I restrain myself, but I step firmly between Vasilka and the Gyrfalcon's soldiers. Likely as not they are testing me, looking for some reason for the Gyrfalcon to decry me and discredit my name. To navigate between my responsibilities and the fact that this man touched my wife... this will be difficult.

I take a moment to compose myself. Feats of arms might win men's fear, but words well-chosen win their hearts. And it is not enough to possess a great name: if you cannot prove to men why that name deserves respect, it is nothing but ash in their mouths.

[I [I]size the soldier up: 7. How might I get you to honestly apologize to my wife? I also accept this injustice with dignity.]

The Gyrfalcon has soldiers who know politeness, so you're right that he sent the most rude and crude of them as a message or a test. This man, though, (and you remember his name is MacDougal, and strangely, his regiment's scribe) you suspect is simple rather than malicious and he slighted your wife without even thinking about it. To do that and not expect punishment he must have taken her for a commoner.

Is your Vasilka a commoner? If she is not, then simply mentioning she holds noble title would be enough to prompt an apology. If she is a commoner than it simply is not within these men to honestly apologize; it would be like asking them to apologize to a horse and they would not understand.


"You disappoint me, Seth," It is difficult to keep my voice even, so I do not bother. My rising frustration with this city and nearly everyone in it is plain on my face, "That you would come to a knight in good standing and dare ask of her a boon in such an evil manner. Have I not spoken well of your ale? Does not my presence bring you more customers and improve your fortunes? Have I not split your firewood unasked, though it is beneath my station?

Yet here you stand, speaking to me like some mark upon your ledger! No, innkeeper, begin again. If you have a problem, then explain to me how this moneylender came to hold such power over you and ask me as a friend, and I might forgive you and help you as I can. Talk to me like this again and I swear on my name your debts will be the least of your concerns."

The innkeeper crumbles under your rebuke, and tears spill openly from his face. "I am sorry," he says, "You are right," and he sits down heavily on the roadside, still cleaning his hands with his cloth.

"I do not even have grounds to complain because this is all my fault. I was overcome by love, love for a serpent. I bought her gifts, and hired poets to write my thoughts, and took her to fine balls, and went blind to how deep my debt was becoming. And now herr Kinnich is calling his due and, without fine wines and perfumes, little Ismice has no more love for me, and I am ruined."

[Anarion]

The Star Priest smiles at you gently. "My dear friend, it seems your choler has overcome you. It has you ranting about pagan gods in the presence of the Countess herself, so the situation must be very dire. I would be happy to offer you treatment as I have some small skill in medicine."


Though I cursed and blustered just a moment before, I am suddenly calm and quiet. There is a reason I gained my title among the dwarves. I gaze intensely at the old priest. "Woe betide you old man, for you lay claim not to my right, but to that which is due to my holy goddess. Gaia is fierce and swift in her wrath and you have rebuked any chance of her forgiveness." And as I stare, I gaze into his soul.

[roll0]
[I declare that my goddess is outraged and also gaze at this priest to see him truly.
Edit: my question: of what are you most deeply afraid?]

[Raz_Fox]

The Gyrfalcon has soldiers who know politeness, so you're right that he sent the most rude and crude of them as a message or a test. This man, though, (and you remember his name is MacDougal, and strangely, his regiment's scribe) you suspect is simple rather than malicious and he slighted your wife without even thinking about it. To do that and not expect punishment he must have taken her for a commoner.

Is your Vasilka a commoner? If she is not, then simply mentioning she holds noble title would be enough to prompt an apology. If she is a commoner than it simply is not within these men to honestly apologize; it would be like asking them to apologize to a horse and they would not understand.

Brutes. My heart is cold in my chest as I consider the deplorable state of the character of these men. True, everywhere the world grows dark, and the glory of the Empire has been tarnished, but I remembered Altdorf as one of the last bastions of culture and learning in the civilized world. Then again, soldiers have always been men given to displays of base nature, even those under my command.

It is my responsibility, born in such days, to act in such a way that men remember what they have lost.

Now, as to my Vasilka? She is not of noble birth, this much must be admitted, but possesses noble bearing and manners. She is the youngest daughter of one of the great merchants of the north, a man of my father's acquaintance. We met at a young age, while I was visiting from Altdorf, and I said to her- I remember distinctly- I told her that, having met and taken each other's measure, the only thing that was to be done was to be married. She is literate and makes her letters better than even I do, and though we have not always agreed, our disagreements happen behind closed doors, and never run as hot as hatred. I have not seen her equal in the world.

I take MacDougal by the hand, firmly. Not cruelly, but firm all the same. "MacDougal, if I recall? Good of you to bring word. I am always happy to work alongside Hasselhorf." My grip becomes hard, stonelike. My voice remains soft. "Seeing as we are all committed to Altdorf's security and continued prosperity, I will forgive you your indiscretion in accosting a woman far superior to you. But if you ever touch my wife again, I will be forced to give challenge to your commander for the insult, as warmly as I regard him. I beg you, do not disgrace your honorable company."

I release his hand. "Vasilka," I say, "I have to see what Hasselhorf has to say. If you do not want to come with me, I'll return in time for the bonfire to be lit, Ulric willing." I do not want to go. Gods, that I could stay. But I bear responsibilities, especially now that Khar's troops have destroyed the watchtowers.

[PhoeKun]

The innkeeper crumbles under your rebuke, and tears spill openly from his face. "I am sorry," he says, "You are right," and he sits down heavily on the roadside, still cleaning his hands with his cloth.

"I do not even have grounds to complain because this is all my fault. I was overcome by love, love for a serpent. I bought her gifts, and hired poets to write my thoughts, and took her to fine balls, and went blind to how deep my debt was becoming. And now herr Kinnich is calling his due and, without fine wines and perfumes, little Ismice has no more love for me, and I am ruined."

I am left for a moment to conquer my anger. It's not an easy thing to let go of, especially when by right you may hold onto it. But my heart is not made of stone and I can't bring myself to watch a man weeping in the streets and feel nothing. Even if he is a fool. I don't want to know what he would have tried to make me do in the name of shirking his debts if I'd let him walk over my name. I think it's better if I do not ask. I shake my head and offer him the best smile I can.

"My elder sister once told me that fine gifts can win a woman's attention, but fine deeds must win her heart. You should carry her words with you from now on, lest you break yourself again on another pretty face. As for your debts, I can offer you the fur I brought back to your inn this winter and my hopes that it will ease your burden. Its like seems uncommon here, I think that it will bring a decent price."

[Thanqol]

Though I cursed and blustered just a moment before, I am suddenly calm and quiet. There is a reason I gained my title among the dwarves. I gaze intensely at the old priest. "Woe betide you old man, for you lay claim not to my right, but to that which is due to my holy goddess. Gaia is fierce and swift in her wrath and you have rebuked any chance of her forgiveness." And as I stare, I gaze into his soul.

[roll0]
[I declare that my goddess is outraged and also gaze at this priest to see him truly.
Edit: my question: of what are you most deeply afraid?]

This man is not afraid of much. He is a missionary here, far from his home, without wife or child to burden him. He has come willingly into a dangerous foreign land to talk of his God. Nor is he a stranger to pain and death, for you see that he has stood many times in plague houses of the sick and dying. He most certainly holds no fear of your goddess, nor of her wrath, and that pure-hearted courage is inspiring all those about him in this room. You have the misfortune to be dealing with a paragon of virtue.

But he is a man, and he does have a fear - and in fact, that fear is part of what drove him here. He fears slavery. To the Architect, slavery is an abomination - it is the subsuming of one man's fate into another's. He was cruelly persecuted in his home for daring to bring the words of the Stars to the brothels and slave-markets of the Sultan, and hopes that such evil will not follow him here.

And you know in that moment that it will. The Goddess has no choice. You invoked her name and she must respond. She has only one thing to threaten this holy man with, and so it is the one thing that she shall use.

The priest meets your gaze. "You have terrorized these people for long enough with worship to your blood soaked idol," he says firmly. "Begone from here, dwarf. Neither they nor I shall live in fear of your brutal totems any longer."


Brutes. My heart is cold in my chest as I consider the deplorable state of the character of these men. True, everywhere the world grows dark, and the glory of the Empire has been tarnished, but I remembered Altdorf as one of the last bastions of culture and learning in the civilized world. Then again, soldiers have always been men given to displays of base nature, even those under my command.

It is my responsibility, born in such days, to act in such a way that men remember what they have lost.

Now, as to my Vasilka? She is not of noble birth, this much must be admitted, but possesses noble bearing and manners. She is the youngest daughter of one of the great merchants of the north, a man of my father's acquaintance. We met at a young age, while I was visiting from Altdorf, and I said to her- I remember distinctly- I told her that, having met and taken each other's measure, the only thing that was to be done was to be married. She is literate and makes her letters better than even I do, and though we have not always agreed, our disagreements happen behind closed doors, and never run as hot as hatred. I have not seen her equal in the world.

I take MacDougal by the hand, firmly. Not cruelly, but firm all the same. "MacDougal, if I recall? Good of you to bring word. I am always happy to work alongside Hasselhorf." My grip becomes hard, stonelike. My voice remains soft. "Seeing as we are all committed to Altdorf's security and continued prosperity, I will forgive you your indiscretion in accosting a woman far superior to you. But if you ever touch my wife again, I will be forced to give challenge to your commander for the insult, as warmly as I regard him. I beg you, do not disgrace your honorable company."

MacDougal laughs in your face, and then elbows one of his mates like there's a hilarious joke there that you're not privy to.


I release his hand. "Vasilka," I say, "I have to see what Hasselhorf has to say. If you do not want to come with me, I'll return in time for the bonfire to be lit, Ulric willing." I do not want to go. Gods, that I could stay. But I bear responsibilities, especially now that Khar's troops have destroyed the watchtowers.

"I understand," she says with an old familiar smile. "Go play soldier."

If you do not draw this out, they lead you through to the Gyrfalcon compound. The camp seems scarcely guarded; most of its men no doubt out amongst the revellers. Even so you notice unusual readiness amongst the men here. Men are ready, bags are packed, armour is on and musketeers are wearing their powder.

Hasselhorf's tent is open to you. He is a bright and straw-haired figure, like a charming boy grown unsteadily into a handsome man. An eerie light seems to follow him and his hair seems to waft around him, giving him an unhealthy intensity. Despite the touch of grey at his temples he still looks like a boy and he wears an expectant smile as you arrive.


I am left for a moment to conquer my anger. It's not an easy thing to let go of, especially when by right you may hold onto it. But my heart is not made of stone and I can't bring myself to watch a man weeping in the streets and feel nothing. Even if he is a fool. I don't want to know what he would have tried to make me do in the name of shirking his debts if I'd let him walk over my name. I think it's better if I do not ask. I shake my head and offer him the best smile I can.

"My elder sister once told me that fine gifts can win a woman's attention, but fine deeds must win her heart. You should carry her words with you from now on, lest you break yourself again on another pretty face. As for your debts, I can offer you the fur I brought back to your inn this winter and my hopes that it will ease your burden. Its like seems uncommon here, I think that it will bring a decent price."

"That is too kind!" said Seth in shock. "Too kind! But it will not cover the full amount, and I fear I will just squander it -" and then his face lit up as an idea struck him.

He fumbled around his neck and produced an old, metal key on an iron chain. "This is the key to my basement, and what that miser Kinnich is after. In the old days the dwarves built for my grandfather a marvellous machine of metal and glass that could produce the finest mead, wines or ales. After Khar banned trade, my machine became one of a precious few left in human hands and..."

He thrusts the key at you. "Take it! It is a gift, and one I know you will use more wisely than me! Kinnich would sell the machine and Altdorf would be as dry as Arabay for its lack, but he can't force me to give it to him if it belongs to you!"

[Anarion]

This man is not afraid of much. He is a missionary here, far from his home, without wife or child to burden him. He has come willingly into a dangerous foreign land to talk of his God. Nor is he a stranger to pain and death, for you see that he has stood many times in plague houses of the sick and dying. He most certainly holds no fear of your goddess, nor of her wrath, and that pure-hearted courage is inspiring all those about him in this room. You have the misfortune to be dealing with a paragon of virtue.

But he is a man, and he does have a fear - and in fact, that fear is part of what drove him here. He fears slavery. To the Architect, slavery is an abomination - it is the subsuming of one man's fate into another's. He was cruelly persecuted in his home for daring to bring the words of the Stars to the brothels and slave-markets of the Sultan, and hopes that such evil will not follow him here.

And you know in that moment that it will. The Goddess has no choice. You invoked her name and she must respond. She has only one thing to threaten this holy man with, and so it is the one thing that she shall use.

The priest meets your gaze. "You have terrorized these people for long enough with worship to your blood soaked idol," he says firmly. "Begone from here, dwarf. Neither they nor I shall live in fear of your brutal totems any longer."


"I hoped to teach these people respect you filthy son of a she-dog." Daerek shakes his head sadly and meets the priest's eyes again. "You may not respect the old ways, but my goddess will see you in chains for what you have taken today. And as for the rest of you, even you, Countess..." Daerek turns to the assembled who have no doubt overheard this exchange "are all your minds so addled and turned to mush that you would forsake the old ways and spit on the goddess that has given you bountiful harvest for generations? For be warned, if you shun the mother of all the earth, so will the earth shun you in turn."

[Elanorin]

There is a pause in the crowd as you take off your hood and reveal your face and form. After all, you are radiant and stunning, and you're making an entrance - would you like to roll Bold?

Edentraud releases her hair from under her cloak as her dark eyes roams over the crowd who all seemed to be staring at her. A tiny smile tugs at her lips, she does tend to have that effect.

10 Someone here must come to know me, Someone here is afraid of me.
Also, what tidings from afar do I bring home from my travels?]

[Thanqol]

"I hoped to teach these people respect you filthy son of a she-dog." Daerek shakes his head sadly and meets the priest's eyes again. "You may not respect the old ways, but my goddess will see you in chains for what you have taken today. And as for the rest of you, even you, Countess..." Daerek turns to the assembled who have no doubt overheard this exchange "are all your minds so addled and turned to mush that you would forsake the old ways and spit on the goddess that has given you bountiful harvest for generations? For be warned, if you shun the mother of all the earth, so will the earth shun you in turn."

The old Archlibrarian Tusk stands up in a sudden fury, and is followed by all the knights and lords at the table other than the Elector-Countess herself. You didn't explicitly threaten the Countess but it was so close as to not matter. The Countess herself keeps her eyes down, as always, looking directly at the table, but you have barely time to note that before Tusk's old bony hand strikes you across the mouth.

"Hear, dwarf!" he snarls, "We are the learned masters of Altdorf, guardians of a tradition of knowledge that goes back beyond the dawn of even your old ways, heirs to secrets and power beyond reckoning. And neither you, nor any man, beast or spirit shall threaten us here in our place of power. If the Earth shuns us then we shall crack her open and extract our due by force!"

He snaps his fingers and two Altdorf knights, armoured splendidly, with open books fluttering on their shoulder guards, march forwards to grab you and throw you physically from the hall. You do see the Star Priest trying to reason with them, asking them to show clemency, but they shove him aside too.


Edentraud releases her hair from under her cloak as her dark eyes roams over the crowd who all seemed to be staring at her. A tiny smile tugs at her lips, she does tend to have that effect.

10 Someone here must come to know me, Someone here is afraid of me.
Also, what tidings from afar do I bring home from my travels?]

You have heard many things from abroad. Much is mundane, marriages and alliances and skirmishes, but two pieces of news are important to us here in Altdorf.

One is that the Sultan of Arabay is going to war, mighty conquests to increase his power, and has even gone so far as to lay claim to the title Emperor of Eagles. There is a great deal of fear that his ambition may take him even here. You have met his preachers, who say that by enslaving themselves to his great destiny the entire race of man will be propelled to heights undreamed of.
Another is that the explorer and adventurer, Ludwig Maia, has returned from distant Lustria with tales of cities made of gold, mighty pyramids emerging from the rainforest, and a race of reptilian sorcerers who can work marvels with wood and bronze. He spoke of their tall ships and deadly cannon as well as the awful might of their great serpent god, but he is optimistic that they will want to trade.

But here, on the street of Altdorf, two people stand out to you amongst the crowd.

One of them is a small man, made all the smaller by standing next to a giant. He is wrapped in a black cloak, as are the six armoured warriors guarding the giant, and even the wagon that is being hauled by weary-looking horses. The entire grim procession is heading towards the centre of town, cutting its way through the celebrations like a hearse. The small man is going out of his way to avoid your gaze specifically.

The other is a young and handsome mercenary from the Gyrfalcons. She's moving with the rest of her unit - six pikemen and four musketeers - when she makes an excuse and breaks off from them. She's dressed in that garish fashion typical of someone who gets paid in cloth and has enough gold about her person to indicate she's an officer. She is, however, ready for war and her squad was heading quite intently towards the palace.

She's kind of short and muscular, and she's slouching towards you with a grin working its way onto her face. "How much?" she bluntly propositions, toying with a jewelled earring.

I'm going to stop pointing out that people are denying people's Rights at this point, so it is up to you if being mistaken for a prostitute counts as not showing you due respect.

[Anarion]

"Hear, dwarf!" he snarls, "We are the learned masters of Altdorf, guardians of a tradition of knowledge that goes back beyond the dawn of even your old ways, heirs to secrets and power beyond reckoning. And neither you, nor any man, beast or spirit shall threaten us here in our place of power. If the Earth shuns us then we shall crack her open and extract our due by force!"

He snaps his fingers and two Altdorf knights, armoured splendidly, with open books fluttering on their shoulder guards, march forwards to grab you and throw you physically from the hall. You do see the Star Priest trying to reason with them, asking them to show clemency, but they shove him aside too.


"You are a a fool that wouldn't know a pig's ass from his own wife and I may yet save you anyway if your people will listen better than their lords."

I turn from Tusk ahead of the guards and march out of the room. If they're intent on making a show of it, they'll at least have to make an undignified sprint to actually grab me.

[Elanorin]

One of them is a small man, made all the smaller by standing next to a giant. He is wrapped in a black cloak, as are the six armoured warriors guarding the giant, and even the wagon that is being hauled by weary-looking horses. The entire grim procession is heading towards the centre of town, cutting its way through the celebrations like a hearse. The small man is going out of his way to avoid your gaze specifically.

The other is a young and handsome mercenary from the Gyrfalcons. She's moving with the rest of her unit - six pikemen and four musketeers - when she makes an excuse and breaks off from them. She's dressed in that garish fashion typical of someone who gets paid in cloth and has enough gold about her person to indicate she's an officer. She is, however, ready for war and her squad was heading quite intently towards the palace.

She's kind of short and muscular, and she's slouching towards you with a grin working its way onto her face. "How much?" she bluntly propositions, toying with a jewelled earring.

Edentraud watched the solemn procession with interest but her attention was soon called away by some garishly dressed woman. It takes Eden a moment to let the words, and their meaning, sink in. Her face falls in to a frown for a moment before returning to her serious gaze.

"That would be 10 years servitude to the Willow-Hag, my mother," Edentraud said, deadpan. She glanced around, annoyed, "did you have anywhere in mind or just here on the street like dogs?" she hissed, leaning forwards and baring her teeth.

[TheAmishPirate]

"Excuse me, Muster Ardashir," comes the low, despondent voice of Skattelmar, Chief of the Witchhunters.

The Witchhunter seems to you much like a pit bull. To a stranger he would be fearsome, voice deep, all beard and hat and more pistols than brain cells. To one who knows him, he seems slightly derpy, with eyes askance, speech slow and unsteady and in need of guidance. Like a hound in every respect that matters.

"I understand it's your day off but we need your help. There's been an omen, see, at the gallows," he says. "We need you to tell us what it means."

This man has denied your right. What do you do?

"You need me to tell you what it means." I draw out the sound, like nails drawn over steel. "Were I to decide to take in the sights and sounds of the festival, and leave you to your job, then would anybody ever know what it means? Perhaps they might, if anybody had sought to properly educate themselves on the signs above and the marvels below. But no, no, it is impossible! That would require studying any one of a thousand tomes scattered across the ages. They would need a...oh, what's the word? Library? No, that seems much too small. Ah, a reserve!" I clap my staff on the ground. "That's it, a great reserve of books, carefully tended to, and painstakingly sorted by the most dutiful students we can press into unpaid service. That's what you need."

My face falls into a knotted glower. "...but no. Instead, you need my help. Thus throwing into question the very purpose of a day off." I sigh heavily, mutter some choice words in a tongue Skattelmar could only dream of comprehending, and motion him on. "A new omen, then?"

[I bemoan my fate. Woe, alas, and also alack.]

[Raz_Fox]

If you do not draw this out, they lead you through to the Gyrfalcon compound. The camp seems scarcely guarded; most of its men no doubt out amongst the revellers. Even so you notice unusual readiness amongst the men here. Men are ready, bags are packed, armour is on and musketeers are wearing their powder.

Hasselhorf's tent is open to you. He is a bright and straw-haired figure, like a charming boy grown unsteadily into a handsome man. An eerie light seems to follow him and his hair seems to waft around him, giving him an unhealthy intensity. Despite the touch of grey at his temples he still looks like a boy and he wears an expectant smile as you arrive.

An eerie light? Tell me, is this light like it is midsummer all around him, or is it the dappled light that stripes backwood creeks like a tiger's hide? Either way, this is concerning. I am no stranger to the unearthly, being an initiate of the ancient Mysteries, but outside of our rites and customs, I am lost. My brother knows these things much better than I do.

Even so, I nod to Hasselhorf as I enter, showing him the respect due as a fellow soldier. It has nothing to do with the height of Hasselhorf's tent, even though I am built on a scale larger than the youthful mercenary captain, and must look down to meet his eye. "What news? Is it the Dwarves? Orvisk?"

If it is not, in fact, a military emergency, I may be quite cross with him. I respect the use of his time, and expect the courtesy to be mutual.

[Thanqol]

"You are a a fool that wouldn't know a pig's ass from his own wife and I may yet save you anyway if your people will listen better than their lords."

I turn from Tusk ahead of the guards and march out of the room. If they're intent on making a show of it, they'll at least have to make an undignified sprint to actually grab me.

The Altdorf Knights opt not to race out of you, though out of respect for your office or not wanting to get into a grapple with a dwarf it is not clear. You are marched from the hall and the gates are slammed shut behind you.


Edentraud watched the solemn procession with interest but her attention was soon called away by some garishly dressed woman. It takes Eden a moment to let the words, and their meaning, sink in. Her face falls in to a frown for a moment before returning to her serious gaze.

"That would be 10 years servitude to the Willow-Hag, my mother," Edentraud said, deadpan. She glanced around, annoyed, "did you have anywhere in mind or just here on the street like dogs?" she hissed, leaning forwards and baring her teeth.

She laughs out loud, clearly thinking you're joking. "Aw, don't be like that," she says brightly. "Look, even if this isn't what you normally do, think about it for a moment, right? There's a lot of good reasons to give me a chance. One, I'm beautiful, just look at me. Two, I'm loaded, again with the looking at me. Three, I am about to be, like, nobility rich. I'll be able to buy a castle and everything, and trust me, you want to be in on the ground floor."


"You need me to tell you what it means." I draw out the sound, like nails drawn over steel. "Were I to decide to take in the sights and sounds of the festival, and leave you to your job, then would anybody ever know what it means? Perhaps they might, if anybody had sought to properly educate themselves on the signs above and the marvels below. But no, no, it is impossible! That would require studying any one of a thousand tomes scattered across the ages. They would need a...oh, what's the word? Library? No, that seems much too small. Ah, a reserve!" I clap my staff on the ground. "That's it, a great reserve of books, carefully tended to, and painstakingly sorted by the most dutiful students we can press into unpaid service. That's what you need."

My face falls into a knotted glower. "...but no. Instead, you need my help. Thus throwing into question the very purpose of a day off." I sigh heavily, mutter some choice words in a tongue Skattelmar could only dream of comprehending, and motion him on. "A new omen, then?"

[I bemoan my fate. Woe, alas, and also alack.]

"Yes muster, a new omen," says Skattelmar. "It's the ravens. They're holding parliament and none of us can understand their speech."

And further down the street, around the grim sight of the gallows, hundreds, thousands of ravens are standing around in perfect circles, all looking up at a select few crows standing atop the gallows, screeching at each other. Occasionally there are hoarse shouts from the audience, and sometimes they rise into chorus. The carrion ravens are discussing their business and it is a grim and ominous business.

Also in the audience are several rats, eerie and beady-eyed, one of whom stands on the gallows with the shouting crows, silently observing.


An eerie light? Tell me, is this light like it is midsummer all around him, or is it the dappled light that stripes backwood creeks like a tiger's hide? Either way, this is concerning. I am no stranger to the unearthly, being an initiate of the ancient Mysteries, but outside of our rites and customs, I am lost. My brother knows these things much better than I do.

More like sunlight through green water, thick with vines. A subtle thing but it marks him apart.


Even so, I nod to Hasselhorf as I enter, showing him the respect due as a fellow soldier. It has nothing to do with the height of Hasselhorf's tent, even though I am built on a scale larger than the youthful mercenary captain, and must look down to meet his eye. "What news? Is it the Dwarves? Orvisk?"

If it is not, in fact, a military emergency, I may be quite cross with him. I respect the use of his time, and expect the courtesy to be mutual.

Hasselhorf gestures like a performer to a series of rolled-up maps labeled #1, #2, #3 and #4. He smiles and picks out #1 and rolls it out on the table. It's a map of Altdorf with multiple troop locations marked, arrows pointing out lanes of motion.

"Scenario one: You ally with me," he said. "Using the celebrations as cover, my troops raid the palace and seize the treasury. Your troops raid the noble villas along this ridge here. We are able to seize the entirety of the library's most valuable works, the private fortunes of the aristocracy, as well as the city's treasury and escape in good order before resistance is mounted. Minimal loss of life. In addition, after reaching the border we are met with the army of King Khar, who issues us with a royal pardon for breaking our previous contract and pays us a princely sum. We all retire and live like kings."

He looks up at you and smiles playfully.

[Raz_Fox]

More like sunlight through green water, thick with vines. A subtle thing but it marks him apart.

Dangerous. Ardashir will know more. Hopefully he will not mind being called up on his day of rest- no, what am I saying? I will have to drag him into this one way or another. The Universtity will need to know, and I will need his help to survive this. If I survive.


Hasselhorf gestures like a performer to a series of rolled-up maps labeled #1, #2, #3 and #4. He smiles and picks out #1 and rolls it out on the table. It's a map of Altdorf with multiple troop locations marked, arrows pointing out lanes of motion.

"Scenario one: You ally with me," he said. "Using the celebrations as cover, my troops raid the palace and seize the treasury. Your troops raid the noble villas along this ridge here. We are able to seize the entirety of the library's most valuable works, the private fortunes of the aristocracy, as well as the city's treasury and escape in good order before resistance is mounted. Minimal loss of life. In addition, after reaching the border we are met with the army of King Khar, who issues us with a royal pardon for breaking our previous contract and pays us a princely sum. We all retire and live like kings."

He looks up at you and smiles playfully.

I study his map for a moment, leaning over the table. One of my coughs cuts me off mid-word as I finally begin to speak; I am forced to pull out my kerchief and spit blood into it. It leaves me winded for a moment, and I suck bloody spittle through my teeth as I consider the right words to say.

This is base treachery. I cannot go along with it, if he is serious, and he seems serious indeed. But perhaps this is some overwrought, theatrical trap, in which he hopes to discredit me before the Council of Urgency; there might be councilors hiding behind a curtain, waiting to leap out and mock me. Or he is serious, and means to plunder what wealth is left in Altdorf.

And I have walked into the lion's mouth. But I have been in untenable situations before, with worse odds than this, and fought my way out besides. If I can convince Hasselhorf to stand down, good; if I cannot, it will be decisive action that is necessary.

"A devious plan, certainly. I presume that Khar assaulted the watchtowers after organizing this with you? With the city blinded, they will be expecting assault to come from without, not inside its own walls." If we stall them on the Via Imperia, before they breach the palace walls- where will they be redirected? Towards the villas, no doubt; he is likely to abandon his plan to sack the Reserve if he meets sufficient resistance. "Which raises the question of why you approached me in the first place. There is little I provide to this endeavor, and surely my reputation for loyal service in the Empire's name would make me a daunting prospective ally. Was it Khar's idea?" I fold my kerchief, letting the stains seep into the dark fabric, and slip it into my pocket. "Or was it yours?"

[Rolling here because I'm mobile posting: [roll0] for Sizing the Gyrfalcon Up. I'm away from the rules, so I'll just ask what I want to know most: does Hasselhorf intend to kill me?]

[PhoeKun]

"That is too kind!" said Seth in shock. "Too kind! But it will not cover the full amount, and I fear I will just squander it -" and then his face lit up as an idea struck him.

He fumbled around his neck and produced an old, metal key on an iron chain. "This is the key to my basement, and what that miser Kinnich is after. In the old days the dwarves built for my grandfather a marvellous machine of metal and glass that could produce the finest mead, wines or ales. After Khar banned trade, my machine became one of a precious few left in human hands and..."

He thrusts the key at you. "Take it! It is a gift, and one I know you will use more wisely than me! Kinnich would sell the machine and Altdorf would be as dry as Arabay for its lack, but he can't force me to give it to him if it belongs to you!"

"I..." Layna stammers as she clumsily takes the key, not really knowing what else to do with it.

Her head swirls with questions, like what possible wiser use she could find for a brewing machine than running an inn, or how she'd ended up in this position when just moments before she was being accosted and having her rights trampled, or how in earth or heaven was giving up such a valuable piece of machinery was supposed to improve the fortunes of a man being crushed by debts? Then she thinks of Alleinecourt, and all that she might do to avoid seeing it taken or threatened, and supposes she understands, if only a little. She shoves aside her doubts and puts the key around her own neck, tucking it under her tunic.

"If it is important to you, then I shall see it kept safe. You are a good man, Seth. May your fortunes improve swiftly."

She smiles at him again, but turns her head as though looking for a distraction to end this conversation, and the awkward feelings it stirs in her.

[Thanqol]

I study his map for a moment, leaning over the table. One of my coughs cuts me off mid-word as I finally begin to speak; I am forced to pull out my kerchief and spit blood into it. It leaves me winded for a moment, and I suck bloody spittle through my teeth as I consider the right words to say.

This is base treachery. I cannot go along with it, if he is serious, and he seems serious indeed. But perhaps this is some overwrought, theatrical trap, in which he hopes to discredit me before the Council of Urgency; there might be councilors hiding behind a curtain, waiting to leap out and mock me. Or he is serious, and means to plunder what wealth is left in Altdorf.

And I have walked into the lion's mouth. But I have been in untenable situations before, with worse odds than this, and fought my way out besides. If I can convince Hasselhorf to stand down, good; if I cannot, it will be decisive action that is necessary.

"A devious plan, certainly. I presume that Khar assaulted the watchtowers after organizing this with you? With the city blinded, they will be expecting assault to come from without, not inside its own walls." If we stall them on the Via Imperia, before they breach the palace walls- where will they be redirected? Towards the villas, no doubt; he is likely to abandon his plan to sack the Reserve if he meets sufficient resistance. "Which raises the question of why you approached me in the first place. There is little I provide to this endeavor, and surely my reputation for loyal service in the Empire's name would make me a daunting prospective ally. Was it Khar's idea?" I fold my kerchief, letting the stains seep into the dark fabric, and slip it into my pocket. "Or was it yours?"

[Rolling here because I'm mobile posting: [roll0] for Sizing the Gyrfalcon Up. I'm away from the rules, so I'll just ask what I want to know most: does Hasselhorf intend to kill me?]

Hasselhorf smiles at you and picks up the map marked #2. He rolls it out onto the table over #1. "In this scenario," he says, ignoring every one of your questions, "you surrender yourself and stay here in this tent. You do nothing and raise no alarms. My men are able to raid the treasury and some of the library but we cannot plunder the wider aristocracy and must move out quickly before your absence is noted and your troops rally. We still escape with minimal casualties and loss of life and you get to have your glorious last stand against King Khar undisturbed."

One of the Size Up questions is 'what do you intend to do', and that is probably more useful to you so I shall answer it instead. Hasselhorf intends to commit this betrayal and robbery, that part is true. But right now he is enjoying this game and taking no small amount of pleasure out of having you trapped. While the motive here is personal he does not intend to kill you - he would be just as content with insulting and dishonouring you and he would be content with the futures on any of these maps.

However, you can see the pattern of these maps. #3 is surely his idea of what happens if you escape this tent and raise the alarm, and #4 is undoubtedly what happens if you kill him. You would wager the treasury that either of those involve his people setting fire to the city to cover their escape, though #4 will be far more bloody.


"I..." Layna stammers as she clumsily takes the key, not really knowing what else to do with it.

Her head swirls with questions, like what possible wiser use she could find for a brewing machine than running an inn, or how she'd ended up in this position when just moments before she was being accosted and having her rights trampled, or how in earth or heaven was giving up such a valuable piece of machinery was supposed to improve the fortunes of a man being crushed by debts? Then she thinks of Alleinecourt, and all that she might do to avoid seeing it taken or threatened, and supposes she understands, if only a little. She shoves aside her doubts and puts the key around her own neck, tucking it under her tunic.

"If it is important to you, then I shall see it kept safe. You are a good man, Seth. May your fortunes improve swiftly."

She smiles at him again, but turns her head as though looking for a distraction to end this conversation, and the awkward feelings it stirs in her.

"Thank you. Thank you," said Seth, beaming. He still looks sad and weary but the burden that had weighed most heavily upon him seemed suddenly lifted and he sat a little taller. "Dinner is at eight, I'll be cooking mutton and -"

The prayed-for distraction arrives. The carriage guarded by the black cloaked warriors arrives in the town centre, and all of the warriors cast down their disguises. A gasp of fear ripples through the crowd the stitched-shut mouth banner of Orvisk is raised in the square of Altdorf and the Silent Knight himself stands among them.

The six warriors guarding him wear black leather armour and scars like the Gyrfalcons wear gold. They pull the cover off their wagon revealing a terrible rack, a torture device forged by a twisted mind, stained with dried blood. The Dark Sorcerer Gulbrich climbs up atop it, hefts his jeweled scepter above his head and cackles, cowing the square into silence. The Silent Knight rises head and shoulders above a normal man, immense and ominous and with an enormous snarling war-boar as a steed.

"Altdorf!" cries Gulbrich, showing yellowed teeth. "Fear not! We are here in the spirit of friendship to offer you a chance at your salvation! The Silent Knight of Orvisk has come here on this holy day to offer a friendly challenge to the bravest warriors of Altdorf. If any warrior here can unseat him in a joust, or knock him from his feet in melee, then he has generously offered to spare the city for as long as that man should live."

He grins and strokes the torture rack he stands upon like a pet. "But, if you should be defeated in turn... then you have to spend a little time on the rack. Just a little pain, no more than the least citizen of Orvisk must experience. So I ask you, scholars, who here is brave enough?"

There are several Altdorf Knights in attendance, shoulders bearing their life-books, the blessed tomes every Knight of Altdorf carries on his armour to record his deeds upon. Immediately on hearing the challenge they do that supremely Altdorfian thing and form a circle and begin earnestly discussing the strategy of accepting the challenge and how to best go about it.

[Anarion]

The Altdorf Knights opt not to race out of you, though out of respect for your office or not wanting to get into a grapple with a dwarf it is not clear. You are marched from the hall and the gates are slammed shut behind you.


Ungrateful. That is the only word for it. I spend the whole winter tending to their needs, years of my life traveling among the humans to support them and bring Gaia's blessings to their homes and they kick me out for a pious old man. The most galling thing of all was that he was probably the best man in that whole room and if he weren't so bloody deluded, I might even have liked him!

Bah, and bah again. This was not a day to be handled sober. I head immediately to the inn for a drink of the lukewarm water these folk pretend to call ale.

[Raz_Fox]

Hasselhorf smiles at you and picks up the map marked #2. He rolls it out onto the table over #1. "In this scenario," he says, ignoring every one of your questions, "you surrender yourself and stay here in your tent. You do nothing and raise no alarms. My men are able to raid the treasury and some of the library but we cannot plunder the wider aristocracy and must move out quickly before your absence is noted and your troops rally. We still escape with minimal casualties and loss of life and you get to have your glorious last stand against King Khar undisturbed."

One of the Size Up questions is 'what do you intend to do', and that is probably more useful to you so I shall answer it instead. Hasselhorf intends to commit this betrayal and robbery, that part is true. But right now he is enjoying this game and taking no small amount of pleasure out of having you trapped. While the motive here is personal he does not intend to kill you - he would be just as content with insulting and dishonouring you and he would be content with the futures on any of these maps.

However, you can see the pattern of these maps. #3 is surely his idea of what happens if you escape this tent and raise the alarm, and #4 is undoubtedly what happens if you kill him. You would wager the treasury that either of those involve his people setting fire to the city to cover their escape, though #4 will be far more bloody.

"In the third scenario, I decline the offer and fight my way out of this camp, am not shot in the process, and raise the alarm. You have a contingency- doubtless doing damage to the city in some way. Arson, I think: easily arranged, less suspicious to prepare than powder explosions. This will cause an unacceptable level of damage to the University; its vast importance as a symbol of the city and our Imperial heritage mean that crucial manpower will be diverted away from fighting your men to attempting to save the Reserve. The city is left crippled, bleeding, and Khar and Orvisk descend on it like wolves on the hunt. Unacceptable."

They really are good maps. Quality work. A shame they're being used for such despicable purpose.

"In the fourth scenario, I draw and shoot right here. You are killed, or injured as badly as makes no difference. This plays out like the third, but your men avenge you in blood. I am left with a dead traitor and half of Altdorf burned and butchered, and that if I survive at all. Like the heathen kings of Nehekhara. They would kill hundreds of servants, bury them alive, so that the kings would have use of them in the afterlife. Wasteful. Incidentally, both the third and fourth scenarios involve targeting specific members of the aristocracy and ensuring their deaths, such that the knights of Altdorf are thrown into disarray and unable to pursue you and your men, leaving me - should I survive - with the choice of attempting to put Altdorf to rights or pursuing the Gyrfalcon company. Either way, untold death and destruction, and all on my shoulders, because I chose my own ideals over practicality."

I pause. This is a moment that the Reserve will remember, perhaps. Ollerus Atroxheim, his choice and how it affected the city. History follows in my footsteps, and is just as terrible and unshakable as that one, whose name we do not speak lightly. And I pity this youth playing at soldiers.

"No matter what happens, as long as men record the history of this Empire, they will remember you as a traitor who attacked at our very roots. They will say: what could we have done if we had the Reserve, safe and whole? You give away your name for what? A few petty years of wealth. So here is my counter-proposal. Stand down, and no one will ever know. If your name is remembered, it will be because of greater deeds than this."

He will not accept this. I already know.

I must offer it anyway.

Because I am going to raise the alarm, and he deserves to know the full stakes of our contest, and what he will lose, no matter the outcome.

And because there is a part of me that desperately hopes that he will stand down, and that he will be the man I know he could be: my inferior, certainly, but a honorable man still. The man I will treat him as, as long as he gives me the option.

[PhoeKun]

"Altdorf!" cries Gulbrich, showing yellowed teeth. "Fear not! We are here in the spirit of friendship to offer you a chance at your salvation! The Silent Knight of Orvisk has come here on this holy day to offer a friendly challenge to the bravest warriors of Altdorf. If any warrior here can unseat him in a joust, or knock him from his feet in melee, then he has generously offered to spare the city for as long as that man should live."

He grins and strokes the torture rack he stands upon like a pet. "But, if you should be defeated in turn... then you have to spend a little time on the rack. Just a little pain, no more than the least citizen of Orvisk must experience. So I ask you, scholars, who here is brave enough?"

There are several Altdorf Knights in attendance, shoulders bearing their life-books, the blessed tomes every Knight of Altdorf carries on his armour to record his deeds upon. Immediately on hearing the challenge they do that supremely Altdorfian thing and form a circle and begin earnestly discussing the strategy of accepting the challenge and how to best go about it.

Truly, ask not the gods for a favor if you don't want a miracle. Layna's every feature is arrested at the sight of the hulking giant before her. She'd heard the stories, of course. Everybody in Altdorf has a version to tell, and they're all only too happy to share it. But to see so huge a man, real and in the flesh, is to know that the stories fall utterly short of his reality.

Her fingers reach up to trace the amethyst pendant she wears openly. Ovelia had told her... what was it? That it would protect her body, but more importantly her soul. Keep it pure in the face of the worlds' evils. Her eyes turn to the knights of Altdorf, and her heart tells her that they are earnest but outmatched. And that, if they saw her standing over here, they would know their strategy at once. Her muscles itch. She decides at that moment to spare them their debate, and walks nearer to their circle.

"She is not a scholar of Altdorf," her voice is high and clear and it surprises her as she turns the procession from Orvisk, "But Layna D'Alleinecourt accepts your challenge, if you will have her!"

[Thanqol]

Ungrateful. That is the only word for it. I spend the whole winter tending to their needs, years of my life traveling among the humans to support them and bring Gaia's blessings to their homes and they kick me out for a pious old man. The most galling thing of all was that he was probably the best man in that whole room and if he weren't so bloody deluded, I might even have liked him!

Bah, and bah again. This was not a day to be handled sober. I head immediately to the inn for a drink of the lukewarm water these folk pretend to call ale.

As you start to leave the palace you are accosted by three Gyrfalcons, bright and gold, muskets loaded and ready. "Hey, dwarf!" says their leader, a red-bearded celt who makes the sign of the Tree to you. "Praise Gaia and all that. The Fuhrer sent us to you to make an offer - he will personally pay for a brand new spankin' temple, or whatever you want, if you help us rob those ponces who done disrespected you just now."


I pause. This is a moment that the Reserve will remember, perhaps. Ollerus Atroxheim, his choice and how it affected the city. History follows in my footsteps, and is just as terrible and unshakable as that one, whose name we do not speak lightly. And I pity this youth playing at soldiers.

"No matter what happens, as long as men record the history of this Empire, they will remember you as a traitor who attacked at our very roots. They will say: what could we have done if we had the Reserve, safe and whole? You give away your name for what? A few petty years of wealth. So here is my counter-proposal. Stand down, and no one will ever know. If your name is remembered, it will be because of greater deeds than this."

"See, this is exactly why I don't like you," says Hasselhorf, "and that is exactly why I'm doing this. You think you're Ulric's gift to mankind because you're prepared to lay you head down in front of a stampeding carriage to protect some dusty old books and a bankrupt Empire. And you lord it over me and pretend that you've got a monopoly on glory. Well guess what!? Glory doesn't pay poets. Gold pays poets! And when this is done I'll put a hundred of them on retainer and have them rebuild the burned down husk of Altdorf and fill up the library with a thousand volumes of slander!" Hasselhorf shouts, banging the table with his fists. "Then we'll see who the Reserve remembers!"

He pauses, composes himself, smiles his boyish smile. "So anyway. I'm going to leave you in MacDonald's capable hands. Oh, and there's one thing you didn't mention in your assessment of my maps - if you make my life too difficult and I don't get out of here with enough gold then I'll have no choice but to contract with the Dwarves. And you really don't want me coming back here."

He winks, waves, and slips out through the back of the tent, leaving you in a dark room with the crude MacDonald and guards standing at every exit.


Truly, ask not the gods for a favor if you don't want a miracle. Layna's every feature is arrested at the sight of the hulking giant before her. She'd heard the stories, of course. Everybody in Altdorf has a version to tell, and they're all only too happy to share it. But to see so huge a man, real and in the flesh, is to know that the stories fall utterly short of his reality.

Her fingers reach up to trace the amethyst pendant she wears openly. Ovelia had told her... what was it? That it would protect her body, but more importantly her soul. Keep it pure in the face of the worlds' evils. Her eyes turn to the knights of Altdorf, and her heart tells her that they are earnest but outmatched. And that, if they saw her standing over here, they would know their strategy at once. Her muscles itch. She decides at that moment to spare them their debate, and walks nearer to their circle.

"She is not a scholar of Altdorf," her voice is high and clear and it surprises her as she turns the procession from Orvisk, "But Layna D'Alleinecourt accepts your challenge, if you will have her!"

"The Silent Knight... accepts!" declares Gulbrich.

The Altdorf Knights freeze for a second, stare at you, stare at the Silent Knight, and then engage in a sudden and explosive exchange of words. Two rush over to you, while two more run to get horses and tournament armour.

The two Knights attending you - Deorwine and Pora - immediately fall into the role of squires without command or prompting, producing measuring sticks, checking your armour for damage, diligently going through all the motions required to make you ready for battle. All the while they chatter about tactics and strategy, discussing the merits of different kinds of weapons given the Silent Knight's huge size and strength advantages.

"Rumour has it that the Silent Knight uses sorcery to win his battles -" said Deorwine.
"- and so we were going to volunteer a Witchfinder to fight him first to see if we could learn to counter his tricks -" said Pora.
"- and save you for the second or third fight once he was softened up. But with no information about what you're up against you should expect to lose -"
"- it only makes sense that this contest is rigged -"
"- but we are going to do what we can to prepare you," said Deorwine firmly.

They begin pulling off all the paper trails from their armour, all the prayer strips, purity seals, and blessings of the written word. They begin shucking their golden medallions and wards against sorcery and they offer them to you without hesitation. They even offer to pen your name into their Life-Books; as high an honour as an Altdorf Knight can offer.

The Knights of Altdorf are offering you their blessing before this battle. Do you accept this? If so, roll the Ask For Their Blessing move with Altdorf's Rites of +2.

[Raz_Fox]

I pause for a moment, considering the maps, and more than the maps: what I saw on my way in to meet Hasselhorf. The troops, the tents: how am I to leave and gather my men without being killed? Time is crucial, and a good plan, and there's something of a sick thrill in my chest. The fool wanted me broken, and now I must prove that I am equal to the challenge he has set before me.

I fear for Altdorf. I fear for my wife. I fear that I make the wrong choice. But my blood is up and even the malady in my chest cannot stop me from smiling. Set, be our scourge. Sigmar, my right hand. Mars, my sword.

The Empire will not find an Atroxheim unready for battle in its hour of need.

[Thank all that's holy, a 10 on Taking Stock. What is my best way out of the camp? How might I best husband, preserve, or defend my strength? Where am I strong, and where am I weak?]

[TheAmishPirate]

"Yes muster, a new omen," says Skattelmar. "It's the ravens. They're holding parliament and none of us can understand their speech."

And further down the street, around the grim sight of the gallows, hundreds, thousands of ravens are standing around in perfect circles, all looking up at a select few crows standing atop the gallows, screeching at each other. Occasionally there are hoarse shouts from the audience, and sometimes they rise into chorus. The carrion ravens are discussing their business and it is a grim and ominous business.

Also in the audience are several rats, eerie and beady-eyed, one of whom stands on the gallows with the shouting crows, silently observing.

A new, and most troubling omen indeed. My heart thrills.

"Stand back," I order Skattelmar. "Tell everyone to stand back. By your life, do not disturb their circles!" I stoop down, and gather up a loose raven feather; smooth, jet-black, and stinking of filth. Only, not so pure black. It has forgotten, laying so long on the ground. A rubbing with a polished onyx stone has it right again. Staff in hand, I hobble around the unkindness of ravens, until I am staring level straight at the gallows. There I plant my staff, and it knows better than to fall without my command. To my feather, I add a rat's whisker, a pinch of ground sage, a little smokepaste, and a muttering of ancient words. Then, I let it go.

The feather falls, then flutters in the breeze. It catches the wind and circles my staff like a leaf in a stream. A wisp of smoke rises from it, carrying with it all manner of earthly impurities. My fingers move around the smoke, feeling the push and pull of the air, and soon no one can tell whether I move with the wind or the wind moves with me. Here, we exist in harmony.

Then, once the feather has remembered the good, clean air, I gobble it down. My ears and tongue are opened, and I may join with the parliament.

[Truth be told, I don't know if this is Consulting the Other World or using my Right to investigate an unusual event. Either way, rolling Weird: 6 + 6 + 2 = 14]

[Elanorin]

She laughs out loud, clearly thinking you're joking. "Aw, don't be like that," she says brightly. "Look, even if this isn't what you normally do, think about it for a moment, right? There's a lot of good reasons to give me a chance. One, I'm beautiful, just look at me. Two, I'm loaded, again with the looking at me. Three, I am about to be, like, nobility rich. I'll be able to buy a castle and everything, and trust me, you want to be in on the ground floor."


"Trust me, sir, having me on your arm will only make you look bad." Edentraud continued, icily, knowing full well which of them were the lesser beauty. "We'll end this conversation here, go on our ways and enjoy the festivities. I'll consider this an unfortunate misunderstanding." Tiny smile. "You must have had a difficult day."

Edentraud moved to leave.

[Thanqol]

I pause for a moment, considering the maps, and more than the maps: what I saw on my way in to meet Hasselhorf. The troops, the tents: how am I to leave and gather my men without being killed? Time is crucial, and a good plan, and there's something of a sick thrill in my chest. The fool wanted me broken, and now I must prove that I am equal to the challenge he has set before me.

I fear for Altdorf. I fear for my wife. I fear that I make the wrong choice. But my blood is up and even the malady in my chest cannot stop me from smiling. Set, be our scourge. Sigmar, my right hand. Mars, my sword.

The Empire will not find an Atroxheim unready for battle in its hour of need.

[Thank all that's holy, a 10 on Taking Stock. What is my best way out of the camp? How might I best husband, preserve, or defend my strength? Where am I strong, and where am I weak?]

The positive side is that due to the majority of the Gyrfalcons being committed to their tasks there is only a small unit of pikemen and musketeers left to guard you. The disadvantage of musketeers is their single shot - your best way to preserve your strength is to force out that shot to no effect, and then run as fast as possible before they can reload.

Your mind turns to a pen full of livestock. Trying to ride one of the few nags they have left here would be a tragic mistake as the garrison could hardly miss a horseback rider. Setting off a stampede and running among the animals, using them as cover, would be a far wiser way out.

In the broader picture, your weakness is logistics; your men are scattered and unready for war, and the Gyrfalcons are famous for getting all their people to where they need to be. The maps demonstrated just how many targets are being attacked at once and how many potential escape routes the Gyrfalcons have. Your weakness is also time, for if you challenge the Gyrfalcons and they can form up into one of their invincible pike blocks then they cannot be dislodged. Their unity and teamwork are the source of their power.

Your strength is the individual skill and fearlessness of your men. Small raiding bands and ambushes are tactics that can spook and disrupt the Gyrfalcons, and wherever you concentrate your attentions and wisdom you will have the advantage. You must choose where to spend your focus - leading raids yourself to preserve or attack something you deem critical, defending the city as a whole, or offering battle to the Gyrfalcon Regiment throughout the entire city.


A new, and most troubling omen indeed. My heart thrills.

"Stand back," I order Skattelmar. "Tell everyone to stand back. By your life, do not disturb their circles!" I stoop down, and gather up a loose raven feather; smooth, jet-black, and stinking of filth. Only, not so pure black. It has forgotten, laying so long on the ground. A rubbing with a polished onyx stone has it right again. Staff in hand, I hobble around the unkindness of ravens, until I am staring level straight at the gallows. There I plant my staff, and it knows better than to fall without my command. To my feather, I add a rat's whisker, a pinch of ground sage, a little smokepaste, and a muttering of ancient words. Then, I let it go.

The feather falls, then flutters in the breeze. It catches the wind and circles my staff like a leaf in a stream. A wisp of smoke rises from it, carrying with it all manner of earthly impurities. My fingers move around the smoke, feeling the push and pull of the air, and soon no one can tell whether I move with the wind or the wind moves with me. Here, we exist in harmony.

Then, once the feather has remembered the good, clean air, I gobble it down. My ears and tongue are opened, and I may join with the parliament.

[Truth be told, I don't know if this is Consulting the Other World or using my Right to investigate an unusual event. Either way, rolling Weird: 6 + 6 + 2 = 14]

Ravens holding parliament may be uncommon but it is hardly unnatural. This is simply contacting the other world. Your 10+ means that you may ask a follow-up question or two after I have said my part.

"Oh, and so the honourable member for the Reserve deigns to show his face," screeches the Speaker of the Crows atop the gallows. "Just like a human to be late! The next time you arrive after roll call I'll peck your eyes out."

"Flagrant intimidation and abuse of your position!" cries the leader of opposition. "Why not make yourself a crown as well!?" The crows on his side of the circles voice their support.

"A crown is what we are here to discuss," said the Speaker. "The emissary from the King of Rats has proposed an alliance with us and we must choose to accept. He requests our service as spies and scouts upon the motions of the humans, and swears safety for our eggs if we accept. Bloody and warlike days are coming and we will no doubt have many young that need protecting."

The ravens fall into bickering again but you can see that the mood of the room is for the deal. You only have a few opportunities to ask questions of the hall before the vote is called.


"Trust me, sir, having me on your arm will only make you look bad." Edentraud continued, icily, knowing full well which of them were the lesser beauty. "We'll end this conversation here, go on our ways and enjoy the festivities. I'll consider this an unfortunate misunderstanding." Tiny smile. "You must have had a difficult day."

Edentraud moved to leave.

"No, I understand," said the soldier. "Who cares about gold these days, huh? You're right," she pulls off a stunning golden necklace and tosses it over her shoulder as though it was trash. There's a scrabble in the crowd as people start fighting over it. "See? Rubbish. I look much better without it. So what I'll do is go find something that does catch your eye, something you can't say no to, I swear it on my name of Idelle," she grins brightly as you go.

[PhoeKun]

The Knights of Altdorf are offering you their blessing before this battle. Do you accept this? If so, roll the Ask For Their Blessing move with Altdorf's Rites of +2.

I am silent as these two knights talk over me and prepare my body for the arena as best they can, only nodding assent or watching them intently as they explain themselves and alternate between admonishing me and telling me the many ways in which I am doomed. These are the same people, after all, who offered me funeral rites and left me alone to hunt a monster. Only this time, they came offering plans to ensure my success, and blessings and honors upon me when I unmade those plans. These men have a deep love of their home, and if they show it in strange ways it touches me all the same. So I accept their aid quietly and without complaint, until finally I think I must say something to set them at ease.

"My honor demands that I should let no one but me risk the rack he is promising us. If this contest is rigged as you say, then so much the better if you don't sacrifice one of your own to prove it. I will fight, and fight hard, and in the end if I cannot bring you victory I will at least show you how it can be done, or else prove this whole thing is folly and save you the attempt. This is a wonderful city. I want to protect it as best I can."

My face is set. The rush in my blood tells me that what I am doing is right.

[I accept the Blessing of Altdorf and roll their Rites: 2d6+2 = 7]

[Anarion]

As you start to leave the palace you are accosted by three Gyrfalcons, bright and gold, muskets loaded and ready. "Hey, dwarf!" says their leader, a red-bearded celt who makes the sign of the Tree to you. "Praise Gaia and all that. The Fuhrer sent us to you to make an offer - he will personally pay for a brand new spankin' temple, or whatever you want, if you help us rob those ponces who done disrespected you just now."


Oh for the love of Gaia, is this day fated to be filled entirely with idiots? Apparently the Gyrfalcon commander is smart enough to pay attention to my worship, but also daft enough to violate its most basic tenet. I just bloody well spent the past 3 months preaching to these people about the importance of the ancient laws of guest and host, and now they want me to betray my hosts and rob the people of Altdorf instead of trying to pull them out of their own ignorance.

I look them over carefully. How well armed and armored are they, what sort of muskets are those and how quick to fire? Am I still close enough to the palace to raise the alarm?
[rolling wary [roll0]
[What is my best way towards sounding the alarm? Where am I strong and where am I weak? Who is in control here?]

[Thanqol]

I am silent as these two knights talk over me and prepare my body for the arena as best they can, only nodding assent or watching them intently as they explain themselves and alternate between admonishing me and telling me the many ways in which I am doomed. These are the same people, after all, who offered me funeral rites and left me alone to hunt a monster. Only this time, they came offering plans to ensure my success, and blessings and honors upon me when I unmade those plans. These men have a deep love of their home, and if they show it in strange ways it touches me all the same. So I accept their aid quietly and without complaint, until finally I think I must say something to set them at ease.

"My honor demands that I should let no one but me risk the rack he is promising us. If this contest is rigged as you say, then so much the better if you don't sacrifice one of your own to prove it. I will fight, and fight hard, and in the end if I cannot bring you victory I will at least show you how it can be done, or else prove this whole thing is folly and save you the attempt. This is a wonderful city. I want to protect it as best I can."

My face is set. The rush in my blood tells me that what I am doing is right.

7[/b]]

You do not feel different with their enchantments upon you but the world is perhaps a touch more fragile, more ready to give up its secrets. The magics upon you are unstable but should you call upon them you can shatter through that new fragility and perform heroic feats. You may call upon anothers' aid at any point in this fight, moving success up one category.

The Knights of Altdorf lend you a trained warhorse; and in Altdorf it is said even the horses read poetry. The beast you are given has a cynical and intelligent eye and is cautiously sizing up the great war-pig the Silent Knight has climbed aboard. It gives you a pained look, sincerely requesting you don't screw up. You are given a blunted jousting lance and a choice of a sword or a hooked scythe (for tripping, the Knights of Altdorf propose, as you do simply need to knock your opponent down) and a wooden shield. The crowd parts ways and a jousting list is quickly established.

A single combat approaches. Your blunted weapons are 2-harm, your helmet and mail coat are 2-armour, your kite shield and your warhorse are both +1/+1. This places you at a potential 4-harm, 4-armour.

The Silent Knight is armed and equipped the same as you, but his great size and reach count as another +1 harm +1 armour. This means he stands at 5/5, and even with a blunted weapon he still is likely to wound you on a charge. Furthermore, as a deadly, monstrous veteran he shall be spending three points in single combat.

Single Combat presents a choice between winning the fight - in the case of this joust, unseating your opponent - inflicting injury upon them and defending yourself. You have fought in many tournaments and you have learned that there are three kinds of men. The young, brave and glory-seeking tend to place all their attention towards winning the fights; the malicious prefer to drag fights out while hurting their opponents; and the cowardly and old fight conservatively and lose swiftly. Kings and nobles are used to their opponents pulling their blows so they fight like young men and win more often than their skills should allow. Normally you have the chance to speak to your opponent and learn his character before a fight but the Silent Knight, sitting atop that great boar, lance in hand, is an enigma.

You have some moments before the crowd is ready for the joust to begin. What do you do?


Oh for the love of Gaia, is this day fated to be filled [I]entirely with idiots? Apparently the Gyrfalcon commander is smart enough to pay attention to my worship, but also daft enough to violate its most basic tenet. I just bloody well spent the past 3 months preaching to these people about the importance of the ancient laws of guest and host, and now they want me to betray my hosts and rob the people of Altdorf instead of trying to pull them out of their own ignorance.

I look them over carefully. How well armed and armored are they, what sort of muskets are those and how quick to fire? Am I still close enough to the palace to raise the alarm?
[rolling wary [roll0]
[What is my best way towards sounding the alarm? Where am I strong and where am I weak? Who is in control here?]

You are weak in that you are unarmed and armoured, and they are ready for war. You are further weak that they are acting upon the curse your Goddess just laid down upon this place, and fortune will fall in their favour whenever it can. You are strong in that this soldier in particular seeks to make you an ally - there are only three here, so you presume that this is the spur of the moment decision of a man who is angry at how you were mistreated rather than the cunning strategy of the regimental fuhrer. This man is also the one in control here, having diverted from his task to seek your blessing.

Your best way to sound the alarm is to perform an act of sorcery. That will summon both the Witchfinders and the magical guardians of this place instantly and decisively.

[Anarion]

You are weak in that you are unarmed and armoured, and they are ready for war. You are further weak that they are acting upon the curse your Goddess just laid down upon this place, and fortune will fall in their favour whenever it can. You are strong in that this soldier in particular seeks to make you an ally - there are only three here, so you presume that this is the spur of the moment decision of a man who is angry at how you were mistreated rather than the cunning strategy of the regimental fuhrer. This man is also the one in control here, having diverted from his task to seek your blessing.

Your best way to sound the alarm is to perform an act of sorcery. That will summon both the Witchfinders and the magical guardians of this place instantly and decisively.

"Cut your palm, and I shall cut mine." I don't move to take out my knife, I just speak to the bearded Celt. "You're hasty, of course, but I would seek my goddess' counsel on this matter and it won't take long. It is hard to speak to her here, but she is the goddess of life and harvest, and so our lives and our life's blood is always dear to her. We shall mix our blood and its heat, even upon this cold stone floor, will show us what we must do."

[If he agrees, I'll consult the other world and see what she has to say here.]

[Raz_Fox]

The positive side is that due to the majority of the Gyrfalcons being committed to their tasks there is only a small unit of pikemen and musketeers left to guard you. The disadvantage of musketeers is their single shot - your best way to preserve your strength is to force out that shot to no effect, and then run as fast as possible before they can reload.

Your mind turns to a pen full of livestock. Trying to ride one of the few nags they have left here would be a tragic mistake as the garrison could hardly miss a horseback rider. Setting off a stampede and running among the animals, using them as cover, would be a far wiser way out.

Excellent. I discount MacDonald; seeking revenge would be beneath me, and I doubt he can stop me.

I need to know exactly how far away this pen of livestock is from the tent, practically speaking, before I step into action; "close enough that I won't be shot if MacDonald starts yelling" is much different than "I will need a plausible excuse to reach the livestock pen without being shot".

[PhoeKun]

Single Combat presents a choice between winning the fight - in the case of this joust, unseating your opponent - inflicting injury upon them and defending yourself. You have fought in many tournaments and you have learned that there are three kinds of men. The young, brave and glory-seeking tend to place all their attention towards winning the fights; the malicious prefer to drag fights out while hurting their opponents; and the cowardly and old fight conservatively and lose swiftly. Kings and nobles are used to their opponents pulling their blows so they fight like young men and win more often than their skills should allow. Normally you have the chance to speak to your opponent and learn his character before a fight but the Silent Knight, sitting atop that great boar, lance in hand, is an enigma.

You have some moments before the crowd is ready for the joust to begin. What do you do?

My heart is pounding in my chest. Who is the Silent Knight? My victory is locked inside that question. Ha! Listen to me, talking about victory like it was a matter of reaching out and grabbing it! More like my life teeters on the edge of it, instead. Are we two honorable knights, staring each other down at this moment? What does he think of me? Perhaps there is sorcery behind his power after all. Perhaps we will meet and I will find his lance not so blunted, after all, and I shall be ruined on the end of it, whether he is unhorsed or not. Or maybe he will shatter me, and though defeated slay me after, making good on his sorcerer's word to spare the city 'so long as I live'? Orvisk is known for its mercy, of a sort, to the defeated. But perhaps not the victorious...

In any case I will not win the day without faith. No, though Orvisk terrifies me, I will choose to believe in the rites of combat between two knights, and stake my fate on youth and glory. Oh Fortuna, guide my lance! I have my strategy; I must win now, or never. In this final moment before we two cross lances, I think that I should call out, but find that there are two silent knights between the lists.

Fine then. If I cannot find my voice I must find my courage. I raise my shield, lower my lance, and set myself for a charge. I must be brave. I cannot raise my weapon until it is under his shield, and even then I must be willing to endure his blows until I find a charge where I may put my full weight and power into the thrust. This will not be over quickly...

[In Single Combat, I roll 2d6+2 = 10. As is my Right, I spend all 4 points toward Position]

[Elanorin]

"No, I understand," said the soldier. "Who cares about gold these days, huh? You're right," she pulls off a stunning golden necklace and tosses it over her shoulder as though it was trash. There's a scrabble in the crowd as people start fighting over it. "See? Rubbish. I look much better without it. So what I'll do is go find something that does catch your eye, something you can't say no to, I swear it on my name of Idelle," she grins brightly as you go.

Seeing the necklace thrown in the mud gives Eden pause, her eyes follow it as it flies, lands, and causes a scuffle in the dirt.

"Good luck. My heart is not easily swayed." She said honestly before making her way to follow that black ominous carriage with hurried steps.

[TheAmishPirate]

Ravens holding parliament may be uncommon but it is hardly unnatural. This is simply contacting the other world. Your 10+ means that you may ask a follow-up question or two after I have said my part.

"Oh, and so the honourable member for the Reserve deigns to show his face," screeches the Speaker of the Crows atop the gallows. "Just like a human to be late! The next time you arrive after roll call I'll peck your eyes out."

"Flagrant intimidation and abuse of your position!" cries the leader of opposition. "Why not make yourself a crown as well!?" The crows on his side of the circles voice their support.

"A crown is what we are here to discuss," said the Speaker. "The emissary from the King of Rats has proposed an alliance with us and we must choose to accept. He requests our service as spies and scouts upon the motions of the humans, and swears safety for our eggs if we accept. Bloody and warlike days are coming and we will no doubt have many young that need protecting."

The ravens fall into bickering again but you can see that the mood of the room is for the deal. You only have a few opportunities to ask questions of the hall before the vote is called.

Moods shift, moods change, just as easily as the winds. The birds of the air would flit from a feast to a fresh corpse just to see what all the hubbub was about. Reckless little seekers.

I did not get to where I am today by recklessness. Questions bring answers, but questions may be my only chance to sway the vote. I pause, and feel where the winds are blowing.

[Rolling to Take Stock: [roll0] Questions: (Custom question) What is each side truly after? What is my best way forward? Which of my enemies is the biggest threat to me?]

[Thanqol]

"Cut your palm, and I shall cut mine." I don't move to take out my knife, I just speak to the bearded Celt. "You're hasty, of course, but I would seek my goddess' counsel on this matter and it won't take long. It is hard to speak to her here, but she is the goddess of life and harvest, and so our lives and our life's blood is always dear to her. We shall mix our blood and its heat, even upon this cold stone floor, will show us what we must do."

[If he agrees, I'll consult the other world and see what she has to say here.]

"Aye," says the red-bearded warrior, and offers his blood to join with yours.


Excellent. I discount MacDonald; seeking revenge would be beneath me, and I doubt he can stop me.

I need to know exactly how far away this pen of livestock is from the tent, practically speaking, before I step into action; "close enough that I won't be shot if MacDonald starts yelling" is much different than "I will need a plausible excuse to reach the livestock pen without being shot".

'tis but a Leap Into Action roll away! Though you could instead roll to Win Someone Over to convince MacDonald to let you visit the livestock, if you are inclined away from running.


My heart is pounding in my chest. Who is the Silent Knight? My victory is locked inside that question. Ha! Listen to me, talking about victory like it was a matter of reaching out and grabbing it! More like my life teeters on the edge of it, instead. Are we two honorable knights, staring each other down at this moment? What does he think of me? Perhaps there is sorcery behind his power after all. Perhaps we will meet and I will find his lance not so blunted, after all, and I shall be ruined on the end of it, whether he is unhorsed or not. Or maybe he will shatter me, and though defeated slay me after, making good on his sorcerer's word to spare the city 'so long as I live'? Orvisk is known for its mercy, of a sort, to the defeated. But perhaps not the victorious...

In any case I will not win the day without faith. No, though Orvisk terrifies me, I will choose to believe in the rites of combat between two knights, and stake my fate on youth and glory. Oh Fortuna, guide my lance! I have my strategy; I must win now, or never. In this final moment before we two cross lances, I think that I should call out, but find that there are two silent knights between the lists.

Fine then. If I cannot find my voice I must find my courage. I raise my shield, lower my lance, and set myself for a charge. I must be brave. I cannot raise my weapon until it is under his shield, and even then I must be willing to endure his blows until I find a charge where I may put my full weight and power into the thrust. This will not be over quickly...

[In Single Combat, I roll 2d6+2 = 10. As is my Right, I spend all 4 points toward Position]

The Silent Knight greets you on the field of battle as a knight; aiming for your shield rather than your heart. You are lucky in this. In your first pass his lance shatters against your shield and the force of the blow feels like it broke your arm. Take one harm.

But in that same pass you learn the terrible power of the Knight. You know that your lance struck true but you felt nothing - the blow passed through the Silent Knight's armour and flesh as though he were smoke. If you were any slower to realize what that meant for the battle you would have lost then and there.

But on the second pass you adjust. Your mind prepares perfectly. Even if the Silent Knight is invincible in battle neither his saddle nor his enormous war-pig are. Your next charge has you aim low and all the crowd gasps as your lance strikes at the Silent Knight's saddle, sending his huge bulk tottering and his beast rearing. In that moment he looks like he is about to fall, and it looks like triumph is yours.

But then the Dark Sorcerer Gulbrich intervenes. He swears a black oath and gestures with his staff, and the Silent Knight steadies in his saddle and rides to the end of the field. Immediately his six guardians are facing six Witchfinders with bared blades and ready countermagic, and there will be no chance for him to get off a second spell. But the damage is done - Gulbrich has denied your right to spend one more in single combat than your roll allows, and you have matched the Silent Knight three for three. The battle shall continue, if you choose to let it.

At the end of the lists the Silent Knight, perhaps unaware of the magic used on his behalf, turns to face you again. But there is a hush through the crowd. Everyone knows your right has been denied, and everyone is in silence to see how you respond; all of them shall follow your lead. What do you do?


Seeing the necklace thrown in the mud gives Eden pause, her eyes follow it as it flies, lands, and causes a scuffle in the dirt.

"Good luck. My heart is not easily swayed." She said honestly before making her way to follow that black ominous carriage with hurried steps.

She salutes and marches off with a grin on her face.

You arrive at the jousting lists just in time to see Lanya's exchange with the Silent Knight, and the Sorcerer Gulbrich's treachery. What do you do?


Moods shift, moods change, just as easily as the winds. The birds of the air would flit from a feast to a fresh corpse just to see what all the hubbub was about. Reckless little seekers.

I did not get to where I am today by recklessness. Questions bring answers, but questions may be my only chance to sway the vote. I pause, and feel where the winds are blowing.

[Rolling to Take Stock: [roll0] Questions: (Custom question) What is each side truly after? What is my best way forward? Which of my enemies is the biggest threat to me?]

Asking what the sides are truly after is a bit of a misnomer, and so I shall choose not to answer it as you phrased it. The sides in the Parliament are Majority and Opposition, and if one forwarded that the sun was round the other would call them liars. There is only one player here and that is this mysterious King of Rats. What he is truly after is more spies, and for a creature who already holds the loathsome title 'King of Rats', needing more spies than the rats alone provide implies a profoundly paranoid mind.

What is the best way forward? To what? I shall assume that you mean to break up this deal? Ravens are greedy creatures and are easily bribeable, and there is a ready-made Opposition willing to side with you should you present yourself as the second side to this debate. This means they shall seek to engage you in a bidding war against this mysterious King, and such a thing may quickly prove to be expensive to you both.

The biggest threat in this debate are the well-dressed rats atop the gallows, and their leader in a red and white gown. She has not yet spoken but she has sharp eyes and cold-blooded mannerisms and you suspect she is the ambassador to this gathering.

[TheAmishPirate]

Asking what the sides are truly after is a bit of a misnomer, and so I shall choose not to answer it as you phrased it. The sides in the Parliament are Majority and Opposition, and if one forwarded that the sun was round the other would call them liars. There is only one player here and that is this mysterious King of Rats. What he is truly after is more spies, and for a creature who already holds the loathsome title 'King of Rats', needing more spies than the rats alone provide implies a profoundly paranoid mind.

And is that it? More spies? No other end? Because...


What is the best way forward? To what? I shall assume that you mean to break up this deal?

Yes, precisely. Intuition tells me I should break up this deal, but I know not what the King of Rats is after. I do not know whether I should support the current Majority or Opposition.

[EDIT: Deleted part of the post by mistake. :smallsigh:]


Ravens are greedy creatures and are easily bribeable, and there is a ready-made Opposition willing to side with you should you present yourself as the second side to this debate. This means they shall seek to engage you in a bidding war against this mysterious King, and such a thing may quickly prove to be expensive to you both.

Just to be clear, driving up the price would dissuade the Rat King's ambassador from pursuing this deal? Though that would be unfortunate to me?

[Thanqol]

And is that it? More spies? No other end? Because...

If you wish to gain further insight into this mysterious figure's motivations, or learn if he is friend or foe, you must meet him.


Yes, precisely. Intuition tells me I should break up this deal, but I know not what the King of Rats is after. I do not know whether I should support the current Majority or Opposition.

And just to be clear, driving up the price would dissuade the King's ambassador from pursuing this deal?

You are asking yourself if a man you have never met would be dissuaded by having to pay more money for what he wants. Who could say? Maybe he is a miser. This course of actions would delay things but taking stock of the situation tells you how you can do things, not what you should do.

[Raz_Fox]

I am accustomed to running. In my youth, I excelled in it; you may ask Ardashir how he fared trying to keep up with me in the mornings. (For that matter, you may ask him how early it pleased me to get up in the morning; at times, I would catch him coming the other way to bed.) In running, along with riding, swimming, and scouting, which are the other classical movements in which it is considered noble to excel, I was unmatched. And I still do my best to keep some of my strength and skill in my sinews. But I am not the man I once was, for good and for ill.

I will spend all my strength today, I am certain. There will be running battle in the streets, and war before the doors of the reserve, and noble deeds done that will remain unsung, for no witness will remain alive to see them. It will not be one of the mighty battles of conquest that my great-grandfather strove in, but it will be enough to serve, and Sigmar watch over us. Would that I had time to make the proper rites and sacrifices in the names of the gods of soldiers. A touch to the scar left white and faded on my shoulder, which I bore while being initiated into the secret knowledge of Set - this will have to do.

So I will win my way out through words.

"Clever," I say to MacDonald. "Your master has, in one stroke, outdone me. But even if I am to be disarmed, I would not wait in here; it is dark, and ill for the blood. Come. Walk with me- twenty paces, little more. Allow me the dignity to watch the pikes descend on Altdorf."

[Rolling to Win Him Over - [roll0]. If I get a question, how may I win his trust is first among them.]

[Anarion]

I grin at the Celt and draw the knife across my own hand. The blood flows warm down my palm and I grasp his bleeding hand with my own. Our blood mixes and its warmth trickles onto the keep's cold stones. "Blood and blood, offered to the earth...or close as can be done here" I say to the Celt. And then I stare at the hot blood mixing on the floor and I begin to sway and hum, speaking no words but intoning in sounds older than the gift of speech. I know not how Gaia will manifest herself, but I await her sign and her guidance on what I should do this day.

[consulting the other world with prayer and blood. [roll0]

[PhoeKun]

At the end of the lists the Silent Knight, perhaps unaware of the magic used on his behalf, turns to face you again. But there is a hush through the crowd. Everyone knows your right has been denied, and everyone is in silence to see how you respond; all of them shall follow your lead. What do you do?

"Sorcerer!" My voice is high and full of fury. I raise my lance skyward and turn my head to stare him in the eye so he can see my wrath. I hope it breaks him on the spot. I hope his staff shatters in his hands, I hope I am the last thing he sees in this life, and the only thing he sees in the next, "If you invoke the sacred rite of the joust, do not dare interfere! If you are so desperate for a body to occupy your wrack, throw yourself in there! Now stand there like your champion, and watch. If I should ever hear another invocation leave your mouth, I swear on my name I will tear out your serpent tongue and watch it strangle you."

I lower my weapon and rear my horse around to face the Silent Knight again. For him I need no words. He has met me as a Knight, and I will do no less. I do not in this moment care if my joust will save Altdorf from strife or not. All I want is to shatter the arrogance of Orvisk, and to show this terrifying warrior that there is at least one equal among him in the world. I lift my shield as best my shattered arm will allow, and ride. I know my mark. Fortuna is with me, I will not miss.

[Continuing the combat, 2d6 + 2 = 10 again. I spend my points as before, and declare I will not rest until I am vindicated. Woe betide the fool who denies me twice over]

[Thanqol]

So I will win my way out through words.

"Clever," I say to MacDonald. "Your master has, in one stroke, outdone me. But even if I am to be disarmed, I would not wait in here; it is dark, and ill for the blood. Come. Walk with me- twenty paces, little more. Allow me the dignity to watch the pikes descend on Altdorf."

[Rolling to Win Him Over - [roll0]. If I get a question, how may I win his trust is first among them.]

MacDonald is a simple man. "Promise you won't try anything," he says, and if you do he shall believe you without hesitation.


I grin at the Celt and draw the knife across my own hand. The blood flows warm down my palm and I grasp his bleeding hand with my own. Our blood mixes and its warmth trickles onto the keep's cold stones. "Blood and blood, offered to the earth...or close as can be done here" I say to the Celt. And then I stare at the hot blood mixing on the floor and I begin to sway and hum, speaking no words but intoning in sounds older than the gift of speech. I know not how Gaia will manifest herself, but I await her sign and her guidance on what I should do this day.

[consulting the other world with prayer and blood. [roll0]

Altdorf is like a graveyard.

It is guarded by iron fences and gentle vines, by sleepy caretakers, by stone, and by dirt. Deeper it is guarded by mystic traps and cunning masonry, guardians left to slay tomb robbers. The deeper you go the deeper the defenses shall become, and what seemed like a grim and grassy field will change to a fortress that can swallow armies.

But if you go too deep, if you go all the way to the dark core of the graveyard, you shall find the dead.


"Sorcerer!" My voice is high and full of fury. I raise my lance skyward and turn my head to stare him in the eye so he can see my wrath. I hope it breaks him on the spot. I hope his staff shatters in his hands, I hope I am the last thing he sees in this life, and the only thing he sees in the next, "If you invoke the sacred rite of the joust, do not dare interfere! If you are so desperate for a body to occupy your wrack, throw yourself in there! Now stand there like your champion, and watch. If I should ever hear another invocation leave your mouth, I swear on my name I will tear out your serpent tongue and watch it strangle you."

I lower my weapon and rear my horse around to face the Silent Knight again. For him I need no words. He has met me as a Knight, and I will do no less. I do not in this moment care if my joust will save Altdorf from strife or not. All I want is to shatter the arrogance of Orvisk, and to show this terrifying warrior that there is at least one equal among him in the world. I lift my shield as best my shattered arm will allow, and ride. I know my mark. Fortuna is with me, I will not miss.

[Continuing the combat, 2d6 + 2 = 10 again. I spend my points as before, and declare I will not rest until I am vindicated. Woe betide the fool who denies me twice over]

The Silent Knight has your measure. He knows you are the better horseman. His advantage remains in his strength, his invincibility, and your total lack of concern for your own safety. All he has to do is aim an inch to the right and he will take you through the heart and take your life at the same moment as you defeat him.

He does not.

He comes at you with the same conviction and drive to win as he did the first time; and the first bout is repeated. His lance takes you on the shield and, again, smashes your arm - another one harm. Your lance strikes true and casts him down from the saddle, and though the Dark Sorcerer shrieks and wails and strikes his silent servants about the head with his jeweled scepter he is powerless to stop it this time. With a crash like an earthquake hitting a blacksmiths shop the Silent Knight tumbles to the ground in a heap of armour.

Gulbrich's eyes are bulging with fury, and his face is an incandescent purple. He shrieks curses at all those around him, pulls his skullcap from his head and stomps on it, lays about his own evil machine in his fury and batters apart the wood. He swears damnation and suffering on Altdorf, on you, and on anyone else he can think to name. And though the crowds give both him and the slowly recovering Silent Knight a wide berth the celebrations of this day are rapidly resuming - with you as the new hero.

[Anarion]

Altdorf is like a graveyard.

It is guarded by iron fences and gentle vines, by sleepy caretakers, by stone, and by dirt. Deeper it is guarded by mystic traps and cunning masonry, guardians left to slay tomb robbers. The deeper you go the deeper the defenses shall become, and what seemed like a grim and grassy field will change to a fortress that can swallow armies.

But if you go too deep, if you go all the way to the dark core of the graveyard, you shall find the dead.


So, that was Gaia's omen, then? Not an entirely clear one, as far as these things go, though perhaps much to explore should I live through the day. But I do not take well with grave robbers, though neither am I all together too eager to sound the alarm on these men after they were willing to await my guidance. I shake my head. I will be neutral, if such a fate is allowed me. "Gaia is not with your enterprise this day. I will not stop you if you seek to enter nor sound the alarm, nevertheless, but all you will find in this endeavor is death at its core. If you'll follow my advice, the best thing we could do is for you and I to march out of here and get a stiff drink back at your camp. I'd ask for hospitality and a chance to meet the leader of the Gyrfalcons and see if something could be worked out among all this."

Two questions occurred to Daerek as he contemplated Gaia's image. Who were the dead at the heart of the city, and why were they so well-protected?

[Raz_Fox]

"On the name of Wotan's brother, I am undone wholly and unwilling to fight. You have nothing to fear from me." A lie, and one any man of Kislev would be suspicious of. Loki Stichmouth is invoked by faithless men and thieves - and, oddly enough, any dancer worth their name. It galls me to be so underhanded, but Wotan and Loki prize cunning and victory over a foolish honor. Sigmar and Freyja will disapprove; Set will be furious; Mars Noden and Minerva will acknowledge that protecting my obligations is more important than keeping faith with one simple-minded man.

And if he does not accept this, I will simply be forced to strike him firmly about the ear and run.

[TheAmishPirate]

If you wish to gain further insight into this mysterious figure's motivations, or learn if he is friend or foe, you must meet him.



You are asking yourself if a man you have never met would be dissuaded by having to pay more money for what he wants. Who could say? Maybe he is a miser. This course of actions would delay things but taking stock of the situation tells you how you can do things, not what you should do.

Understood.

"The member from the Reserve will speak!" I screech, and will not be talked over. "Who is this King of Rats, that he deals only in spies and sneakery? If he has quarrel with men, let him speak to men. Not drag his grievances to this Parliament!" Feh! Let them try and match my indignation; I have had many more years to master it. "Who is this King of Rats that asks for trust and offers none in return?! Unfair! Unfair!"

[Elanorin]

She salutes and marches off with a grin on her face.

You arrive at the jousting lists just in time to see Lanya's exchange with the Silent Knight, and the Sorcerer Gulbrich's treachery. What do you do?


Edentraud froze to the spot as she saw the treacherous magic violate the joust, but not in fear, no, her immediate emotion was protective fury. This sorcerer had aimed his tricks at the wrong knight and she swore silently to herself, fists clenched as hard as their muscles allowed, that she'd ruin him for what he'd done here today.


"Sorcerer!" My voice is high and full of fury. I raise my lance skyward and turn my head to stare him in the eye so he can see my wrath. I hope it breaks him on the spot. I hope his staff shatters in his hands, I hope I am the last thing he sees in this life, and the only thing he sees in the next, "If you invoke the sacred rite of the joust, do not dare interfere! If you are so desperate for a body to occupy your wrack, throw yourself in there! Now stand there like your champion, and watch. If I should ever hear another invocation leave your mouth, I swear on my name I will tear out your serpent tongue and watch it strangle you."

I lower my weapon and rear my horse around to face the Silent Knight again. For him I need no words. He has met me as a Knight, and I will do no less. I do not in this moment care if my joust will save Altdorf from strife or not. All I want is to shatter the arrogance of Orvisk, and to show this terrifying warrior that there is at least one equal among him in the world. I lift my shield as best my shattered arm will allow, and ride. I know my mark.

A look up, and her eyes fall on the greatest of champions. Hearing those words, spoken with such conviction, such fire and vengeance, by the very voice that struck her heart, made Edentraud's blood rush, and she smiled, a dark wicked smile, as she watched Layna demand the triumph that was so rightfully hers.



The Silent Knight has your measure. He knows you are the better horseman. His advantage remains in his strength, his invincibility, and your total lack of concern for your own safety. All he has to do is aim an inch to the right and he will take you through the heart and take your life at the same moment as you defeat him.

He does not.

He comes at you with the same conviction and drive to win as he did the first time; and the first bout is repeated. His lance takes you on the shield and, again, smashes your arm - another one harm. Your lance strikes true and casts him down from the saddle, and though the Dark Sorcerer shrieks and wails and strikes his silent servants about the head with his jeweled scepter he is powerless to stop it this time. With a crash like an earthquake hitting a blacksmiths shop the Silent Knight tumbles to the ground in a heap of armour.

Gulbrich's eyes are bulging with fury, and his face is an incandescent purple. He shrieks curses at all those around him, pulls his skullcap from his head and stomps on it, lays about his own evil machine in his fury and batters apart the wood. He swears damnation and suffering on Altdorf, on you, and on anyone else he can think to name. And though the crowds give both him and the slowly recovering Silent Knight a wide berth the celebrations of this day are rapidly resuming - with you as the new hero.

In the crowd stood Edentraud, still and radiant, her eyes only on Layna and with a proud and triumphant smile on her lips. She was not cheering in relief and delight like so many others who now crowded around her, for she had seen this very scene before and would again when she closed her eyes.

Then she turned, smile gone, feet seeking the fastest path to Gulbrich.

[Thanqol]

So, that was Gaia's omen, then? Not an entirely clear one, as far as these things go, though perhaps much to explore should I live through the day. But I do not take well with grave robbers, though neither am I all together too eager to sound the alarm on these men after they were willing to await my guidance. I shake my head. I will be neutral, if such a fate is allowed me. "Gaia is not with your enterprise this day. I will not stop you if you seek to enter nor sound the alarm, nevertheless, but all you will find in this endeavor is death at its core. If you'll follow my advice, the best thing we could do is for you and I to march out of here and get a stiff drink back at your camp. I'd ask for hospitality and a chance to meet the leader of the Gyrfalcons and see if something could be worked out among all this."

Two questions occurred to Daerek as he contemplated Gaia's image. Who were the dead at the heart of the city, and why were they so well-protected?

You see the blood of royalty, soaked into the stone, soaked into the earth. You see the individual expressions and personalities simply transient manifestations of the constant presence and constant agenda of the blood. It passes to and from the earth until the two are the one in the same. You see the stars above this deep, pulsating bloodline and you see in them a destiny of decline, darkness and horror. Secrets of river and earth are wrapped up in a prison of knowledge, a shell - a chrysalis - woven of paper and ink around the twisted dead.

It is immortality of a sort.

The celt makes the sign of the tree again. "As you say," he says superstitiously. "Cumin, you're in charge here. I'm taking the priest to herr Hasselhorf," and he offers to lead you out of the castle, leaving his men. "My name's Salt," he offers.


"On the name of Wotan's brother, I am undone wholly and unwilling to fight. You have nothing to fear from me." A lie, and one any man of Kislev would be suspicious of. Loki Stichmouth is invoked by faithless men and thieves - and, oddly enough, any dancer worth their name. It galls me to be so underhanded, but Wotan and Loki prize cunning and victory over a foolish honor. Sigmar and Freyja will disapprove; Set will be furious; Mars Noden and Minerva will acknowledge that protecting my obligations is more important than keeping faith with one simple-minded man.

And if he does not accept this, I will simply be forced to strike him firmly about the ear and run.

"Okay," says MacDonald, who stands aside and lets you go. And it is that simple to him. He follows you close behind with a hand on his sword but does not seem particularly alert.

Guarding this camp is the smallest unit the Gyrfalcons possess - six pikes and four musketeers. They are alert and joking with each other, feeling the tension and fear of imminent danger and discharging it through jests and mockery.


Understood.

"The member from the Reserve will speak!" I screech, and will not be talked over. "Who is this King of Rats, that he deals only in spies and sneakery? If he has quarrel with men, let him speak to men. Not drag his grievances to this Parliament!" Feh! Let them try and match my indignation; I have had many more years to master it. "Who is this King of Rats that asks for trust and offers none in return?! Unfair! Unfair!"

Immediately there is a chorus of croaking voices backing you up, croaking the word unfair in unison.

"This King offers us safety for our eggs!" shrieked the Speaker in reply, hopping up and down on top of the gallows. "Men offer us nothing! What is more fair than that?"


In the crowd stood Edentraud, still and radiant, her eyes only on Layna and with a proud and triumphant smile on her lips. She was not cheering in relief and delight like so many others who now crowded around her, for she had seen this very scene before and would again when she closed her eyes.

Then she turned, smile gone, feet seeking the fastest path to Gulbrich.

A path to the sorcerer is easy; the crowd is keeping well away from him and his mad rant. The Silent Knight is slowly walking towards him, leading his war-pig by the bridle, but for now the sorcerer is venting his choler at his poor servants. The warriors of Orvisk nonetheless stand vigilant and will move to block your passage even as the little man strikes at them with his scepter.

[TheAmishPirate]

Immediately there is a chorus of croaking voices backing you up, croaking the word unfair in unison.

"This King offers us safety for our eggs!" shrieked the Speaker in reply, hopping up and down on top of the gallows. "Men offer us nothing! What is more fair than that?"

"The King? Offer? Ha!" I cackle as my delegation chants ever louder. "You pay him for the privilege of being his spies! You give him your nests, your eggs, your young. He promises safety now, but what of tomorrow?" I strut among the crows, bobbing my head as I stare down the opposition. "The King does not trust men. How long will he trust Parliaments? He will grow afraid. He will demand more. More spies, more information, more, more, more for the greedy King! All who oppose him will be paid in smashed eggs and torn nests! And he calls it safety!"

I shake my head angrily. "I call it...unfair!"

[Raz_Fox]

I walk, heart fierce in my chest, with the air of an old, doddering has-been. Shoulders bowed, head low, breath hoarse (and this last not an affectation). "I wish," I say to MacDonald as our path draws us close to the livestock pen, "that your master had been willing to act with more honor. His greed, his gnawing envy... these things have consumed him. And he would have me stand aside and allow him to plunder this city."

My hand rests against the fence; I lean against it, feign to catch my breath. "Thank you, good scribe. I'm afraid I have little payment for you - but you have the city at hand, do you not? The deep cellars of the Countess will be your reward for a job well done in watching over the last true soldier in Altdorf."

Now is the time to shake my age off me, like a boar of the forest in the depths of winter, tossing snow from its rough hide. My hand rests against my pistol's stock in my coat. "I am sorry," I say. Then it is too late to turn back. The sound of a shot will startle the livestock, get them moving; will draw the attention and fire of the musketeers; will bury my falseness with this crude fool, and repay him cruelly for his disrespect of my wife.

Let us put my iron to the task.

[Rolling to Leap Into Action - [roll0]. I wish to Inflict Harm on MacDonald with my pistol, startle the livestock into stampeding, and easily cover the distance between myself and freedom.]

[Anarion]

A troubling vision. I should consult Ardashir on the topic, though I fear he will take badly to the thought that knowledge could ever be a prison. For now though, there are more pressing matters. These men would not be so brazen unless their company were behind them and I do not look forward to seeing my temporary home aflame for the greed of men yet again.

"Brother Salt. I am Daerek, known as the soft spoken along my people. I thank you for your kindness and look forward to meeting your lord." I doubt, of course, that the mercenary commander will be half so superstitious, but it bodes well that his men pay their proper respects. I accompany him where he leads.

[PhoeKun]

Gulbrich's eyes are bulging with fury, and his face is an incandescent purple. He shrieks curses at all those around him, pulls his skullcap from his head and stomps on it, lays about his own evil machine in his fury and batters apart the wood. He swears damnation and suffering on Altdorf, on you, and on anyone else he can think to name. And though the crowds give both him and the slowly recovering Silent Knight a wide berth the celebrations of this day are rapidly resuming - with you as the new hero.

Layna finds her shield arm can barely move. She has to hand off the lance and use her good arm to pry it out of a grip that's more stuck in place than the result of any sort of conscious effort on her part. Freed from the burden, the shattered arm drops to her side and hangs uselessly, a reminder of the deadly power she just confronted. A reminder that she's only alive because the Silent Knight chose to face her at his own disadvantage out of respect for the rules of the joust. A reminder...

She takes the shield and tosses it toward the Silent Knight's feet. As a token. As acknowledgment. That yes, she knows he could have killed her, and that she thinks highly of him for it, if not the company he keeps. The she acknowledges him as an equal and not a lesser being. And maybe, a hope that they will meet again under more befitting circumstances. It's difficult to communicate too many complex thoughts without words, but at the same time it feels wrong to speak to this giant in a language nobody has ever heard him use. She offers him a nod of thanks.

That's when her eyes catch Edentraud, walking toward the Dark Sorcerer Gulbrich. Her breath catches in her throat. And even as she's swept up in the crowd's adulation and praise, there's no longer anything else in the world for her to see.

[Thanqol]

"The King? Offer? Ha!" I cackle as my delegation chants ever louder. "You pay him for the privilege of being his spies! You give him your nests, your eggs, your young. He promises safety now, but what of tomorrow?" I strut among the crows, bobbing my head as I stare down the opposition. "The King does not trust men. How long will he trust Parliaments? He will grow afraid. He will demand more. More spies, more information, more, more, more for the greedy King! All who oppose him will be paid in smashed eggs and torn nests! And he calls it safety!"

I shake my head angrily. "I call it...unfair!"

At this point the rat diplomat, in the cute little rat gown, steps forwards and speaks with a voice as smooth as fromage frais. "Fair or unfair is contrary to the point," said she. "Yes, it is unfair that we rats must steal eggs to live. Yes, it is unfair that ravens must suffer for our hunger. When the first human saw the other human had a club and blurted, 'that's unfair' the yolks of millions of eggs were already on my ancestors tongues.

"But as the tribes of man submitted to kings and countesses, and made for themselves peace and abundance, now they seek to deny the same peace to us poor vermin," the little rat shook her little rat head in sadness.


Now is the time to shake my age off me, like a boar of the forest in the depths of winter, tossing snow from its rough hide. My hand rests against my pistol's stock in my coat. "I am sorry," I say. Then it is too late to turn back. The sound of a shot will startle the livestock, get them moving; will draw the attention and fire of the musketeers; will bury my falseness with this crude fool, and repay him cruelly for his disrespect of my wife.

Let us put my iron to the task.

[Rolling to Leap Into Action - [roll0]. I wish to Inflict Harm on MacDonald with my pistol, startle the livestock into stampeding, and easily cover the distance between myself and freedom.]

The pistol barks and MacDonald falls, and he thrashes and spasms on the ground as his unprepared spirit leaves his body. Immediately thereafter there is a roar of muskets but the bullets strike a pig and a horse, and before the pikemen can come around you are gone down the street.

The Gyrfalcons do not pursue. You instead hear the bang of fireworks above you. The crowd oohs in admiration but you know that was a signal and you do not have any time at all. What do you do?


A troubling vision. I should consult Ardashir on the topic, though I fear he will take badly to the thought that knowledge could ever be a prison. For now though, there are more pressing matters. These men would not be so brazen unless their company were behind them and I do not look forward to seeing my temporary home aflame for the greed of men yet again.

"Brother Salt. I am Daerek, known as the soft spoken along my people. I thank you for your kindness and look forward to meeting your lord." I doubt, of course, that the mercenary commander will be half so superstitious, but it bodes well that his men pay their proper respects. I accompany him where he leads.

He takes you down to the river-bank where wooden boats are being loaded with stolen treasures and rowed out to a great galleon that sits low in the water, crowned with the colours of the Gyrfalcons. A golden figurehead displays an extremely flattering and not at all accurate depiction of the Willow Hag, an appeal to her vanity in dangerous waters. As you see the gun ports of the galleon are being opened and cannons aimed at the city but this does not concern your guide as he offers to row you towards the ship. What do you do?

[Elanorin]

A path to the sorcerer is easy; the crowd is keeping well away from him and his mad rant. The Silent Knight is slowly walking towards him, leading his war-pig by the bridle, but for now the sorcerer is venting his choler at his poor servants. The warriors of Orvisk nonetheless stand vigilant and will move to block your passage even as the little man strikes at them with his scepter.

Edentraud is unaware of Layna's eyes being on her as she reached the sorcerer. She stopped just as she reached the Orvisk warriors, giving them each an appraising glance before turning her attention to the raging Gulbrich.

"Sir? Sir? Sir!" she tried to catch his attention from his ranting fury, dark eyes set and focused on only him and her lips in a slight smile, and once she had; "...may I approach?" she made a slight motion with her hand towards his vigilant guard.

[Raz_Fox]

My first step is to find Ulfgan Artur, my right-hand man, who will have the most men I can trust in this city with him. I dare say I will find him near the great jousting grounds. Once I have alerted him to this danger, he will act to rally my men, and I will be free to rouse the porters and constables of the University to the defense of the Reserve. I pray to Ulric that I will not be too late; that Ulfgan will be where I hope; and that no other ill has fallen upon the city this day.

What do I find waiting for me there?

[Anarion]

He takes you down to the river-bank where wooden boats are being loaded with stolen treasures and rowed out to a great galleon that sits low in the water, crowned with the colours of the Gyrfalcons. A golden figurehead displays an extremely flattering and not at all accurate depiction of the Willow Hag, an appeal to her vanity in dangerous waters. As you see the gun ports of the galleon are being opened and cannons aimed at the city but this does not concern your guide as he offers to row you towards the ship. What do you do?

A dangerous place. If the Gyrfalcons as a whole are engaged against the city, there's a good chance entering that boat means I shall not be allowed to leave it. Still, I know my due: hospitality and a boon even from my enemies, and Salt has shown himself to be a pious and trustworthy man. I shall follow him now, even to what may be a den of fools and betrayers.

[Thanqol]

Edentraud is unaware of Layna's eyes being on her as she reached the sorcerer. She stopped just as she reached the Orvisk warriors, giving them each an appraising glance before turning her attention to the raging Gulbrich.

"Sir? Sir? Sir!" she tried to catch his attention from his ranting fury, dark eyes set and focused on only him and her lips in a slight smile, and once she had; "...may I approach?" she made a slight motion with her hand towards his vigilant guard.

"No!" the sorcerer recoiled as though stung, snapped from his ranting, looking at you with fearful eyes. "Go away!"

As Layna approaches to stand beside you, the Silent Knight approaches to stand opposite from her. There is no tension in him; he radiates peaceful acceptance at you.


My first step is to find Ulfgan Artur, my right-hand man, who will have the most men I can trust in this city with him. I dare say I will find him near the great jousting grounds. Once I have alerted him to this danger, he will act to rally my men, and I will be free to rouse the porters and constables of the University to the defense of the Reserve. I pray to Ulric that I will not be too late; that Ulfgan will be where I hope; and that no other ill has fallen upon the city this day.

What do I find waiting for me there?

Well, that depends on how you roll, doesn't it? Because it sounds like you're trying to muster your warriors.


A dangerous place. If the Gyrfalcons as a whole are engaged against the city, there's a good chance entering that boat means I shall not be allowed to leave it. Still, I know my due: hospitality and a boon even from my enemies, and Salt has shown himself to be a pious and trustworthy man. I shall follow him now, even to what may be a den of fools and betrayers.

You are ferried across the water and shown up to the Fuhrer Hasselhorf, who is calmly walking up and down the line of cannons with a faint smile upon his face. Salt introduces you and he smiles and gestures for some food to be brought up, as is the custom. "How does one address a dwarf?" he mused, "should I get down on one knee so we can see eye to eye? Stand further back so that I'm not looking as directly down at you? Oh, sorry; I am Hasselhorf of the Gyrfalcons, what can I do for you?"

[Raz_Fox]

Very well. Let us hope Fortuna and Dazhbog smile upon my valor.

[roll0]

[Anarion]

You are ferried across the water and shown up to the Fuhrer Hasselhorf, who is calmly walking up and down the line of cannons with a faint smile upon his face. Salt introduces you and he smiles and gestures for some food to be brought up, as is the custom. "How does one address a dwarf?" he mused, "should I get down on one knee so we can see eye to eye? Stand further back so that I'm not looking as directly down at you? Oh, sorry; I am Hasselhorf of the Gyrfalcons, what can I do for you?"

"You look him in the eyes and speak as a man. No god-fearing soul need bend knee to me, and I ask only for the respect due a traveling priest of Gaia under the old ways."

I look over Hasselhorf appraisingly as we wait for the food. This is a very confident man. Smug, I would say. He smiles too easily. "Perhaps some history, if you've the time to hear it. I am Daerek, called soft-spoken. I was to sit in council at the head of the spring feast today, but the rulers of Altdorf, wool-headed whoresons that they are, rejected my goddess, Gaia and gave away my seat to the priest of the new god, the Architect, whose emissaries have been traveling the land. When I left, I found three of your men present and offering to aid me in returning and sacking the council chamber of those who disrespected me. I consulted with my goddess but her message, though vague, did not bless the endeavor and so I counseled them to leave. Your man, Salt, is a pious and good man and accompanied me here to meet you as I asked."

I pause and look at Hasselhorf closely as I continue. "What you can do for me now is to answer a question. Why would a man of your power and rank choose to betray the city that hired him, cast himself as a filthy traitorous cur who betrays the kindness of his hosts, and turn his men armed for war upon the place that had offered him shelter and employment?"

[Elanorin]

"No!" the sorcerer recoiled as though stung, snapped from his ranting, looking at you with fearful eyes. "Go away!"

As Layna approaches to stand beside you, the Silent Knight approaches to stand opposite from her. There is no tension in him; he radiates peaceful acceptance at you.


The fear in his eyes was clear enough but she could not see from where it stemmed. Had they met before and she'd forgotten, or did he know of her by reputation? His obvious mistrust certainly posed a challenge but not enough to dissuade her from taking a single step closer as she gently reached out an open palm, as if reassuring a spooked animal, her smile widening a little and her eyes gazing at him with more warmth.

"Come, it's been long since I witnessed such talent in magic, would you not speak with me? Let me shake your hand? At the very least let me know your name, sir?" Edentraud's voice was like velvet, gently beckoning him forwards to meet her.

Then she felt the faint shift in the air, the subtlest scent of horse and the warmth of another stood closer than most would. Layna D'Alleinecourt was at her side and Eden's breath caught in her throat. Having her this near was both a source of strength and a distraction. She wanted nothing more than to direct all her warmth to her who truly deserved it, rather than wash it over this wretch of a sorcerer, but the water in her blood demanded retribution for his crime against her love.

[Rolling to Win Gulbrich Over: 2d6+1=11 What is the crux of his resistance/reluctance? What leverage could I exercise over him? 1 mark remaining]

[Thanqol]

Very well. Let us hope Fortuna and Dazhbog smile upon my valor.

[roll0]

They arrive quickly, armed and ready for war, but so few of them. So many are caught up in festivals and celebrations, and so many are drunk, that you only have only a handful of soldiers on hand. More will rally in their own individual ways when they are personally beset but you only have enough men to strike at or defend one target. What do you do?


"You look him in the eyes and speak as a man. No god-fearing soul need bend knee to me, and I ask only for the respect due a traveling priest of Gaia under the old ways."

I look over Hasselhorf appraisingly as we wait for the food. This is a very confident man. Smug, I would say. He smiles too easily. "Perhaps some history, if you've the time to hear it. I am Daerek, called soft-spoken. I was to sit in council at the head of the spring feast today, but the rulers of Altdorf, wool-headed whoresons that they are, rejected my goddess, Gaia and gave away my seat to the priest of the new god, the Architect, whose emissaries have been traveling the land. When I left, I found three of your men present and offering to aid me in returning and sacking the council chamber of those who disrespected me. I consulted with my goddess but her message, though vague, did not bless the endeavor and so I counseled them to leave. Your man, Salt, is a pious and good man and accompanied me here to meet you as I asked."

I pause and look at Hasselhorf closely as I continue. "What you can do for me now is to answer a question. Why would a man of your power and rank choose to betray the city that hired him, cast himself as a filthy traitorous cur who betrays the kindness of his hosts, and turn his men armed for war upon the place that had offered him shelter and employment?"

"You sound just like Ollerus!" laughed Hasselhorf. His laughter suddenly turned cold. "I advise you stop sounding like Ollerus," he said in a deeply menacing tone.

Then he was all smiles again. "The way I remember it, I recognized the righteous request of King Khar of the great and honourable Underkingdom of Karak Azgul, accepted his contract, and withdrew my forces from a city of wicked necromancers despite their attempt to butcher us all in our retreat. My men remember that I kept them fed and paid and living like princes. And all my poets and painters seem to remember things the same way."


The fear in his eyes was clear enough but she could not see from where it stemmed. Had they met before and she'd forgotten, or did he know of her by reputation? His obvious mistrust certainly posed a challenge but not enough to dissuade her from taking a single step closer as she gently reached out an open palm, as if reassuring a spooked animal, her smile widening a little and her eyes gazing at him with more warmth.

"Come, it's been long since I witnessed such talent in magic, would you not speak with me? Let me shake your hand? At the very least let me know your name, sir?" Edentraud's voice was like velvet, gently beckoning him forwards to meet her.

Then she felt the faint shift in the air, the subtlest scent of horse and the warmth of another stood closer than most would. Layna D'Alleinecourt was at her side and Eden's breath caught in her throat. Having her this near was both a source of strength and a distraction. She wanted nothing more than to direct all her warmth to her who truly deserved it, rather than wash it over this wretch of a sorcerer, but the water in her blood demanded retribution for his crime against her love.

[Rolling to Win Gulbrich Over: 2d6+1=11 What is the crux of his resistance/reluctance? What leverage could I exercise over him? 1 mark remaining]

The crux of his resistance is that he recognizes you as a daughter of the Hag, and he deeply fears the Hag. That same fear is the leverage you can exercise, but be careful, for if you speak her name she may appear.

It is a craven, pathetic fear but it shows that at least the man is wise.

"I -" Gulbirch flounders for a moment, and you realize he is trying to speak to you in that same precise, inoffensive and misdirecting language that people use when speaking to your mother, in the hopes that she does not become angered "- you have me at a disadvantage," he said, "but you have no doubt kno - encountered many sorcerers far greater than I."

[Anarion]

"You sound just like Ollerus!" laughed Hasselhorf. His laughter suddenly turned cold. "I advise you stop sounding like Ollerus," he said in a deeply menacing tone.

Then he was all smiles again. "The way I remember it, I recognized the righteous request of King Khar of the great and honourable Underkingdom of Karak Azgul, accepted his contract, and withdrew my forces from a city of wicked necromancers despite their attempt to butcher us all in our retreat. My men remember that I kept them fed and paid and living like princes. And all my poets and painters seem to remember things the same way."


"Aye, and a fine thing to protect those that owe you fealty. I'd call it a disappointment though, I'd hoped to find those who were still pious and righteous men among the wicked and aid them in spreading truth, not set the place to the torch on account of a wicked necromancer or two. Really, if you're not much for wicked necromancers, I doubt you could find a city to settle in." I laugh, a joke, of course, to lighten the mood with a very dangerous man. But I am looking at him as I laugh. Looking into him, such as I am able. [rolling to see him truly. Typoed my syntax, will roll elsewhere. random.org gives a 4+6+2=12. I would ask of Hasselhorf "How have you failed to deserve what fortune has given you?"]

Then I change the subject. "I'm sure that Khar made a very generous offer as well, for gold can flow freely from the mountains when there is a need." A thought occurs to me in that moment. "Khar is not a lord to send his servants on an errand while he grows fat and bloated on his throne. You took a contract from him, you say. Then he is here, surely. Approaching the city from the north, at the very forefront of his army. Yes. Will you grant me safe passage to see him? I would ask of you this boon, which is easily within the power of such a great lord."

[Elanorin]

The crux of his resistance is that he recognizes you as a daughter of the Hag, and he deeply fears the Hag. That same fear is the leverage you can exercise, but be careful, for if you speak her name she may appear.

It is a craven, pathetic fear but it shows that at least the man is wise.

"I -" Gulbirch flounders for a moment, and you realize he is trying to speak to you in that same precise, inoffensive and misdirecting language that people use when speaking to your mother, in the hopes that she does not become angered "- you have me at a disadvantage," he said, "but you have no doubt kno - encountered many sorcerers far greater than I."

Edentraud's smile widened to show her teeth and spread to her eyes, they sparkled in recognition at the source of his fear. Her mother certainly had that effect on people and yes, she could use that, certainly.

"Perhaps some of us have, but I feel certain that I have not. This is quite the occasion, in fact, I look forward to share this encounter with my family. I was quite taken by the power you wove and the strength you forged. In fact, I feel it would be the most fitting of gifts for Spring Celebration. Yes, yes indeed." The smile on her lips and the sparkle in her eyes were beginning to take on a sinister look as her thirst for vengeance bled through in to her voice. "Thank you, sir, for revealing to me the perfect gift to offer my mother on this day of celebration."

"You will pour every last shred of any magic you ever hold in to the Riek and grant the Water its due, Sorcerer!" she commanded, with eyes suddenly dark as night and a haunting voice that seemed to call from the deep. "Or we will claim your mind in its stead," she added with a vicious whisper.

[Spending final mark to demand a boon]

[Raz_Fox]

Pragmatic counsel would insist I defend the treasury of the city. The deep vaults of the city hold prodigious wealth, the accumulated fortunes of the Knights of Altdorf and its merchants: gold from Arabay and Cathay, jewels and pearls heaped up in a pale reflection of the hoard of Balthazar, and whatever relics of the golden days of the Empire are not carried directly by the men of the city and their households. Doubtless, even now the men of the Gyrfalcon are slaying the guards and smashing the locks, seeking their plunder. Without the treasury, the city is crippled.

But to defend it would be to leave the Reserve open to fire and looting. The ancient knowledge of the first men, the secrets of the Dwarves that were once shared openly in full spirit of friendship between our two races, the histories of the Empire and the treatises on undoing sorceries and any hope of the University raising a generation that is greater and more noble than the dark days they were born into. The Humboldt Reserve is my hope, the gift of men long dead to all who come after them.

And if I were to abandon this hope, I should never be able to look my blood-brother in the eye again. There is a white scar across my palm, underneath my glove, that is a continual reminder of my obligation. (And so, too, the thought of Vasilka and Alexis by the University bonfire, undefended, unprepared.)

I accept a sword from one of my regimental captains, a heavy Kislevite broadsword, the sort that these small men of Altdorf would be forced to wield in both hands. "We make for the University," I say to my men, gathered close about me in the crowd. "Strike down any Gyrfalcon you see. Alert the city watch. If we are able to mount a defense of the Reserve, we will cut across the city towards the Countess's palace and the Reik. Legionnaires, with me!"

[TheAmishPirate]

At this point the rat diplomat, in the cute little rat gown, steps forwards and speaks with a voice as smooth as fromage frais. "Fair or unfair is contrary to the point," said she. "Yes, it is unfair that we rats must steal eggs to live. Yes, it is unfair that ravens must suffer for our hunger. When the first human saw the other human had a club and blurted, 'that's unfair' the yolks of millions of eggs were already on my ancestors tongues.

"But as the tribes of man submitted to kings and countesses, and made for themselves peace and abundance, now they seek to deny the same peace to us poor vermin," the little rat shook her little rat head in sadness.

"Oh spare us your lies and sneakery." I scoff. "You come to this Parliament demanding spies, threatening hatchlings as leverage, and you claim you are for peace? And let's not forget just whom you wish to spy upon."

I spread my arms wide, motioning to the city around us. "Men. The ones who make the homes you hide in from the Winter's chill. Who build high walls and keep the predators out. Who give you high places to build your nests. Who give you the carcasses you feast upon. Who bake the bread you eat. Who dreamed of crowns long before your King took one for himself. Who built the platform your very feet stand upon now. And yet you would besmirch your host's honor by spying upon him? Have you no shame? Or are you saying you'd rather live in the Riek and her forests?"

"Although if I may be so bold to say; your dress looks lovely." I add, voice dripping with biting sincerity. "It must have taken your best seamstresses hours to steal it."

But I have danced long enough. I know now what ill tidings this omen brings, and I have no more patience for this debate.

"In review; the King of Rats asks this Parliament to defile the hospitality of men, serve him as spies, and allow his agents free reign over your nests in the name of security. And what does he offer in return? Nothing!" I address to the crow atop the gallows. "Honorable Speaker! Is it not time for the vote? Have we not heard enough to declare this alliance..."

All together now:

"Unfair?!"

[Thanqol]

"Aye, and a fine thing to protect those that owe you fealty. I'd call it a disappointment though, I'd hoped to find those who were still pious and righteous men among the wicked and aid them in spreading truth, not set the place to the torch on account of a wicked necromancer or two. Really, if you're not much for wicked necromancers, I doubt you could find a city to settle in." I laugh, a joke, of course, to lighten the mood with a very dangerous man. But I am looking at him as I laugh. Looking into him, such as I am able. [rolling to see him truly. Typoed my syntax, will roll elsewhere. random.org gives a 4+6+2=12. I would ask of Hasselhorf "How have you failed to deserve what fortune has given you?"]

Hasselhorf is not the best of his men in any respect. He is not wise, or brave, or skilled with arms, or virtuous, or skilled at strategy, or high born, or possessed of any quality traditionally associated with leadership or nobility. He is what happens when a merchant acts as a knight. By any metric this man is unworthy to lead.

The only trait he possesses above those around him is ambition. And that is a truly dangerous flame.


Then I change the subject. "I'm sure that Khar made a very generous offer as well, for gold can flow freely from the mountains when there is a need." A thought occurs to me in that moment. "Khar is not a lord to send his servants on an errand while he grows fat and bloated on his throne. You took a contract from him, you say. Then he is here, surely. Approaching the city from the north, at the very forefront of his army. Yes. Will you grant me safe passage to see him? I would ask of you this boon, which is easily within the power of such a great lord."

"We shall," said Hasselhorf, nodding. He then smiled a bright smile. "But you'll recall, of course, that the old laws of hospitality cut both ways? That while you have welcome and solace while you are here, if my home should come under attack you are honour bound to defend it?" And he is correct; that is the second half of the law of hospitality.


Edentraud's smile widened to show her teeth and spread to her eyes, they sparkled in recognition at the source of his fear. Her mother certainly had that effect on people and yes, she could use that, certainly.

"Perhaps some of us have, but I feel certain that I have not. This is quite the occasion, in fact, I look forward to share this encounter with my family. I was quite taken by the power you wove and the strength you forged. In fact, I feel it would be the most fitting of gifts for Spring Celebration. Yes, yes indeed." The smile on her lips and the sparkle in her eyes were beginning to take on a sinister look as her thirst for vengeance bled through in to her voice. "Thank you, sir, for revealing to me the perfect gift to offer my mother on this day of celebration."

"You will pour every last shred of any magic you ever hold in to the Riek and grant the Water its due, Sorcerer!" she commanded, with eyes suddenly dark as night and a haunting voice that seemed to call from the deep. "Or we will claim your mind in its stead," she added with a vicious whisper.

[Spending final mark to demand a boon]

Gulbrich goes pale as he contemplates the depth of the threat; as he remembers better men than he driven to madness; as your words hook themselves into his mind and drive him forwards. "I will comply," he muttered, suddenly downcast. He turned and began to shuffle away, snapping his fingers and drawing his deadly soldiers behind him.

You are left alone with Layna, the crowd unwilling to press in on sorcerers, knights and mystics; what do you say to each other?


Pragmatic counsel would insist I defend the treasury of the city. The deep vaults of the city hold prodigious wealth, the accumulated fortunes of the Knights of Altdorf and its merchants: gold from Arabay and Cathay, jewels and pearls heaped up in a pale reflection of the hoard of Balthazar, and whatever relics of the golden days of the Empire are not carried directly by the men of the city and their households. Doubtless, even now the men of the Gyrfalcon are slaying the guards and smashing the locks, seeking their plunder. Without the treasury, the city is crippled.

But to defend it would be to leave the Reserve open to fire and looting. The ancient knowledge of the first men, the secrets of the Dwarves that were once shared openly in full spirit of friendship between our two races, the histories of the Empire and the treatises on undoing sorceries and any hope of the University raising a generation that is greater and more noble than the dark days they were born into. The Humboldt Reserve is my hope, the gift of men long dead to all who come after them.

And if I were to abandon this hope, I should never be able to look my blood-brother in the eye again. There is a white scar across my palm, underneath my glove, that is a continual reminder of my obligation. (And so, too, the thought of Vasilka and Alexis by the University bonfire, undefended, unprepared.)

I accept a sword from one of my regimental captains, a heavy Kislevite broadsword, the sort that these small men of Altdorf would be forced to wield in both hands. "We make for the University," I say to my men, gathered close about me in the crowd. "Strike down any Gyrfalcon you see. Alert the city watch. If we are able to mount a defense of the Reserve, we will cut across the city towards the Countess's palace and the Reik. Legionnaires, with me!"

Then your forces are deployed upon the battlefield and it is time to Lead An Attack. Roll with your company's war.

Unusually for a *World game, I also roll dice here and declare my defensive options after you have made your attack. Due to the Gyrfalcons being spread out they hold no numerical advantage; neither side is on horseback; neither side has a prepared and defensive position. Both sides offer three harm and possess two armour; plan your attack accordingly.


"Oh spare us your lies and sneakery." I scoff. "You come to this Parliament demanding spies, threatening hatchlings as leverage, and you claim you are for peace? And let's not forget just whom you wish to spy upon."

I spread my arms wide, motioning to the city around us. "Men. The ones who make the homes you hide in from the Winter's chill. Who build high walls and keep the predators out. Who give you high places to build your nests. Who give you the carcasses you feast upon. Who bake the bread you eat. Who dreamed of crowns long before your King took one for himself. Who built the platform your very feet stand upon now. And yet you would besmirch your host's honor by spying upon him? Have you no shame? Or are you saying you'd rather live in the Riek and her forests?"

"Although if I may be so bold to say; your dress looks lovely." I add, voice dripping with biting sincerity. "It must have taken your best seamstresses hours to steal it."

But I have danced long enough. I know now what ill tidings this omen brings, and I have no more patience for this debate.

"In review; the King of Rats asks this Parliament to defile the hospitality of men, serve him as spies, and allow his agents free reign over your nests in the name of security. And what does he offer in return? Nothing!" I address to the crow atop the gallows. "Honorable Speaker! Is it not time for the vote? Have we not heard enough to declare this alliance..."

All together now:

"Unfair?!"

Sounds like you're trying to win these guys over.

[TheAmishPirate]

Sounds like you're trying to win these guys over.

I don't believe I am? I am not looking to understand their resistance, or how I might win them over. I am trying - with my words, my argument, and my sheer momentum - to do the actual legwork of winning them over. Rolling a 10+ would not win anybody to my side, if I read it correctly.

[Anarion]

Hasselhorf is not the best of his men in any respect. He is not wise, or brave, or skilled with arms, or virtuous, or skilled at strategy, or high born, or possessed of any quality traditionally associated with leadership or nobility. He is what happens when a merchant acts as a knight. By any metric this man is unworthy to lead.

The only trait he possesses above those around him is ambition. And that is a truly dangerous flame.



"We shall," said Hasselhorf, nodding. He then smiled a bright smile. "But you'll recall, of course, that the old laws of hospitality cut both ways? That while you have welcome and solace while you are here, if my home should come under attack you are honour bound to defend it?" And he is correct; that is the second half of the law of hospitality.


A terrifying man. Perhaps I should be glad Khar hired him, for if not Khar, it would have been Orvisk and far worse would have come. Khar, at least, I can speak to, he is my people and knows our laws. I wonder though, why is Hasselhorf concerned with my defense of his ship. I am unarmed and short, so I will provide little resistance if an Altdorf soldier in full armor boards the ship or if a man with a musket takes aim at Hasselhorf's heart. No, it seems to me more likely that it is Khar he fears and my words that may defend him. So be it, he has granted my boon, and I shall treat him fairly for it.

"Aye. Though I am unarmed, as your guest I will lend you my aid as the great laws of hospitality dictate."

One caveat that he ought to know, though I do not speak it aloud. If he uses my obligation to intentionally place me in harm's way, it shall bring the wrath of all the gods upon his head and curse his house and all his endeavors.

[Raz_Fox]

Sigmar, strengthen my arm, and so too, Perun, make my sinews whole. Dazhbog, shine on our endeavor. Set, forgive me; allow me victory today and I will burn sacrifices in your name. Janus, remember your city warmly: I fight to defend it still. Minerva, keep my wife safe and my mind sharp.

[roll0]

Damnation take us all. Still, I am Ollerus Atroxheim. I will not only strike hard, but through sheer force of arms will drive my enemy back.

[TheAmishPirate]

Sounds like you're trying to win these guys over.

I suppose I am.

[Rolling to Win Someone Over: [roll0] I guess What leverage could I exercise over you?]

[Thanqol]

A terrifying man. Perhaps I should be glad Khar hired him, for if not Khar, it would have been Orvisk and far worse would have come. Khar, at least, I can speak to, he is my people and knows our laws. I wonder though, why is Hasselhorf concerned with my defense of his ship. I am unarmed and short, so I will provide little resistance if an Altdorf soldier in full armor boards the ship or if a man with a musket takes aim at Hasselhorf's heart. No, it seems to me more likely that it is Khar he fears and my words that may defend him. So be it, he has granted my boon, and I shall treat him fairly for it.

"Aye. Though I am unarmed, as your guest I will lend you my aid as the great laws of hospitality dictate."

One caveat that he ought to know, though I do not speak it aloud. If he uses my obligation to intentionally place me in harm's way, it shall bring the wrath of all the gods upon his head and curse his house and all his endeavors.

"Good!" said Hasselhorf. He began walking along the rows of cannon that his men were rapidly making ready. "These pieces," he said fondly. "So expensive! Have you ever worked with cannon, dwarf?"

He gave a gesture and there was a massive roar of explosions as a full broadside fired out towards the town. He burst into laughter at the thrill of the flames and aftershock and held an eyeglass to his face to survey the damage.


Sigmar, strengthen my arm, and so too, Perun, make my sinews whole. Dazhbog, shine on our endeavor. Set, forgive me; allow me victory today and I will burn sacrifices in your name. Janus, remember your city warmly: I fight to defend it still. Minerva, keep my wife safe and my mind sharp.

[5]

Damnation take us all. Still, I am Ollerus Atroxheim. I will not only strike hard, but through sheer force of arms will drive my enemy back.

The Gyrfalcons see your approach and form a pike square - a phalanx of sixteen foot lengths of ash protecting lines of musketeers who send devastating volleys towards anyone trying to push their way past the pikes.

Their formation is a marvel of mathematical warfare. Though any given Gyrfalcon is physically pathetic in comparison to your cold, hard northern warriors, and though they dress like clowns, and though they are morally no more than thieves, here on the battlefield with their pikes extended and their muskets roaring they are invincible. Unity and drill are their true weapons, and they raise the banner of a furious bloody hedgehog above their heads to show their contempt. Fighting them is not like a fight between warriors in the field; it is like trying to sack a castle made of men.

The marvelous defense counts a shieldwall, so they protect themselves for +2 armour. This means that they take no harm from your advance, while your company is bloodied.

But your offensive prevents them from holding the position they prefer outside the university; first they must recall those who they sent inside to steal books and then the pike square advances at a languid pace down the streets of Altdorf, leaving the university in your hands. A firework explodes above their heads and, moments later, from the docks, mighty cannons roar from the Gyrfalcon War-Galleon, the Come Bearing Gifts. Artillery strikes wildly throughout the houses and stone around you, panicking your men and throwing them into disorder. You must regroup your men before you can press the attack or take other co-ordinated action.


I suppose I am.

[Rolling to Win Someone Over: [4] I guess What leverage could I exercise over you?]

One particularly daring raven flaps down onto your shoulders. He is an old and battered bird, with a terrible scar along his face and moulting feathers, but the arguing mob goes deathly silent when he croaks out his intention to speak.

"The young forget," said the ancient raven, "the why of things. We have eggs. Why? We have wings. Why? We have eyes. Why?"

It glared out across the silent birds. "I know the why. I remember when the mighty Archmage of Worms fell and I plucked out his eyes. I know the why. We are birds of the dead. We keep them. We eat them. We are made mighty by them. There was a time when we ate of kings and men feared us. Now we eat of worms and the gallows lie silent."

There was a low rustling murmur of assent.

"Human," said the ancient crow, "if you seek the favour of this gathering then you must earn it with blood sacrifice. Executions here must begin again; one every week, and the bodies left for us."

[Anarion]

"Good!" said Hasselhorf. He began walking along the rows of cannon that his men were rapidly making ready. "These pieces," he said fondly. "So expensive! Have you ever worked with cannon, dwarf?"

He gave a gesture and there was a massive roar of explosions as a full broadside fired out towards the town. He burst into laughter at the thrill of the flames and aftershock and held an eyeglass to his face to survey the damage.


"Impressive. Myself, I have not fired cannon nor worked one in battle. I, as all dwarves, have spent my time in the smithies and I spent one long winter forging cannon deep in the mountains as a young lad. Surprisingly fast to forge the barrels, you know, unless the smith wants to add ornate design and scroll-work. The real challenge is in the space for the powder and the fuse. That has to be shaped just right. If not the cannon could backfire or, worse for most of the buyers, not fire at all. The whole thing hinges on that single point or all the workmanship goes to waste and the raw steel must be melted down and started anew. A cannon is not so different from a city, or a man for that matter, don't you think, Lord Hasselhorf?"

[Raz_Fox]

Letting them see our approach was my mistake. I take careful note: disrupting their formation before they can form it will be crucial the next time we attack. I should have predicted it. The fault is mine that my men caught the worse of it.

Too headstrong. Too eager to win, regardless of the cost.

"To me! Men of the Legion, to your commander! Ulric et Sigmar! Atroxheim!" I am doubtless a fair target to the Gyrfalcons, but my men need a standard and a symbol, and their general will serve. In between roaring for my men to rally, I call out to the few revelers who have not fled: go, tell the city the Gyrfalcons have turned traitor. I wave them away, hoping that they will get to safety.

The Legion fights so that these innocents will live in safety. Every one who falls to shot and shell is a mark against me.

[Regrouping; the Gyrfalcons are free to act.]

[Elanorin]

Gulbrich goes pale as he contemplates the depth of the threat; as he remembers better men than he driven to madness; as your words hook themselves into his mind and drive him forwards. "I will comply," he muttered, suddenly downcast. He turned and began to shuffle away, snapping his fingers and drawing his deadly soldiers behind him.

You are left alone with Layna, the crowd unwilling to press in on sorcerers, knights and mystics; what do you say to each other?


Edentraud glared daggers after the sorcerer as he went, taking a moment to compose herself before finally turning to face Layna. Her face instantly softening and the light returning to her eyes as she looked upon her love.

She opened her mouth but at first no words would come, then, she saw the arm hanging at Layna's side and concern came over her in an instant.

"You're hurt," she breathed softly, reaching towards Layna's injured arm but hesitating before actually touching it, not wanting to cause her further pain. "I should have killed him outright!"

[TheAmishPirate]

One particularly daring raven flaps down onto your shoulders. He is an old and battered bird, with a terrible scar along his face and moulting feathers, but the arguing mob goes deathly silent when he croaks out his intention to speak.

"The young forget," said the ancient raven, "the why of things. We have eggs. Why? We have wings. Why? We have eyes. Why?"

It glared out across the silent birds. "I know the why. I remember when the mighty Archmage of Worms fell and I plucked out his eyes. I know the why. We are birds of the dead. We keep them. We eat them. We are made mighty by them. There was a time when we ate of kings and men feared us. Now we eat of worms and the gallows lie silent."

There was a low rustling murmur of assent.

"Human," said the ancient crow, "if you seek the favour of this gathering then you must earn it with blood sacrifice. Executions here must begin again; one every week, and the bodies left for us."

An imbalance, possibly? Set to the wrong way of things, the crows are tempted to turn against their hoses, to gamble their young. I wonder, if such a thing happens to the common crow, does it happen to mighty beasts? To men? To gods? Fascinating...I will have Matthias fetch some choice works on the matter. And invest in a good cat.

I could share a word with the Witchfinder's Guild. They kill enough in the Mage's Pit to satisfy the bloodlust of the crows. But I will try another way first. "Why wait?" I ask the wizened crow. "There will be blood in Altdorf this day, and the corpses of traitors and fools will litter the field. Feast upon our enemies; there will be plenty for all."

[Thanqol]

"Impressive. Myself, I have not fired cannon nor worked one in battle. I, as all dwarves, have spent my time in the smithies and I spent one long winter forging cannon deep in the mountains as a young lad. Surprisingly fast to forge the barrels, you know, unless the smith wants to add ornate design and scroll-work. The real challenge is in the space for the powder and the fuse. That has to be shaped just right. If not the cannon could backfire or, worse for most of the buyers, not fire at all. The whole thing hinges on that single point or all the workmanship goes to waste and the raw steel must be melted down and started anew. A cannon is not so different from a city, or a man for that matter, don't you think, Lord Hasselhorf?"

Herr Hasselhorf waved his hand irritably. "Purpose, elegance, simplicity, single point of failure, that is all rubbish. If my pistol fails I shall draw another; if I miss my shot the man next to me shall not; if the pike line is breached then we shall fight with swords. It's this obsession with one-of-a-kind wonders that holds the world back."


Letting them see our approach was my mistake. I take careful note: disrupting their formation before they can form it will be crucial the next time we attack. I should have predicted it. The fault is mine that my men caught the worse of it.

Too headstrong. Too eager to win, regardless of the cost.

"To me! Men of the Legion, to your commander! Ulric et Sigmar! Atroxheim!" I am doubtless a fair target to the Gyrfalcons, but my men need a standard and a symbol, and their general will serve. In between roaring for my men to rally, I call out to the few revelers who have not fled: go, tell the city the Gyrfalcons have turned traitor. I wave them away, hoping that they will get to safety.

The Legion fights so that these innocents will live in safety. Every one who falls to shot and shell is a mark against me.

[Regrouping; the Gyrfalcons are free to act.]

By the time you have your men mustered for a second attack the Gyrfalcons have made excellent progress on their retreat, and so far the fight has gone perfectly according to Hasselhorf's maps. The mercenaries are setting fire to buildings as they pass, and petty hedge sorcerers among them turn the wind so that the smoke billows in the direction of your men, choking and blinding. You may be able to fight this blaze but it means allowing the Gyrfalcons to finish their withdrawal unmolested. What do you do?


An imbalance, possibly? Set to the wrong way of things, the crows are tempted to turn against their hoses, to gamble their young. I wonder, if such a thing happens to the common crow, does it happen to mighty beasts? To men? To gods? Fascinating...I will have Matthias fetch some choice works on the matter. And invest in a good cat.

I could share a word with the Witchfinder's Guild. They kill enough in the Mage's Pit to satisfy the bloodlust of the crows. But I will try another way first. "Why wait?" I ask the wizened crow. "There will be blood in Altdorf this day, and the corpses of traitors and fools will litter the field. Feast upon our enemies; there will be plenty for all."

"It must be sacrifice," gurgled the ancient crow. "Death without blood or war. Death without other priests or gods laying claim to the bodies. Death marked with drums and ritual. Scavenging is why the young have grown stupid and weak."

[PhoeKun]

Edentraud glared daggers after the sorcerer as he went, taking a moment to compose herself before finally turning to face Layna. Her face instantly softening and the light returning to her eyes as she looked upon her love.

She opened her mouth but at first no words would come, then, she saw the arm hanging at Layna's side and concern came over her in an instant.

"You're hurt," she breathed softly, reaching towards Layna's injured arm but hesitating before actually touching it, not wanting to cause her further pain. "I should have killed him outright!"

Layna let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding as she watched Gulbrich and his procession slowly shuffle away. Her body relaxed as it sunk in that she would probably live through the day after all, and neither would she suffer some sort of curse. Best of all, Edentraud, lovely Eden was here beside her! Wincing, she lifted her arm a little to show it was still attached and functioning. She got it about halfway up her waist before it quit on her and fell back down. But she smiled and shook her head.

"No, you did just enough. Even in a fair duel I would be like this. The Silent Knight is... strong. But he fought like a knight should; I am to blame for being weaker, and..." She faltered, turning her gaze skyward to step out of the moment as a blush brought color to her cheeks, "I'm glad I lived long enough to see you again. If I have to pay for that with a broken arm, that's a small price."

She reached out and took Edentraud's hand in her own, leaving all her concerns to the side, if only for as long as she could make this moment last.

[Anarion]

Herr Hasselhorf waved his hand irritably. "Purpose, elegance, simplicity, single point of failure, that is all rubbish. If my pistol fails I shall draw another; if I miss my shot the man next to me shall not; if the pike line is breached then we shall fight with swords. It's this obsession with one-of-a-kind wonders that holds the world back."


"Back, from what, Herr Hasselhorf? I spend each day trying to keep the soft-skulled mewling lambs that claim to run things from wasting their own peoples to nothing. Where do you see the world, if it could only give up its obsession with purpose and simplicity?"

[Raz_Fox]

A distraction: he thinks that I will stop to act as a fire warden. I will not. My blood is up; I will rather use the smoke and the chaos to strike at them once again. Hasselhorf's plans deserve some small upset, and my sword bloodier still. One chance more to stop them from plundering Altdorf effortlessly.

[Lead an Attack: [roll0] I wish to strike unexpectedly to scatter their pike squares, and drive a wedge into my enemy to deny them any rallying. Furthermore, I will spend my second Hold to strike hard again.]

[TheAmishPirate]

"It must be sacrifice," gurgled the ancient crow. "Death without blood or war. Death without other priests or gods laying claim to the bodies. Death marked with drums and ritual. Scavenging is why the young have grown stupid and weak."

I nod. "You must know I lack the authority to promise such a boon here and now. I request a recess of one week, that I might make arrangements with those of the appropriate offices." And to read books. Many, many books.

[Thanqol]

"Back, from what, Herr Hasselhorf? I spend each day trying to keep the soft-skulled mewling lambs that claim to run things from wasting their own peoples to nothing. Where do you see the world, if it could only give up its obsession with purpose and simplicity?"

"There is a new God, called the Architect of Fate," said Hasselhorf thoughtfully, watching the smoke rise. "And there are two philosophies of how to serve Him. One states that each man must discover his destiny, as written in the stars, and follow it alone; free in all things but service to God. The other claims that all must suborn themselves to the man with the greatest destiny, giving up their own futures to contribute to a more glorious world for all."

He called one of his soldiers over. "Ollerus will attack next. I have offended him too gravely for him to control himself. Ready the cannons. Oh, aim at that man just there -"

Then, back to you, he smiles almost shyly. "To answer your question, I have no idea. But rules breed rules. Stories breed with and bastardize each other, each with a nagging demand for how to live your life. In time all the world becomes a tightly regimented, blinded, blinkered morass of tradition, the what with none of the why. And such an awful, immobile present, indistinguishable from the past and without a future - why, that offends me. I shall not accept my assigned place. I shall bow to no one."


A distraction: he thinks that I will stop to act as a fire warden. I will not. My blood is up; I will rather use the smoke and the chaos to strike at them once again. Hasselhorf's plans deserve some small upset, and my sword bloodier still. One chance more to stop them from plundering Altdorf effortlessly.

[Lead an Attack: [roll0] I wish to strike unexpectedly to scatter their pike squares, and drive a wedge into my enemy to deny them any rallying. Furthermore, I will spend my second Hold to strike hard again.]

Your men close to range with the Gyrfalcons, lunging through burning buildings and the cover of smoke, and the melee suddenly goes your way - without the reach of their pikes or the time to reload their muskets those mathematical formations crumble apart.

But then the cannons of the ship speak again and they have your range this time. The crumbling formation is shelled directly and your men are torn apart from a distance in the moment of their triumph.

The cannon-shot tears through your war-company, inflicting appalling casualties, and in a moment your company is gutted. Though your enemy is limping, they fire another terrible volley of musket fire and then form a column and beat a hasty retreat to the safety of their warship. With the rest of their forces streaming in to join them, the great wooden walls of the ship and the awful state of your men further advance is almost suicidal.

And yet, just as the fight seems to be drawing to a close, your friend and second in command, Ulfgan Artur, is targeted specifically by the ship's cannon. As he holds the banner and rallies the men a rain of shells land all about him and he vanishes in a crash of smoke, stone and metal. There is no doubt that was a deliberate provocation for they could have just as easily targeted you.

Do you press the fight, or do you count your fallen?

[Roll: 10
Strike back hard, maneuver and take up a new position, strike at someone specific]


I nod. "You must know I lack the authority to promise such a boon here and now. I request a recess of one week, that I might make arrangements with those of the appropriate offices." And to read books. Many, many books.

"At the end of the week there will be a death or we will accept the only other deal presented to us," croaked the old raven. And then, in a huge swirl of wings and a storm of black feathers, the crows fly in a hundred different directions and you are left alone with the gallows.

[Anarion]

"There is a new God, called the Architect of Fate," said Hasselhorf thoughtfully, watching the smoke rise. "And there are two philosophies of how to serve Him. One states that each man must discover his destiny, as written in the stars, and follow it alone; free in all things but service to God. The other claims that all must suborn themselves to the man with the greatest destiny, giving up their own futures to contribute to a more glorious world for all."

He called one of his soldiers over. "Ollerus will attack next. I have offended him too gravely for him to control himself. Ready the cannons. Oh, aim at that man just there -"

Then, back to you, he smiles almost shyly. "To answer your question, I have no idea. But rules breed rules. Stories breed with and bastardize each other, each with a nagging demand for how to live your life. In time all the world becomes a tightly regimented, blinded, blinkered morass of tradition, the what with none of the why. And such an awful, immobile present, indistinguishable from the past and without a future - why, that offends me. I shall not accept my assigned place. I shall bow to no one."


"You will bow to no one, save those who hold the most gold. All these calculations you're making take men, ships, guns, and powder. You joined Khar because he offered gold, in abundance, I'm sure." Daerek let the thought hang for a moment, but didn't finish it, whatever opinion he held of Hasselhorf for his actions was not forthcoming.

"You say we have the what, but none of the why. But you're wrong. I think you know it too. You scoff at those traditions, but you opened your door to me, such as it is" Daerek waves dismissively at the smoke and rattle of the gunfire. "You're granting me the boon that I requested as was my right. Out of the kindness and the goodness of your heart or out of fear? I tell you now, if you did not do it, my goddess would curse you and your men. Not as a threat, mind you, but to answer your 'why.' The architect may be a powerful new upstart and perhaps he will change some of the ways, but there is tradition because it works. You can teach any child of three the 'what' and nobody has time to bother with the why unless they get it right and have a belly full of food and a roof over their heads to keep out the wind."

Daerek sighed as he saw Ollerus and his men on the shore and the cannon fire rained upon them. "You're killing good men, here, Herr Hasselhorf. Men whose like we may not see again once they're gone. Was there need for all this? Does that need remain?"

[Anarion]

Rolling good to help Ollerus and his men [roll0]
Qs: what is the crux of Hasselhorf's resistance to the idea of just moving on rather than staying and fighting here?
What leverage can I exercise over him?

[Elanorin]

Layna let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding as she watched Gulbrich and his procession slowly shuffle away. Her body relaxed as it sunk in that she would probably live through the day after all, and neither would she suffer some sort of curse. Best of all, Edentraud, lovely Eden was here beside her! Wincing, she lifted her arm a little to show it was still attached and functioning. She got it about halfway up her waist before it quit on her and fell back down. But she smiled and shook her head.

"No, you did just enough. Even in a fair duel I would be like this. The Silent Knight is... strong. But he fought like a knight should; I am to blame for being weaker, and..." She faltered, turning her gaze skyward to step out of the moment as a blush brought color to her cheeks, "I'm glad I lived long enough to see you again. If I have to pay for that with a broken arm, that's a small price."

She reached out and took Edentraud's hand in her own, leaving all her concerns to the side, if only for as long as she could make this moment last.

Edentraud was clearly about protest when Layna took her hand and utterly derailed her thoughts. Her gaze fell from the knight's face down to their interlocking fingers. Her mind filled with the sensation of Layna's hand in hers, the trace of the lines of her palm and the folds of her fingers, the slight peaks at the tips of her fingers and the ease with which her own skin caressed over hers.

"Then I fear what I may come to cost you in weeks to come, Lady D'Alleinecourt," Edentraud said softly and rose her eyes once more to Layna's face, "for I can scarce think a thought that isn't about when I might see you next. But please, this must pain you," she so very gently touched the injured arm, "is there anyone in your court that can assist with its mending?"

[TheAmishPirate]

"At the end of the week there will be a death or we will accept the only other deal presented to us," croaked the old raven. And then, in a huge swirl of wings and a storm of black feathers, the crows fly in a hundred different directions and you are left alone with the gallows.

I grab my staff where I left it standing, and return to the world of men. I straighten up, and - finally - stretch out my aching back. What a marvelous day of rest and relaxation this had been, and it wasn't hardly noon yet!

Skattelmar had remained clear of the parliament, had kept stray passers-by far away, and had not run at the first sign of strangeness. Brilliant; he'd accomplished the bare minimum required of his office. "It is a deep omen, a dark one," I start, already on the move. "It will take time to decipher, but there is a more immediate danger. We have trusted our treasures with thieves and rats, and their hour is nigh. Rouse the guard, the Witchfinders, the constables, whoever it is we rouse when there's killing to be done. Tell them the enemy is within our walls, not outside them. Send them wherever the fighting is fiercest, and put them under Ollerus' command; that's where he'll be." I whirl about on Skattelmar, eyes blazing. "And if any of them should refuse, tell them I shall have words with them when this is over! Go!"



After I have sent the dog barking off, it isn't long before my words come to pass. Above the sounds of the celebration, I hear shouts, the clang of steel on steel, cannon fire, and - smoke! Smoke rising from the harbor! The city burns! It is close to the Reserve, and yet...no, no it has not yet reached it. Many blocks to go yet. But some fool - some brainless, feckless, unfathomable clod - has brought torch within a mile of [I]my Reserve.

A pity the crows had developed taste; they would have eaten well this day.

I march to a good vantage point of the harbor.

[Thanqol]

"You will bow to no one, save those who hold the most gold. All these calculations you're making take men, ships, guns, and powder. You joined Khar because he offered gold, in abundance, I'm sure." Daerek let the thought hang for a moment, but didn't finish it, whatever opinion he held of Hasselhorf for his actions was not forthcoming.

"You say we have the what, but none of the why. But you're wrong. I think you know it too. You scoff at those traditions, but you opened your door to me, such as it is" Daerek waves dismissively at the smoke and rattle of the gunfire. "You're granting me the boon that I requested as was my right. Out of the kindness and the goodness of your heart or out of fear? I tell you now, if you did not do it, my goddess would curse you and your men. Not as a threat, mind you, but to answer your 'why.' The architect may be a powerful new upstart and perhaps he will change some of the ways, but there is tradition because it works. You can teach any child of three the 'what' and nobody has time to bother with the why unless they get it right and have a belly full of food and a roof over their heads to keep out the wind."

Daerek sighed as he saw Ollerus and his men on the shore and the cannon fire rained upon them. "You're killing good men, here, Herr Hasselhorf. Men whose like we may not see again once they're gone. Was there need for all this? Does that need remain?"


Rolling good to help Ollerus and his men [9]
Qs: what is the crux of Hasselhorf's resistance to the idea of just moving on rather than staying and fighting here?
What leverage can I exercise over him?

The crux of Hasselhorf's resistance is basically he doesn't like Ollerus very much. In fact, he hates him and wants to humiliate him and ruin everything he stands for - and he has him in a vice right now. That said, he feels like his work is done in that respect but he actually can't retreat because Ollerus is the one on the offensive and he is just trying to disengage.

What leverage you can exercise on him? Nothing I can think of. He's a man who thinks in terms of power, money, status, progress. Things that are not yours, or yours to grant. You can appeal to his ego, though, he is a man convinced of his own mastery.

"See? That's what I'm talking about. Do this thing or my God will smite you. Just like any other king's laws. I can work with that!" said Hasselhorf. "What I can't work with is this weepy-eyed nonsense that we may 'never see their like again'. Their like are being born every minute of every day. Nothing is irreplaceable."


I grab my staff where I left it standing, and return to the world of men. I straighten up, and - finally - stretch out my aching back. What a marvelous day of rest and relaxation this had been, and it wasn't hardly noon yet!

Skattelmar had remained clear of the parliament, had kept stray passers-by far away, and had not run at the first sign of strangeness. Brilliant; he'd accomplished the bare minimum required of his office. "It is a deep omen, a dark one," I start, already on the move. "It will take time to decipher, but there is a more immediate danger. We have trusted our treasures with thieves and rats, and their hour is nigh. Rouse the guard, the Witchfinders, the constables, whoever it is we rouse when there's killing to be done. Tell them the enemy is within our walls, not outside them. Send them wherever the fighting is fiercest, and put them under Ollerus' command; that's where he'll be." I whirl about on Skattelmar, eyes blazing. "And if any of them should refuse, tell them I shall have words with them when this is over! Go!"

[Is this Muster Warriors? It sounds like it, albeit by proxy]

It sounds exactly like mustering warriors. Roll it.

[TheAmishPirate]

It sounds exactly like mustering warriors. Roll it.

If this goes ill, it's all Skattelmar's fault.

[Rolling to Muster Warriors: [roll0]]

EDIT:

Layna, I would like to Call On Your Aid. Or rather, Skattelmar will, on my behalf. You are the hero of the hour, the grand savior of Altdorf. You have the adoration of the people, but more importantly you have the favor of the Knights. If you rouse them to battle, it would be unthinkable for them not to heed your word. I'm not asking you to find, my hotheaded pupil. But you won't be able to do this if you're sitting around making moony eyes with the river-daughter.

[Thanqol]

If this goes ill, it's all Skattelmar's fault.

[Rolling to Muster Warriors: [roll0]]

Before long you have a full force of Witchfinders, constables, sheriffs, Knights of Altdorf and concerned citizens rallying around you. Unfortunately they are more like a mob than an army; many do not have armour and their weapons are a mishmash of whatever came to hand. You have rallied Altdorf's confused resistance to your banner - but are you sure you want to commit them? Sending them against a well armed and ready foe will no doubt result in terrible casualties. You could instead direct them to fighting the fires and leave the Kislevites to their fate.

[PhoeKun]

Edentraud was clearly about protest when Layna took her hand and utterly derailed her thoughts. Her gaze fell from the knight's face down to their interlocking fingers. Her mind filled with the sensation of Layna's hand in hers, the trace of the lines of her palm and the folds of her fingers, the slight peaks at the tips of her fingers and the ease with which her own skin caressed over hers.

"Then I fear what I may come to cost you in weeks to come, Lady D'Alleinecourt," Edentraud said softly and rose her eyes once more to Layna's face, "for I can scarce think a thought that isn't about when I might see you next. But please, this must pain you," she so very gently touched the injured arm, "is there anyone in your court that can assist with its mending?"

"Were I the type to worry what you could cost me, dear Eden, I might never have met you in the first place! And then where would I be? Somewhere safer maybe, but also dark and joyless to have never known your light. Don't be scared on my account, if I live in your heart then I will always come back to you, from anywhere and anything. As to my court..."

Layna laughed as though she were making a joke. Her eyes drifted away from Edentraud for a moment and watched the Silent Knight as he continued to march away. The danger in the air felt more palpable now than it did when she was staring down the end of his lance. There was too much noise and too much fire for even a festival. So when the Witchfinder showed up and interrupted her next thought to ask her to "rally the knights of Altdorf", her heart sank, but she was not surprised. She lowered her head.

"I cannot do this thing. Ask me instead to ride out and do what I can in their stead..."

[Thanqol]

Layna laughed as though she were making a joke. Her eyes drifted away from Edentraud for a moment and watched the Silent Knight as he continued to march away. The danger in the air felt more palpable now than it did when she was staring down the end of his lance. There was too much noise and too much fire for even a festival. So when the Witchfinder showed up and interrupted her next thought to ask her to "rally the knights of Altdorf", her heart sank, but she was not surprised. She lowered her head.

"I cannot do this thing. Ask me instead to ride out and do what I can in their stead..."

Instantly the Knights of Altdorf had fallen into discussion at the summons, and again Layna had forced a decision on them before they had worked out every angle of their strategy. Some of them seemed even irritated that reality kept intruding on their intellectual games.

"She's right," said one. "The mercenaries have done their damage, and are withdrawing. The warriors of Orvisk are angry and humiliated and still seek to do us harm, and we cannot afford to show them our backs."

"The worst danger we face right now is the Kislevites getting wiped out in their lust for vengeance," agreed another. "Herr Layna! Please, convince herr Ollerus to stay his hand!"


Ardashir, you soon receive word that no aid is coming; you must decide what to do with these half-armed warriors.

[TheAmishPirate]

Ardashir, you soon receive word that no aid is coming; you must decide what to do with these half-armed warriors.

I send them to Ollerus.

What, were you expecting a momentous decision of me? Should I have given you longer to bask in the moment?

Bah. In any case, I intend to visit ruination upon our enemy before the fighting starts anew. I find my vantage point of the harbor; what do I see?

[Raz_Fox]

I pull my war sword, slick and wet, cleanly out of the chest of a fallen Gyrfalcon dandy. It is a fluid, efficient motion, born from the battlefield: immediately it is ready to meet another foe. But there is no one left, not in front of me and the two men serving as my honor guard. Our breath is coming hard and ragged, and my chest feels like a giant's anvil. My ears ring with the battery's roar, and my eyes are clouded with the exertion, but I still have sense enough to see that my attempt to break the Gyrfalcon retreat has failed.

It will now be impossible to stop the wealth of the treasury from being loaded onto his ships, if it has not already arrived. If I had more men, or if Hasselhorf's guns had not had our measure from the start, I might have been able to cut off that avenue. At the very least, the Reserve is safe-

Then, before my horrified eyes, Ulfgan - who is rallying the men who harry the Gyrfalcons in their retreat, telling them to not yield, to uphold the honor of the legion, a fey light in his dark eyes - is brought down by a hail of shelling. My stomach turns in horror, and my hand trembles as I steady myself against a bullet-scored wall. I have not only led good men to their deaths in my attempt to weaken Hasselhorf's position, but they killed Ulfgan to make a point, I'm certain. After all, I have not been subtle in my part of the fighting - it would be impossible for me to not have been sighted by the Gyrfalcon gunners aboard the Come Bearing Gifts.

Is that Hasselhorf, standing on deck? I do not hate him, even now, but his hatred of me has half-ruined Altdorf, and he is my responsibility. I would see him under the full weight of the laws of Altdorf. And when they sentence him to death for his treason, I will not rejoice, but I will feel grim satisfaction that my duty is done, and sadness that he disappointed me. He could have been more.

But as things stand now, this will not come to pass. Altdorf has been wounded grievously, the Legion has lost many of its boldest, and the breath comes bloody and harsh in my throat. I am forced to almost double, one hand clutching at Svenian's shoulder; the man bears my weight without complaint.

Where is Altdorf's strength?

[Elanorin]

"Were I the type to worry what you could cost me, dear Eden, I might never have met you in the first place! And then where would I be? Somewhere safer maybe, but also dark and joyless to have never known your light. Don't be scared on my account, if I live in your heart then I will always come back to you, from anywhere and anything. As to my court..."

Layna laughed as though she were making a joke. Her eyes drifted away from Edentraud for a moment and watched the Silent Knight as he continued to march away. The danger in the air felt more palpable now than it did when she was staring down the end of his lance. There was too much noise and too much fire for even a festival. So when the Witchfinder showed up and interrupted her next thought to ask her to "rally the knights of Altdorf", her heart sank, but she was not surprised. She lowered her head.

"I cannot do this thing. Ask me instead to ride out and do what I can in their stead..."


Instantly the Knights of Altdorf had fallen into discussion at the summons, and again Layna had forced a decision on them before they had worked out every angle of their strategy. Some of them seemed even irritated that reality kept intruding on their intellectual games.

"She's right," said one. "The mercenaries have done their damage, and are withdrawing. The warriors of Orvisk are angry and humiliated and still seek to do us harm, and we cannot afford to show them our backs."

"The worst danger we face right now is the Kislevites getting wiped out in their lust for vengeance," agreed another. "Herr Layna! Please, convince herr Ollerus to stay his hand!"

Don't go. Don't put yourself in danger. Don't. The words echoed in her heart and mind but her lips were still and she said nothing. While Eden had no hesitations in laying down demands of almost anyone that crossed her path on the slightest whim, she admired Layna's courage, loved the freedom in her eyes and smile, and, Gods help her, she could not see her fill of her riding a charging horse. No, by her last breath, Layna D'Alleinecourt's will would forever be free. But that didn't stop the river daughter from feeling the urge to stop her.

There was fires and sounds of battle, panic and destruction, somewhere, perhaps they stood dangerously close to it, but to Eden it seemed far away. Don't leave my side. Don't go. She didn't say it, she couldn't, not to Layna, but she felt it keenly. In her restraint she stood trembling and still, pensive eyes on the knight at her side, the breaths from her mouth shaking, but her body refused to entirely obey and Eden's hand tightened hard around Layna's.

Don't go.

[Anarion]

The crux of Hasselhorf's resistance is basically he doesn't like Ollerus very much. In fact, he hates him and wants to humiliate him and ruin everything he stands for - and he has him in a vice right now. That said, he feels like his work is done in that respect but he actually can't retreat because Ollerus is the one on the offensive and he is just trying to disengage.

What leverage you can exercise on him? Nothing I can think of. He's a man who thinks in terms of power, money, status, progress. Things that are not yours, or yours to grant. You can appeal to his ego, though, he is a man convinced of his own mastery.

"See? That's what I'm talking about. Do this thing or my God will smite you. Just like any other king's laws. I can work with that!" said Hasselhorf. "What I can't work with is this weepy-eyed nonsense that we may 'never see their like again'. Their like are being born every minute of every day. Nothing is irreplaceable."


"Nothing? Makes me want to know who your second is in the Gyrfalcons, I've seen few enough that could match your command today or hurt a man like Ollerus so completely. I've spoken with him over the winter, and he won't soon forget the death of Ulfgan."

I pace the deck gazing at the devastation. "Come though, surely this ship can make better speed if you dedicate some men to sail and oar instead of gun and cannon. Loafing here like a fattened pig is more like than not to open us to a renewed assault if the city's knights and witchfinders arrive."

[PhoeKun]

"The worst danger we face right now is the Kislevites getting wiped out in their lust for vengeance," agreed another. "Herr Layna! Please, convince herr Ollerus to stay his hand!"


Don't go.

Layna's smile was as sad a thing as anyone had seen. She pressed Edentraud's fingers against her own one more time, then pulled her arm free.

"Trust me." she said, and took off like a shot from a cannon.

Find Ollerus Atroxheim. Find the master tactician and convince him she understood the situation better than he did. Or worse, convince an old warrior that he should put aside honor and glory when all her muscles burned to mount a horse and charge ahead of him. But she could see the fires burning from here, and when they reminded her of Seth she knew that Altdorf had taken all it could stand for one day.

She arrived behind the procession of gathering... warriors, if they could be called that right now, so poorly outfitted. Not taking the time even to catch her breath, she pushed her way through the crowd to a far greater man than she. Quietly, she wished she were still fighting the Silent Knight.

"Sir Atroxheim!" She lowered herself to one knee, "I've come to ask you to declare victory, and give the order to tend to the city."

[Thanqol]

I send them to Ollerus.

What, were you expecting a momentous decision of me? Should I have given you longer to bask in the moment?

Bah. In any case, I intend to visit ruination upon our enemy before the fighting starts anew. I find my vantage point of the harbor; what do I see?

You see the great ship of the Gyrfalcons surrounded by great pillars of powder-smoke and a city in flames. Butchery lies all about the docks and troops rally there now.

You can see the great figurehead of the Willow Hag, flattering, on the bow of that ship and you know you must be careful.


Don't go. Don't put yourself in danger. Don't. The words echoed in her heart and mind but her lips were still and she said nothing. While Eden had no hesitations in laying down demands of almost anyone that crossed her path on the slightest whim, she admired Layna's courage, loved the freedom in her eyes and smile, and, Gods help her, she could not see her fill of her riding a charging horse. No, by her last breath, Layna D'Alleinecourt's will would forever be free. But that didn't stop the river daughter from feeling the urge to stop her.

There was fires and sounds of battle, panic and destruction, somewhere, perhaps they stood dangerously close to it, but to Eden it seemed far away. Don't leave my side. Don't go. She didn't say it, she couldn't, not to Layna, but she felt it keenly. In her restraint she stood trembling and still, pensive eyes on the knight at her side, the breaths from her mouth shaking, but her body refused to entirely obey and Eden's hand tightened hard around Layna's.

Don't go.

In moments like this, do you pray? Who do you pray to?


"Nothing? Makes me want to know who your second is in the Gyrfalcons, I've seen few enough that could match your command today or hurt a man like Ollerus so completely. I've spoken with him over the winter, and he won't soon forget the death of Ulfgan."

I pace the deck gazing at the devastation. "Come though, surely this ship can make better speed if you dedicate some men to sail and oar instead of gun and cannon. Loafing here like a fattened pig is more like than not to open us to a renewed assault if the city's knights and witchfinders arrive."

"Nothing save abandoning my men who have yet to board, which I shall not do," said Hasselhorf testily. "If you are so concerned about my house's safety, pick up a musket and defend it, as you are bound to do."


Is that Hasselhorf, standing on deck? I do not hate him, even now, but his hatred of me has half-ruined Altdorf, and he is my responsibility. I would see him under the full weight of the laws of Altdorf. And when they sentence him to death for his treason, I will not rejoice, but I will feel grim satisfaction that my duty is done, and sadness that he disappointed me. He could have been more.

But as things stand now, this will not come to pass. Altdorf has been wounded grievously, the Legion has lost many of its boldest, and the breath comes bloody and harsh in my throat. I am forced to almost double, one hand clutching at Svenian's shoulder; the man bears my weight without complaint.

Where is Altdorf's strength?

Altdorf's strength arrives; a great crowd, shoddily armed, but enough to force an opening and perhaps finish the Gyrfalcons off. The battle would be bloody but it might yet go in your favour. But -


She arrived behind the procession of gathering... warriors, if they could be called that right now, so poorly outfitted. Not taking the time even to catch her breath, she pushed her way through the crowd to a far greater man than she. Quietly, she wished she were still fighting the Silent Knight.

"Sir Atroxheim!" She lowered herself to one knee, "I've come to ask you to declare victory, and give the order to tend to the city."

- you are being asked to do otherwise.

[Anarion]

"Nothing save abandoning my men who have yet to board, which I shall not do," said Hasselhorf testily. "If you are so concerned about my house's safety, pick up a musket and defend it, as you are bound to do."


"Ah, that's a pity, laggards could be a great cost for all involved." Nevertheless, I do pick up a musket. No shots yet, I don't see anyone attacking us.

[Elanorin]

Layna's smile was as sad a thing as anyone had seen. She pressed Edentraud's fingers against her own one more time, then pulled her arm free.

"Trust me." she said, and took off like a shot from a cannon.

Edentraud flinched as Layna took off, as if a part of her had been ripped from her body with the speed that Layna ran. She remained where she stood, statuesque, watching with watery unblinking eyes after her as she took off, watching for as long as Layna was still in sight, which, admittedly, was not for long.

She then closed her eyes and bent her head but did not pause before turning and with hastened steps making her own way through the commotion, destruction and confusion that was suddenly Altdorf. Her direction was the outskirts of the docks and whatever sheltered access to the riverwater that were available with everything going on.



In moments like this, do you pray? Who do you pray to?


Pray. Yes, that is indeed what she plans to do at the water's edge. To pray, urge, bargain and beseech, her distant ancestor from the waters of the far South; Tefnut. But Edentraud is not exclusive and she will pray to Nephthys and Tethys, Charybdis and Belisama, indeed any who is willing to listen to her words spoken in water.

[TheAmishPirate]

You see the great ship of the Gyrfalcons surrounded by great pillars of powder-smoke and a city in flames. Butchery lies all about the docks and troops rally there now.

You can see the great figurehead of the Willow Hag, flattering, on the bow of that ship and you know you must be careful.

I think it is not I who must be careful, but the Gyrfalcons. They have already angered a wizard. I pray they do not anger one greater than I.

I stand above the harbor, the melee far beneath me. The treacherous rats have holed themselves up in their pretty ship. It is a floating castle, defended by mighty guns and narrow gangplanks, with long spears and powerful men. If they ever felt truly threatened, they could hoist sails and be away before any could board them. Fortune smiles upon them, for they find themselves in an unassailable position.

I will turn their strength to weakness, and victory to despair.

I have spent all Winter performing the rites of Janus, the rites of the Architect, and now I have spent all of today performing the rites of Spring. I ride the tide of seasons, and I know where they flow. In Winter, the world slept. Rats made their plans in the dark, the city lay dormant, and all the woods were deadly still. In Spring, the world awakes. Rats carry out their foul deeds, the city celebrates in uproar and fire, and all the woods burst forth with new life. We have seen treachery, our city burns, and now is the hour of growth.

I raise my staff, and speak in the tongues of growing things, of green grass and falling rain and new shoots. I speak to the masts of the Come Bearing Gifts, and remind them they were once mighty trees, and now is the time to awaken once more. Go! Rise! Send your roots deep into the gun decks, choke the cannons and trap the men below! Sprout new branches, throw off your crossbeams and tear through the sails! Render the ship a desert island, a crippled wreck! And let the Gyrfalcons beware, for it is no easy thing to ferry trees across the waters. One wrong maneuver could spell ruin, to them and their pretty figurehead.

So speaks Ardashir.

[I have no idea what I ought to roll here.]

[Raz_Fox]

Altdorf has risen in response to Hasselhorf, finally, and my heart sinks as I realize that it is Altdorf bedecked in festival. Men are looking to me for orders, and I would not use them for my life. There are bakers with rolling pins and butchers with their hooks standing, raucous and eager, beside plume-bedecked guardsmen and black-clad witchfinders. Perhaps if they had come immediately- but no. I would not command these men, even as auxiliaries, to follow me into the charnel pit before those guns.

When this knight of Altdorf, whose face is familiar to me, give me just a moment to recall where, kneels before me and pleads for me to declare victory, I wish that it was so easy. That we could withdraw and take to our fortifications, with no more bloodshed for this day. But we cannot begin a full retreat, not with the Gyrfalcons still in harbor. I gesture for the knight to stand.

"Good knight, I would declare victory if I dared. We are close to being able to lay down our arms, but the foe is still armed. If I call for us to lay aside the sword, those guns in harbor will shell us apart as we try to tend to the city. But..."

I look back to the Come Bearing Gifts. If I withdraw, he may feel satisfied. If the militia is ordered to entrench, to keep watch on the harbor, he will be wary of making a second sortie into the city. He will sail away with the worldly wealth of Altdorf, and I will be left to dig graves and make desperate preparations for Khar's army.

"I will order the retreat. Svenian, go declare that the militia is to pull back from the harbor, have the men who are not trained in the sword begin setting out fires. Leave the dead until the Gyrfalcons leave. We will withdraw to the palace. We have not won, but we will not make another attempt on those guns; protecting the city from further assault, not reclaiming whatever Hasselhorf has stolen from the city, is all we may- D'Alleinecourt! Yes, I do remember you now. Ardashir spoke well of you- as much as he does of anyone." I give her a respectful nod. "May I rely on your assistance in leading these fine people out of the eyes of these guns?"

[Anarion]

Daerek saw the wizard on the hill and grimaced. Hasselhorf hadn't seen Ardashir, or didn't know who he was and the threat he represented. It would take too long to yell out a warning, for the men to bring their guns to bear, to aim and fire. The spell would finish.

Daerek and Ardashir had spoken little in the city, his hosts hadn't felt it appropriate to invite a wizard to dinner and he had never received an invitation to join the man after the initial greetings had passed. Still, he had felt that they shared a bond in their studies of lore. The man was well versed in the traditions and ways of the gods and Daerek respected him for it. All of which made Daerek feel particularly bad about the shot he was now taking.

"You sodding, elf-blooded, son a whore!" he shouted to nobody in particular, as he cracked his musket up to the casting wizard and pulled the trigger.

[I also have no idea what roll I ought to make here. Bold perhaps? My intent is to disrupt the casting, but will accept that harm may be required to do it.]

[PhoeKun]

"I will order the retreat. Svenian, go declare that the militia is to pull back from the harbor, have the men who are not trained in the sword begin setting out fires. Leave the dead until the Gyrfalcons leave. We will withdraw to the palace. We have not won, but we will not make another attempt on those guns; protecting the city from further assault, not reclaiming whatever Hasselhorf has stolen from the city, is all we may- D'Alleinecourt! Yes, I do remember you now. Ardashir spoke well of you- as much as he does of anyone." I give her a respectful nod. "May I rely on your assistance in leading these fine people out of the eyes of these guns?"

Face flushed. Hot blood. Hands trembling. Stupid, useless, foolish woman! Of course he would see the situation better than you could! Of course he would stay his hand, of course he wouldn't consign these people to death. Of course he'd see. I wasted my time. I hurt her for no reason. I...

I cannot even look him in the eye, though he speaks to me by name. I am not a leader. Have never thought myself to be a leader, but I feel it now more than ever. Still, I nod.

"I... y-yes, of course. I will do what I can."

I squeeze my shattered arm to master myself as best I can, and call out for people to follow me. We will fight fires, now.

[Thanqol]

Pray. Yes, that is indeed what she plans to do at the water's edge. To pray, urge, bargain and beseech, her distant ancestor from the waters of the far South; Tefnut. But Edentraud is not exclusive and she will pray to Nephthys and Tethys, Charybdis and Belisama, indeed any who is willing to listen to her words spoken in water.

The water is always listening with a thousand drowned ears. Roll to contact the other world to see what finds you.


I raise my staff, and speak in the tongues of growing things, of green grass and falling rain and new shoots. I speak to the masts of the Come Bearing Gifts, and remind them they were once mighty trees, and now is the time to awaken once more. Go! Rise! Send your roots deep into the gun decks, choke the cannons and trap the men below! Sprout new branches, throw off your crossbeams and tear through the sails! Render the ship a desert island, a crippled wreck! And let the Gyrfalcons beware, for it is no easy thing to ferry trees across the waters. One wrong maneuver could spell ruin, to them and their pretty figurehead.

So speaks Ardashir.




"You sodding, elf-blooded, son a whore!" he shouted to nobody in particular, as he cracked his musket up to the casting wizard and pulled the trigger.

[I also have no idea what roll I ought to make here. Bold perhaps? My intent is to disrupt the casting, but will accept that harm may be required to do it.]

Rather than make this some manner of roll-off, or invent some interference rules from cloth, I am simply going to say that Daerek has denied Ardashir's Right to undertake a great labour.

As the magic starts to form, a bullet strikes out at Ardashir, screaming so close by his ear that he has no choice but to drop his casting. The cry of 'wizard!' goes up and, as the Kislevites retreat, the Gyrfalcons are able to turn their full attention towards shooting at and Ardashir's position.

You are not yet struck but you have to throw yourself into a heap of dung and garbage for cover as bullets whistle around you; your fine clothes ruined, your senses assaulted, your dignity in shambles.


"Good knight, I would declare victory if I dared. We are close to being able to lay down our arms, but the foe is still armed. If I call for us to lay aside the sword, those guns in harbor will shell us apart as we try to tend to the city. But..."

I look back to the [I]Come Bearing Gifts. If I withdraw, he may feel satisfied. If the militia is ordered to entrench, to keep watch on the harbor, he will be wary of making a second sortie into the city. He will sail away with the worldly wealth of Altdorf, and I will be left to dig graves and make desperate preparations for Khar's army.

"I will order the retreat. Svenian, go declare that the militia is to pull back from the harbor, have the men who are not trained in the sword begin setting out fires. Leave the dead until the Gyrfalcons leave. We will withdraw to the palace. We have not won, but we will not make another attempt on those guns; protecting the city from further assault, not reclaiming whatever Hasselhorf has stolen from the city, is all we may- D'Alleinecourt! Yes, I do remember you now. Ardashir spoke well of you- as much as he does of anyone." I give her a respectful nod. "May I rely on your assistance in leading these fine people out of the eyes of these guns?"

As the soldiers pull back from the docks, the great galleon casts off, spreads its sails to the wind, and drifts away from the harbour. Though you saved the reserve and the books from the traitors you were not able to recover Altdorf's treasury - cross that off your list of fortifications.

You did make them pay in blood for it. Perhaps they are now humbled.


Face flushed. Hot blood. Hands trembling. Stupid, useless, foolish woman! Of course he would see the situation better than you could! Of course he would stay his hand, of course he wouldn't consign these people to death. Of course he'd see. I wasted my time. I hurt her for no reason. I...

I cannot even look him in the eye, though he speaks to me by name. I am not a leader. Have never thought myself to be a leader, but I feel it now more than ever. Still, I nod.

"I... y-yes, of course. I will do what I can."

I squeeze my shattered arm to master myself as best I can, and call out for people to follow me. We will fight fires, now.

Have you ever faced fire before?

You have come from a land of green pastures and chivalry; you have hunted in the forests and known the love of the river. But fire? Have you ever stood in a creaking city alight as the columns of flame leap and laugh around you?

In the fire swirls intent, desire, hunger; a laughing child grown in an instant into a terrible youth. Stranger things are set free from the debris of burned houses. If you so wished you could contact the other world, for it is powerful here.

[PhoeKun]

Have you ever faced fire before?

You have come from a land of green pastures and chivalry; you have hunted in the forests and known the love of the river. But fire? Have you ever stood in a creaking city alight as the columns of flame leap and laugh around you?

In the fire swirls intent, desire, hunger; a laughing child grown in an instant into a terrible youth. Stranger things are set free from the debris of burned houses. If you so wished you could contact the other world, for it is powerful here.

In Alleinecourt, fires are for cooking or heat, for the forging of arms or for candlelight. We have many stories of fire, many ways in which we are told to live like it. I have even heard it used to describe me personally. But my soul is the wind and my heart belongs to the river, and I have never faced fire before. Had this day gone to plan, the bonfires would have been my first real sight of flames, dancing and free. This is... this is beyond anything I've ever imagined.

And I am in awe. My mind is not where it should be. I should be saving this city. If this were a manticore I would not be thinking twice about drawing steel and putting it down. But this is formless and shifting, and I can see myself reflected inside of it. I cannot bring myself to fight it properly, or to direct others to smother it like a proper leader would. I told you already, that's not what I am. Although I am beginning to wonder if I am supposed to be, if I should try. Is there a difference between a knight and a king or his generals, beyond wealth and station? Do they have different souls, as I have always believed, or are we woven from the same cloth? And if I chase love or glory, will the other escape me forever?

In my heart I do not fight the flames. I am transfixed. I would ask of the other world how it is something burns so brightly and with such passion without fearing to diminish and die out. But that is an uncouth question to put before something you know in your heart you have to kill.

[I will Consult With the Other World, but I will fail miserably at it. 2d6+1= 5. I am prepared for the worst]

[Elanorin]

The water is always listening with a thousand drowned ears. Roll to contact the other world to see what finds you.


Edentraud kneels by the waters edge, dipping her hands in the cold water and moving it gently to wash between parted fingers in complicated repetetive motions that become almost meditative. She mutters a call to the water, to any who will listen, but she names the five closest to her heart; Tefnut, Nephthys, Tethys, Charybdis and Belisama. She leans forwards as she repeats her whispered call over and over again until she has lowered her entire body in the river water.

She floats there at the surface, face down, her body still but for the slight movement of the waves and her still whispering lips, calling and praying down to the deep for the safe return of Layna D'Alleinecourt.

[Rolling to Consult the Other World: 2d6+0=11 How can I ensure Layna's safety without standing in her way?]

[Raz_Fox]

My heart is drawn in two, pulled by marital piety and concern for Vasilka against my desire to see Ulfgan's body put to rest, and what torn remnants of my assembled company remain settled and put to rights. To see my wife's face, safe and unharmed, is the dearest desire of my heart; to see Ulfgan honored is what is right in the eyes of the gods.

But the Legion has always had its doctrines. My father held fast to them, and his father before him, and his father before him. And I know it is my hard duty to see the Countess informed of what has transpired.

It is for this reason that I lead my broken, weary men to the Countess's palace. Here, we may tend to wounds, regather what strength we possess, and have easy access to the looted treasury, see what remains of the wealth of Altdorf.

I personally intend to bring the news to the Countess, if she be in residence, once I have done all I may among the survivors. Mere survival is nothing to rejoice in; rather, I remind these bloody and shell-shocked men that they did their duty, and that every man who has gone to make an account of his life in Morr's vestibule will appear before the judge of man wearing the cuirass of a Legionnaire, and the banner of the Wolf Legion to mark him.

There is little more comfort to be given. We men of Kislev do not shake before death; we fear to be remembered ill by those who follow in our footsteps.

[Thanqol]

In my heart I do not fight the flames. I am transfixed. I would ask of the other world how it is something burns so brightly and with such passion without fearing to diminish and die out. But that is an uncouth question to put before something you know in your heart you have to kill.

5[/b]. I am prepared for the worst]

Through the flames of a burning building rides a knight from antiquity. His armour is bronze, his steed is white, and his banner is living fire. His plumed helmet reveals his face which is filled with a profound and simple joy, and he looks down at you with respect and admiration. He seems a champion from an earlier age, when empires clashed for the fate of the world and built monuments that baffle the wisest men of today. He is a god, an Imperial Ghost, so powerful and ancient he needs no worship - only emulation.

"Young Knight!" he cries, "I am Amoth City-Smiter, Khan of Fire, Ruin of Empires!" he leaps from his horse and lands in front of you, pulling his helmet from his head and offering his hand to shake. "I was watching your joust today and I was truly impressed; you have both skill and destiny behind you. That is why I have decided that you shall be my champion in the living world!"


Edentraud kneels by the waters edge, dipping her hands in the cold water and moving it gently to wash between parted fingers in complicated repetetive motions that become almost meditative. She mutters a call to the water, to any who will listen, but she names the five closest to her heart; Tefnut, Nephthys, Tethys, Charybdis and Belisama. She leans forwards as she repeats her whispered call over and over again until she has lowered her entire body in the river water.

She floats there at the surface, face down, her body still but for the slight movement of the waves and her still whispering lips, calling and praying down to the deep for the safe return of Layna D'Alleinecourt.

[Rolling to Consult the Other World: 2d6+0=11 [I]How can I ensure Layna's safety without standing in her way?]

Safety from what? Safety from whom? Safety to do what? Or just safety, without qualifications? The answer you give will determine the manner of spirit that rises to answer it.


My heart is drawn in two, pulled by marital piety and concern for Vasilka against my desire to see Ulfgan's body put to rest, and what torn remnants of my assembled company remain settled and put to rights. To see my wife's face, safe and unharmed, is the dearest desire of my heart; to see Ulfgan honored is what is right in the eyes of the gods.

But the Legion has always had its doctrines. My father held fast to them, and his father before him, and his father before him. And I know it is my hard duty to see the Countess informed of what has transpired.

It is for this reason that I lead my broken, weary men to the Countess's palace. Here, we may tend to wounds, regather what strength we possess, and have easy access to the looted treasury, see what remains of the wealth of Altdorf.

I personally intend to bring the news to the Countess, if she be in residence, once I have done all I may among the survivors. Mere survival is nothing to rejoice in; rather, I remind these bloody and shell-shocked men that they did their duty, and that every man who has gone to make an account of his life in Morr's vestibule will appear before the judge of man wearing the cuirass of a Legionnaire, and the banner of the Wolf Legion to mark him.

There is little more comfort to be given. We men of Kislev do not shake before death; we fear to be remembered ill by those who follow in our footsteps.

The Countess had summoned you moments before you came looking for her. She is in her council chambers, surrounded by Knights debating strategy, and you are fixed with a lot of glares. There is a dark feeling in this room and everyone is looking for someone to blame. What do you do?

[Elanorin]

Safety from what? Safety from whom? Safety to do what? Or just safety, without qualifications? The answer you give will determine the manner of spirit that rises to answer it.


Safety to do whatever she feels she must, whatever duty that took her from my side, without suffering harm.

[Thanqol]

Safety to do whatever she feels she must, whatever duty that took her from my side, without suffering harm.

Freedom, protection, skill, duty - you have called upon White Rushing Mane, war goddess of the ancient world. She is drawn from the same legends as Amoth City-Smiter, but while he is an amalgamation of great and terrible human conquerors, she represents the favour of the natural world in warfare. She is known for her associations with rivers, horses, wind, ships, but beyond and above that, motion of all kinds. That motion manifests in the constantly shifting physical form that rises from the water to greet you; at one moment you address a trireme with painted red eyes, the next a one-armed warrior-woman, and after that a horse made of thunderclouds.

Whatever she appears as, the one constant is that she is eminently modern. As a warrior she most closely resembles the Gyrfalcons, with their bright colours and proud muskets. As a divinely clad goddess she wears stately fashions straight off the looms of Tilea. While she does not hold to the past, she is proud and she is fickle, and she looks upon you with impatience. What do you do?

[Raz_Fox]

I walk into the room with my head held high. It is my right to be invited to such affairs, possessing the hereditary title of General of the Wolf Legion, and I accept whenever possible. As an independent agent, answerable to the Imperator for my actions, I am not permitted to overrule the Countess in Altdorf's council... but there is a tacit expectation that she will offer me firm suggestions, not commands. There is a tense interplay of protocols and courtesies.

The first of these is a tight, shallow bow to the Countess, my sword hand crossed to my shoulder. "Your Grace," I say, "Doubtless you already are aware of the Gyrfalcon's betrayal of our city. He attempted to buy my own loyalty two hours hence, and in doing so showed his hand: an attempt to pillage the city utterly under the orders of your sworn foe, King Khar of the High Peaks. The foe was repulsed at the Reserve by a force I was able to muster at short notice, but an attempt to cut off their troops from the harbor was unsuccessful."

I look around the room. Doubtless Hasselhorf's envy is biting at more hearts. Look at him; why didn't the legendary Atroxheim do more? Does he think himself better than us? But they will listen, if they have any honor. I do not glare back. I simply demand their respect with soft words and hard eyes.

"Hasselhorf, having escaped, is likely to contract with Khar and return to loot the city again. Furthermore, the mercenary companies not implicated in this betrayal are likely to abandon the city, leaving it vulnerable. Khar is finally making his move."

My part played, I step back, taking my place among the Knights of Altdorf. It is not my place to pontificate on how Altdorf's sin is returning to it, or suggest battle strategies without being prompted. This I must leave to the Countess.

[Anarion]

I drop the musket. Hasselhorf's men have the problem well in hand and we speed away to head towards Khar. "That was a friend I just shot at. Hopefully, one I might yet keep, though I've no optimism of it. I'll be pleased when you take me to Khar and I can be off this boat."

[Thanqol]

"Hasselhorf, having escaped, is likely to contract with Khar and return to loot the city again. Furthermore, the mercenary companies not implicated in this betrayal are likely to abandon the city, leaving it vulnerable. Khar is finally making his move."

My part played, I step back, taking my place among the Knights of Altdorf. It is not my place to pontificate on how Altdorf's sin is returning to it, or suggest battle strategies without being prompted. This I must leave to the Countess.

The Countess, as always, sits silent while her advisers swarm about her. When you are addressed it is by the Archlibrarian; a civilian and a sorcerer, he is not bound by the same bonds of respect and decorum that is causing the knights to keep their tongues.

"Perhaps, herr Atroxheim, you would care to comment on this letter we received just before the fighting started," he said in a voice filled with contempt, and he hands you a piece of paper in the orderly and blocky hand of Hasselhorf.

Lords of Altdorf,

I have turned my hand against your city without declaration, this is true, and I expect no forgiveness for such a thing. It is no grudge against you that inspires this deed. I seek only to explain why I had no choice but to perform such an unprecedented betrayal and forever besmirch my own honour. The reason is simple: Herr Atroxheim.

Herr Atroxheim's strategy has been deficient from the beginning. Numerous times in councils of war I raised my objections and was overruled without comment. The result of this was the destruction of the watchtowers and the loss of the outer reaches. I repeatedly advocated attack; Herr Atroxheim chose to stay within the walls of Altdorf even as the noose closed around us. The Gyrfalcons are warriors, contracted to take the field in glorious battle, and while we stayed our hands for near on a year it eventually became apparent that we were being lead by a coward. And to a Gyrfalcon that was the greatest dishonour of all.

By all means, consider me a traitor and damn me for what I have done today, I expect it. Such is the price I pay for my loyalty to my soldiers, the finest warriors ever to walk the Empire, who were being asked to cower like rats and starve to death under the command of a man who feared to use them.

As I write this, I plan to propose the peaceful breaking of my contract and orderly withdrawal from the city to Herr Atroxheim, but I am no fool and know that he is a man given to wroth action and is unlikely to let us leave peacefully. He may attempt to kill me in my own tent and I owe it to the Gyrfalcons to be ready. I have prepared my men for war and will fight my way to freedom if I must.

Sincerely,

- Hasselhorf


You can almost feel the smugness radiating from it. Hasselhorf knows perfectly well you are no coward but in a stroke he has cast all your entirely sound and intelligent military decisions in that light.

What do you do?



I drop the musket. Hasselhorf's men have the problem well in hand and we speed away to head towards Khar. "That was a friend I just shot at. Hopefully, one I might yet keep, though I've no optimism of it. I'll be pleased when you take me to Khar and I can be off this boat."

"Are you whining that the laws of hospitality made you do something you didn't want to do?" said Hasselhorf incredulously. "You? Unbelievable," he shook his head in disbelief and walked away, muttering to himself.

Soon after you spy the old priest of the Architect, bound and chained, being dragged below decks by a set of Gyrfalcons.

[Raz_Fox]

I take my time reading the letter. If it were not for Hasselhorf's large, unhandsome pensmanship, I would have a difficult time of it. To my shame, my eyes are not what they once were. But I am Altdorf-educated, and I am able to read it without mouthing along to the words.

Once finished, I fold it carefully in my hands. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I find within this letter little more than base, crude falsehood. Hasselhorf means to divide our strength, turning us against ourselves, and in doing so, seeks to bring disgrace on me and my lineage. The gods of Kislev will not forget his words.

"Consider, if you will, his actions today alone. He argues in bad faith; he had troops arrayed at the Reserve with instructions to loot and plunder one of the most august, revered institutions in the Empire. Furthermore, he had agents in place to perform acts of arson against our city, disrupting holy festival in an impious display. If you believe him when he claims he ever intended to leave peacefully, you ignore the facts at hand to your peril.

"Furthermore, if anyone assembled here doubts that my counsel over the course of this winter has been grounded in practical concerns and centuries of accumulated military doctrine, or otherwise finds deficiencies in my character, I exhort them: do, step forward, that I may address your concerns directly following this meeting, for I see no more benefit to refuting the word of a rapacious brigand while we are all gathered here. As ever, I am willing to listen to your concerns, noble gentlemen of Altdorf. I pray that you do not allow yourselves to be deceived by the man who has cheated our city grievously."

[Rolling to Win Over the war council; if that's too broad, to Win Over the Archlibrarian. [roll0]]
[Also, I am responding to Hasselhorf's denial of my right by declaring that the ancient gods of Kislev, who watch over the Legion, are outraged.]

[PhoeKun]

Through the flames of a burning building rides a knight from antiquity. His armour is bronze, his steed is white, and his banner is living fire. His plumed helmet reveals his face which is filled with a profound and simple joy, and he looks down at you with respect and admiration. He seems a champion from an earlier age, when empires clashed for the fate of the world and built monuments that baffle the wisest men of today. He is a god, an Imperial Ghost, so powerful and ancient he needs no worship - only emulation.

"Young Knight!" he cries, "I am Amoth City-Smiter, Khan of Fire, Ruin of Empires!" he leaps from his horse and lands in front of you, pulling his helmet from his head and offering his hand to shake. "I was watching your joust today and I was truly impressed; you have both skill and destiny behind you. That is why I have decided that you shall be my champion in the living world!"

Stars alive! What manner of day is this, that I am to fly from haunting to haunting by the phantoms of powers and ages greater than myself? I am short of breath, and stare at this apparition in wide eye wonder. Never in a thousand lifetimes would I have thought that I would be marked to speak with someone from the Exalted past. My family speaks of Amoth in our history scrolls; my father venerated him especially and often said it was only through deeds of great and bloody war that Alleinecourt was won and given over to him. I can scarcely hold my hand back when he offers me his own, though I am terrified I will immolate on the spot.

"I am honored," I choke out. It is getting more difficult to breathe, "Only... if you have been watching me, you know I have no love of death. Mine is to seek glory in the form of honorable combat, in duels first and foremost. I fear that I will make you a poor champion. Still, if it would only keep safe those that I love and that which I cherish I would give myself over to you without complaint. What is it you would have me do? Is it truly my destiny to raze the works of man and lay low by scores young men reaching for dreams?"

I have not caught fire, to my surprise. But I can still feel the heat all around me. Would that my arm were whole - to my great shame I cannot stop it from shaking.

[Thanqol]

Once finished, I fold it carefully in my hands. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I find within this letter little more than base, crude falsehood. Hasselhorf means to divide our strength, turning us against ourselves, and in doing so, seeks to bring disgrace on me and my lineage. The gods of Kislev will not forget his words.

You pray to many gods; which God of Kislev, specifically, do you call upon for vengeance?


"Consider, if you will, his actions today alone. He argues in bad faith; he had troops arrayed at the Reserve with instructions to loot and plunder one of the most august, revered institutions in the Empire. Furthermore, he had agents in place to perform acts of arson against our city, disrupting holy festival in an impious display. If you believe him when he claims he ever intended to leave peacefully, you ignore the facts at hand to your peril.

"Furthermore, if anyone assembled here doubts that my counsel over the course of this winter has been grounded in practical concerns and centuries of accumulated military doctrine, or otherwise finds deficiencies in my character, I exhort them: do, step forward, that I may address your concerns directly following this meeting, for I see no more benefit to refuting the word of a rapacious brigand while we are all gathered here. As ever, I am willing to listen to your concerns, noble gentlemen of Altdorf. I pray that you do not allow yourselves to be deceived by the man who has cheated our city grievously."

[Rolling to Win Over the war council; if that's too broad, to Win Over the Archlibrarian. [roll0]]
[Also, I am responding to Hasselhorf's denial of my right by declaring that the ancient gods of Kislev, who watch over the Legion, are outraged.]

"Of course he argues in bad faith," snapped Tusk. "Nevertheless the topic is raised. Altdorf is losing this war! The dwarves are at our borders and a good part of our strength has either deserted or lies butchered. Before long the siege engines will be built all around us and your magnificent last stand will be complete and we shall all be dead.

"I believe," and here he looks at the Countess, and then the rest of the Knights of Altdorf, "that we have trusted in the Emperor's protection and the skill of mortal arms long enough. It is time to set aside Herr Atroxheim and conduct war in the old manner."

You may ask your questions of the war council; you cannot win over the Archlibrarian as he is your opponent in this debate.


"I am honored," I choke out. It is getting more difficult to breathe, "Only... if you have been watching me, you know I have no love of death. Mine is to seek glory in the form of honorable combat, in duels first and foremost. I fear that I will make you a poor champion. Still, if it would only keep safe those that I love and that which I cherish I would give myself over to you without complaint. What is it you would have me do? Is it truly my destiny to raze the works of man and lay low by scores young men reaching for dreams?"

I have not caught fire, to my surprise. But I can still feel the heat all around me. Would that my arm were whole - to my great shame I cannot stop it from shaking.

"Some dreams must die," said Amoth cheerfully. "Carthage was built on human sacrifice. I burned it and salted the fields. Rome became a hive of wicked sorcerers. I raised a host to sack it. There is an entire Empire that you will never know the name of because I decided it was unworthy of survival. I name the wicked town of Orvisk, the manic dwarven forge of Karak Azgul, and eventually Altdorf itself as three cities you will one day make the decision to burn, and when you have lit those three torches the fire will be forever yours to command."

[When you destroy one of those three cities, mark an XP towards assuming a Mantle. When you have marked all three, assume the Mantle of the City-Smiter.]

[Anarion]

"Are you whining that the laws of hospitality made you do something you didn't want to do?" said Hasselhorf incredulously. "You? Unbelievable," he shook his head in disbelief and walked away, muttering to himself.

Soon after you spy the old priest of the Architect, bound and chained, being dragged below decks by a set of Gyrfalcons.

I'm not going to engage with that at all. Hasselhorf has established himself as a thoroughly detestable fellow and good riddance to him for the moment. The priest, on the other hand, I probably ought to go and see.

I let out a long sigh as the smoke begins to clear and the ship moves into open air. I had not hoped for this. For any of this, and today was a day that pained me to do what my goddess required of me. Perhaps that was what Hasselhorf did not understand. Sacrifice was required to serve, and he was a man who could not tolerate anything that pained him.

Before I go below decks though, there is a matter to attend to with the soldiers. "Gyrfalcons!" I call, "you have fought and shed blood this day. Join me for a moment, now that there is calm, in offering prayers to the gods of life and battle who have guided you through the day. Give thanks for their blessing upon you, honor to your fallen comrades, and respect to those you have killed who died in loyal service." And with that I kneel and place my hands together in supplication, and look for all who can hear me to follow suit.

[Elanorin]

Freedom, protection, skill, duty - you have called upon White Rushing Mane, war goddess of the ancient world. She is drawn from the same legends as Amoth City-Smiter, but while he is an amalgamation of great and terrible human conquerors, she represents the favour of the natural world in warfare. She is known for her associations with rivers, horses, wind, ships, but beyond and above that, motion of all kinds. That motion manifests in the constantly shifting physical form that rises from the water to greet you; at one moment you address a trireme with painted red eyes, the next a one-armed warrior-woman, and after that a horse made of thunderclouds.

Whatever she appears as, the one constant is that she is eminently modern. As a warrior she most closely resembles the Gyrfalcons, with their bright colours and proud muskets. As a divinely clad goddess she wears stately fashions straight off the looms of Tilea. While she does not hold to the past, she is proud and she is fickle, and she looks upon you with impatience. What do you do?

Edentraud's lips fell silent in the water as the goddess appeared before her. Her heart skipped a beat as she recognised the shifting figure before her and whose attention she'd caught. True, she hadn't named her but she was nothing but elated by who had come to her call.

"I greet you, Storm-shaper, Wave-rider, Windfall," Edentraud spoke softly as she gazed with admiration at the goddess before her. "A city burns, arms strike armours, a battle like so many before and so many yet to come, too unremarkable to demand your attention. But True Love stands in the smoke and flames. She defends this city, She stands in harm's way. I ask you, let no harm come to her, White Rushing Mane.

Please." Eden tried, but was ultimately unable to keep her voice steady.

[Raz_Fox]

The honor of my title is defended by Perun, He Who Sets The Trees Alight. When the sky shakes in the awful winter night, it is because Perun and his cousin Veles are fighting. Perun is a patron of warriors, and detests slanderers and tricksters. Hasselhorf's treachery is compounded by his disrespect towards my position, which is anointed by the gods of Kislev. Let him tremble when lightning cracks open the sky, and let his courage fail him!

Myself, I desire to know whether I am familiar with this old manner of fighting, or if the Knights around me are familiar while I am not.

[Questions from Winning Over: what leverage could I exercise over you? How can I assure you that my judgment is still trustworthy? One question remains.]

[PhoeKun]

"Some dreams must die," said Amoth cheerfully. "Carthage was built on human sacrifice. I burned it and salted the fields. Rome became a hive of wicked sorcerers. I raised a host to sack it. There is an entire Empire that you will never know the name of because I decided it was unworthy of survival. I name the wicked town of Orvisk, the manic dwarven forge of Karak Azgul, and eventually Altdorf itself as three cities you will one day make the decision to burn, and when you have lit those three torches the fire will be forever yours to command."

[When you destroy one of those three cities, mark an XP towards assuming a Mantle. When you have marked all three, assume the Mantle of the City-Smiter.]

I spent the winter thinking that Altdorf was doomed. I wondered why the city hadn't burned to its foundations, shining like a jewel in the crown of an empire that had already crumbled, leaving nothing to protect it. I see my answer now smiling in front of me, and it's telling me the reason is that I haven't set it to torch yet.

... Ah. Why do people talk of being "marked by destiny" as though it were some grand quality? I do not want this burden! Let someone else take it, and I shall diminish happily. And... be what? Sixth in line, devoid of talent. Unmarked by history, or by anyone. My chest burns with a need to be great, if I turn away it should kill me. But if I do this, who will welcome me? So if this is my destiny, should stoke these fires here and now while they are already burning and save myself the trouble? There is so much I do not understand, so many questions I have before I can set a single foot on the path now laid before me. I bow my head and acknowledge Amoth.

"I cannot deny you, Khan of Fire. I fear to do so is to deny my heritage and with it, myself. I only... I only ask you give me leave to seek my destiny as I see fit. Do not think ill of me if I hesitate or question myself. I will do things in my own way, or not at all."

I cross my hand over my heart in the salute I was taught as a child. Then I take to the flames, stamp them out where I can. Call for water. Help people carry what can be saved away. Get the injured out of the smoke, draw trenches to stop the flames from spreading. I fight harder now to save this city and the people in it than I have fought anything in my life.

"Not here. Not yet."

[Thanqol]

Before I go below decks though, there is a matter to attend to with the soldiers. "Gyrfalcons!" I call, "you have fought and shed blood this day. Join me for a moment, now that there is calm, in offering prayers to the gods of life and battle who have guided you through the day. Give thanks for their blessing upon you, honor to your fallen comrades, and respect to those you have killed who died in loyal service." And with that I kneel and place my hands together in supplication, and look for all who can hear me to follow suit.

The Gyrfalcons were a pagan and superstitious lot in general and most seemed entirely happy to bend the knee and worship at your direction, even if most of them don't know Gaia much or at all. Is there any particular way you want to take this sermon?


Edentraud's lips fell silent in the water as the goddess appeared before her. Her heart skipped a beat as she recognised the shifting figure before her and whose attention she'd caught. True, she hadn't named her but she was nothing but elated by who had come to her call.

"I greet you, Storm-shaper, Wave-rider, Windfall," Edentraud spoke softly as she gazed with admiration at the goddess before her. "A city burns, arms strike armours, a battle like so many before and so many yet to come, too unremarkable to demand your attention. But True Love stands in the smoke and flames. She defends this city, She stands in harm's way. I ask you, let no harm come to her, White Rushing Mane.

Please." Eden tried, but was ultimately unable to keep her voice steady.

White Rushing Mane casually snapped her fingers. "Done. Today, she is protected," and that was as far as her thoughts ran, and so she began to turn to go.

You may not want to let her leave so swiftly, however; it is rare to attract the attention of such a powerful entity and if you are cunning you may be able to strike a more lasting bargain.


The honor of my title is defended by Perun, He Who Sets The Trees Alight. When the sky shakes in the awful winter night, it is because Perun and his cousin Veles are fighting. Perun is a patron of warriors, and detests slanderers and tricksters. Hasselhorf's treachery is compounded by his disrespect towards my position, which is anointed by the gods of Kislev. Let him tremble when lightning cracks open the sky, and let his courage fail him!

Myself, I desire to know whether I am familiar with this old manner of fighting, or if the Knights around me are familiar while I am not.

[Questions from Winning Over: what leverage could I exercise over you? How can I assure you that my judgment is still trustworthy? One question remains.]

Your leverage was your army. Now that it is wounded your leverage is that much less. Acquire more soldiers, more allies, more martial strength and you will again be able to convince the Council to follow your direction.

As to your judgement, that is sadly a matter where Hasselhorf has you pinned. Honour now demands that you take the field and bloody the dwarves to prove that you are not craven as accused. It means facing the dwarves on even ground and that is not a conflict to seek out - though you may be able to achieve what you seek through stealth and ambuscade.

The Knights all know of the method of which Tusk speaks; they seem uncomfortable with it, but are coming to believe it is necessary. You know nothing of it; Altdorf keeps its secrets close.


I spent the winter thinking that Altdorf was doomed. I wondered why the city hadn't burned to its foundations, shining like a jewel in the crown of an empire that had already crumbled, leaving nothing to protect it. I see my answer now smiling in front of me, and it's telling me the reason is that I haven't set it to torch yet.

... Ah. Why do people talk of being "marked by destiny" as though it were some grand quality? I do not want this burden! Let someone else take it, and I shall diminish happily. And... be what? Sixth in line, devoid of talent. Unmarked by history, or by anyone. My chest burns with a need to be great, if I turn away it should kill me. But if I do this, who will welcome me? So if this is my destiny, should stoke these fires here and now while they are already burning and save myself the trouble? There is so much I do not understand, so many questions I have before I can set a single foot on the path now laid before me. I bow my head and acknowledge Amoth.

"I cannot deny you, Khan of Fire. I fear to do so is to deny my heritage and with it, myself. I only... I only ask you give me leave to seek my destiny as I see fit. Do not think ill of me if I hesitate or question myself. I will do things in my own way, or not at all."

I cross my hand over my heart in the salute I was taught as a child.

"I was not giving you a command, Knight," said the City-Smiter. "I was revealing the future. Try to find the joy in it." There is a trace of melancholy in his smile as he rides away.


Then I take to the flames, stamp them out where I can. Call for water. Help people carry what can be saved away. Get the injured out of the smoke, draw trenches to stop the flames from spreading. I fight harder now to save this city and the people in it than I have fought anything in my life.

"Not here. Not yet."

Despite the urgency of your motions and the boldness of your approach, no fire touches you and no harm befalls you. Some divine power shields you from even the most blatant dangers, and you can see the awe in those around you who recognize it.

The fires eventually come to be controlled, and the plumes of smoke wrap the afternoon sun in crimson.

[Elanorin]

White Rushing Mane casually snapped her fingers. "Done. Today, she is protected," and that was as far as her thoughts ran, and so she began to turn to go.

You may not want to let her leave so swiftly, however; it is rare to attract the attention of such a powerful entity and if you are cunning you may be able to strike a more lasting bargain.

Relief washed over Edentraud where she lay in the water and the assurance that Layna would find her way safely through this siege, no matter what heroics she may feel compelled to do, was a delight akin to the rush of too much wine. Her smile beamed and her eyes glittered but almost immediately the word 'today' hit home and felt much too short. Much too soon.

"Lady Whitewater," Eden suddenly called when she saw the great goddess turning to leave, her mind was racing and her heart equally so in the heady desire and hope to secure the long life her love deserved. "I thank you for your generosity. Let me tell you the name of the one who you have granted your divine protection; her name is Layna D'Alleinecourt. A fearless horse rider and champion jouster. A daughter of the Lord of the Lonely Castle whose golden hair is forever caressed by the wind. A sixthborn, fate stirring in the dust of her ever-wandering footsteps. A knight who holds the heart of a Riverdaughter in her hands and she will forever be its keeper. A worthy charge, for White Rushing Mane."

Edentraud moved silently in the water, rising her head above the surface and felt how her cold wet hair clung to her cheeks and face but did not brush it aside.

"Please, river Queen, never let harm come to Layna D'Alleinecourt."

[Anarion]

The Gyrfalcons were a pagan and superstitious lot in general and most seemed entirely happy to bend the knee and worship at your direction, even if most of them don't know Gaia much or at all. Is there any particular way you want to take this sermon?


If there's time, I'll speak to them, though I won't keep them bended on knee too long.

"I give thanks to Gaia for blessing the lives of those that past, and to Tyr, god of war for blessing the lives of those who must yet fight. You have fought well this day, men and there is no fear in giving your life in loyal service, for your sacrifice shall be rewarded in the next life with abundance of meat and mead, and more fine things than you can count! But woe betide the coward who flees his post and breaks his oaths. For the baleful eye of vengeance shall fall upon him and his days shall be haunted by grief in this life and the next. It is in bravery, boldness, and sacrifice for the greater good that you shall achieve greatness and your names remembered for generations!"

[Raz_Fox]

As to your judgement, that is sadly a matter where Hasselhorf has you pinned. Honour now demands that you take the field and bloody the dwarves to prove that you are not craven as accused. It means facing the dwarves on even ground and that is not a conflict to seek out - though you may be able to achieve what you seek through stealth and ambuscade.

"The skill of mortal arms forged this Empire, honorable Archlibrarian, and mortal hands built this city, stone by stone," I say, once the Archlibrarian has finished his proposal. To interrupt him would show an intolerable disrespect for his age and title. "I understand your concerns, but to set aside the protection of an Imperial Legion, no matter how bloodied by the day's events, is, in my estimation, something that this city can ill afford. Rather, I propose that our response to this crisis be alloyed, particularly while my troops are regathering their strength."

This said, I step back. Despite being, perhaps, the most seasoned man in that room, I do not wish to project an air of arrogance. I do not yet know what Tusk's solution entails, and I have not begun reforming my strength; indeed, cannot, until the meeting is concluded. Better to wait until I have concrete assurances that my defense of Altdorf will be sufficient.

[Thanqol]

Relief washed over Edentraud where she lay in the water and the assurance that Layna would find her way safely through this siege, no matter what heroics she may feel compelled to do, was a delight akin to the rush of too much wine. Her smile beamed and her eyes glittered but almost immediately the word 'today' hit home and felt much too short. Much too soon.

"Lady Whitewater," Eden suddenly called when she saw the great goddess turning to leave, her mind was racing and her heart equally so in the heady desire and hope to secure the long life her love deserved. "I thank you for your generosity. Let me tell you the name of the one who you have granted your divine protection; her name is Layna D'Alleinecourt. A fearless horse rider and champion jouster. A daughter of the Lord of the Lonely Castle whose golden hair is forever caressed by the wind. A sixthborn, fate stirring in the dust of her ever-wandering footsteps. A knight who holds the heart of a Riverdaughter in her hands and she will forever be its keeper. A worthy charge, for White Rushing Mane."

Edentraud moved silently in the water, rising her head above the surface and felt how her cold wet hair clung to her cheeks and face but did not brush it aside.

"Please, river Queen, never let harm come to Layna D'Alleinecourt."

"To freeze one thing in time, I must freeze another of equal value," said White Rushing Mane. "The price is thus: So long as you never smile at Layna, nor touch her kindly, nor show her anything but a cold and frozen heart she shall have my protection. Should your heart ever stir into motion then so too will her destiny, wherever that leads. That is what forever costs."


If there's time, I'll speak to them, though I won't keep them bended on knee too long.

"I give thanks to Gaia for blessing the lives of those that past, and to Tyr, god of war for blessing the lives of those who must yet fight. You have fought well this day, men and there is no fear in giving your life in loyal service, for your sacrifice shall be rewarded in the next life with abundance of meat and mead, and more fine things than you can count! But woe betide the coward who flees his post and breaks his oaths. For the baleful eye of vengeance shall fall upon him and his days shall be haunted by grief in this life and the next. It is in bravery, boldness, and sacrifice for the greater good that you shall achieve greatness and your names remembered for generations!"

You have misjudged the Gyrfalcons, and when your sermon turns to a rebuke for their dishonourable behaviour they begin to turn away. At the other end of the ship they instead pay attention to the elderly star priest with the brilliant eyes, lecturing in a hushed voice, animated gestures rattling at his chains. Before long the majority of the crew are straining to hear his words and all are ignoring yours.


"The skill of mortal arms forged this Empire, honorable Archlibrarian, and mortal hands built this city, stone by stone," I say, once the Archlibrarian has finished his proposal. To interrupt him would show an intolerable disrespect for his age and title. "I understand your concerns, but to set aside the protection of an Imperial Legion, no matter how bloodied by the day's events, is, in my estimation, something that this city can ill afford. Rather, I propose that our response to this crisis be alloyed, particularly while my troops are regathering their strength."

This said, I step back. Despite being, perhaps, the most seasoned man in that room, I do not wish to project an air of arrogance. I do not yet know what Tusk's solution entails, and I have not begun reforming my strength; indeed, cannot, until the meeting is concluded. Better to wait until I have concrete assurances that my defense of Altdorf will be sufficient.

Tusk feels he has nothing more to say and gives no speeches, and though your point is well made the uncomfortable silence in the room, and the occasional debates and gestures to the map on the table, are all made under the heavy aura of Tusk's alternative. It is strange, not knowing what this method is, but a young Knight called Deorwine eventually whispers the truth to you.

"Archlibrarian Tusk proposes opening Altdorf's tombs and raising the dead to fight for us. Many of us doubt that such creatures will return easily to sleep after tasting the sun again, and yet how else will we survive this?"

[Raz_Fox]

Tusk feels he has nothing more to say and gives no speeches, and though your point is well made the uncomfortable silence in the room, and the occasional debates and gestures to the map on the table, are all made under the heavy aura of Tusk's alternative. It is strange, not knowing what this method is, but a young Knight called Deorwine eventually whispers the truth to you.

"Archlibrarian Tusk proposes opening Altdorf's tombs and raising the dead to fight for us. Many of us doubt that such creatures will return easily to sleep after tasting the sun again, and yet how else will we survive this?"

I have fought the dead-who-walk before. It is not pleasant work. Even my men, who do not fear death, felt the fear of standing before such creatures. They are not truly returned, as far as I understand: it is something else that fills them up, or an echo of who they once were, as heard from a distance. There is a reason that no civilized nation is ruled by an undying ruler.

(Nehekhara, once. But now the sand rolls over their great statues, and the kings sleep uneasily in their tombs.)

If I were Hasselhorf, I would agree to this plan, I believe. But I am a man who looks over his shoulder when he walks at night, watching for white-fire eyes, and I am a man who has cut corpses to fetid ribbons on the battlefield. I have seen what necromancy does to men: I have seen with my own eyes what wretched creatures are these magicians who rend the veil between the land of the living and the silence of death. And my stomach turns to think that this war has turned Altdorf into a city that would stoop to such means to survive.

My heart is troubled as the meeting continues, but I keep my own counsel. After thanking Deorwine, of course.

[Anarion]

You have misjudged the Gyrfalcons, and when your sermon turns to a rebuke for their dishonourable behaviour they begin to turn away. At the other end of the ship they instead pay attention to the elderly star priest with the brilliant eyes, lecturing in a hushed voice, animated gestures rattling at his chains. Before long the majority of the crew are straining to hear his words and all are ignoring yours.


I would say, rather, that I have withheld judgment and I can now judge them properly. God fearing until they don't like what they're hearing. That's not the way of things. I make my way over to the Star Priest too. I'm sure he's speaking well, even in chains, but I walk next to him and interrupt him. "Why do you lead these people astray, old man? I have seen your mettle today and I know your heart is in the right place. Yet when you turn them from the old gods and from the worship in which I lead them, you bring down the wrath of my goddess upon them. I was not to be much longer, you could wait your turn and I might even be interested to hear your doctrine. There are many gods after, all. But no, instead, you act the innocent fool, and I will not offer another opportunity to repent, for you knew well what you did and these men too knew well their doing. All of you! Dare you interrupt the worship of Gaia and of Tyr?! You will learn respect, even you, Herr Hasselhorf, for allowing your men such faulty morals. The wrath of Gaia and of Tyr, god of war upon you and all your company for your disrespect!"

[PhoeKun]

"I was not giving you a command, Knight," said the City-Smiter. "I was revealing the future. Try to find the joy in it." There is a trace of melancholy in his smile as he rides away.



Despite the urgency of your motions and the boldness of your approach, no fire touches you and no harm befalls you. Some divine power shields you from even the most blatant dangers, and you can see the awe in those around you who recognize it.

The fires eventually come to be controlled, and the plumes of smoke wrap the afternoon sun in crimson.

Though I am unharmed, I am exhausted. I pause to catch my breath, and marvel that even the air I breathe seems fresh and clean despite the destruction around me. My braid clings to my neck, and my skin glistens with sweat. Under the red light of the sky, do I shine like the dawn? People are staring at me like I do. Behind me, what had been the wall of a goldsmiths crumbles, kicking up a gust of wind that carries ash and dirt into the sky.

"Try to find the joy in it." I test the words on my lips. Can I? When I see these faces, filled with horror, relief, awe?

It's true that glory is found at someone else's expense. I cannot be a Knight if I do not seek battle, and battle will always make me someone's ruination. But I can't reconcile the difference in my heart between a joust, or even slaying another Knight, and bringing havoc at levels beyond what the Gyrfalcons have caused today. This is a question beyond me, I need time and I need help. My thoughts turn to Ardashir. Acerbic old man that he is, however many insults he might have hurled at me, or my education, or the teachings of Alleinecourt, he took me under his arm and told me he saw the mark of destiny upon me. He didn't say at the time, but maybe he knew then what I know now. I should ask him. Doubtlessly he'll speak in riddles, but he might at least point me somewhere I could seek clarity.

But today is his appointed day of rest, and though it confuses me that something like that could be afforded anyone I dare not interfere with something that belongs to him by right. And there is only one face my heart wants to look upon right now. I lift my hand above my head and direct the people around me back toward the jousting lists and the festival grounds. There will still be food there, and a chance for them to forget again if only for a bit that they are doomed. My feet carry me in search of my Love. Her smile will make it all make sense.

[TheAmishPirate]

I'm not going to engage with that at all. Hasselhorf has established himself as a thoroughly detestable fellow and good riddance to him for the moment. The priest, on the other hand, I probably ought to go and see.

I let out a long sigh as the smoke begins to clear and the ship moves into open air. I had not hoped for this. For any of this, and today was a day that pained me to do what my goddess required of me. Perhaps that was what Hasselhorf did not understand. Sacrifice was required to serve, and he was a man who could not tolerate anything that pained him.

Before I go below decks though, there is a matter to attend to with the soldiers. "Gyrfalcons!" I call, "you have fought and shed blood this day. Join me for a moment, now that there is calm, in offering prayers to the gods of life and battle who have guided you through the day. Give thanks for their blessing upon you, honor to your fallen comrades, and respect to those you have killed who died in loyal service." And with that I kneel and place my hands together in supplication, and look for all who can hear me to follow suit.


I would say, rather, that I have withheld judgment and I can now judge them properly. God fearing until they don't like what they're hearing. That's not the way of things. I make my way over to the Star Priest too. I'm sure he's speaking well, even in chains, but I walk next to him and interrupt him. "Why do you lead these people astray, old man? I have seen your mettle today and I know your heart is in the right place. Yet when you turn them from the old gods and from the worship in which I lead them, you bring down the wrath of my goddess upon them. I was not to be much longer, you could wait your turn and I might even be interested to hear your doctrine. There are many gods after, all. But no, instead, you act the innocent fool, and I will not offer another opportunity to repent, for you knew well what you did and these men too knew well their doing. All of you! Dare you interrupt the worship of Gaia and of Tyr?! You will learn respect, even you, Herr Hasselhorf, for allowing your men such faulty morals. The wrath of Gaia and of Tyr, god of war upon you and all your company for your disrespect!"

Oh, come off it already.

I'm glad I'm not here to witness this display, because it is about the only thing in all of creation that could make me more ill. Listen well, dwarf, and I'll tell you why these people don't listen to you. Why nobody listens to you. It is because you are the worst kind of bastard, the kind that gives the rest of us poor bastards a bad name. For all you puff up the 'old ways' and spit curses on those who spite you, what have you done, hrmm? I don't know what impossible loophole you've hung yourself on, but from where I stand - oh, my mistake, from where I lay in the filth - you've aided your host's enemies, allowed them to butcher her people and raid her treasures, then let them sail away clean, all against the wishes of your goddess. And you have the gall to pronounce judgement on these men? At least Hasselhorf acknowledges he's a traitorous rat. You stab us in the back, then go to prayers with your hands still bloody.

In short, the worst kind of bastard.

Hear me well, ye of little wisdom. You have made an old, powerful man angry in ways that your young mind cannot begin to comprehend. You have ruined my day of rest, you have ruined my clothes, you tried to ruin my library, and worst of all?! You bloodied a dear friend of mine. There will be no home in Altdorf, for you or any of your kind; consider your journey a failure. There will be no home for you among your people; I will personally see to that long before you ever arrive. You, who preach the virtues of hospitality, will have no home on this earth, because I will not rest until I am vindicated.

But first, I must stop by the Reserve for a change of clothes. When I am less dung-covered, I will make straight for the palace. For once, I will beat their summons.

[Elanorin]

"To freeze one thing in time, I must freeze another of equal value," said White Rushing Mane. "The price is thus: So long as you never smile at Layna, nor touch her kindly, nor show her anything but a cold and frozen heart she shall have my protection. Should your heart ever stir into motion then so too will her destiny, wherever that leads. That is what forever costs."


Edentraud became utterly motionless in the cold water, the picture of White Rushing Mane's ever fluctuating and moving form's exact opposite. She had asked a lot, she knew the moment she'd decided to ask for everlasting protection it had been dangerous, that the price would be high. She'd been prepared to give anything of herself, but to give up Layna...

The pride of the riverdaughter flared up and battled in her chest; Eden was not accustomed to be denied anything that she wanted. A moment before she'd already felt an unprecedented selflessness when she'd been willing to make a sacrifice to herself for the sake of Layna's safety, but the thought that she'd have to give up that which her heart desired above all, it was as alien to her as it was painful.

For a second she decided, no, the cost was too much. She would not bear this. She was no mere mewling human who had to bow and accept what life saw fit to throw at them. She wanted Layna D'Alleinecourt with every fibre of her being and she deserved her. She would not give her up.

She is mine!

But for how long? The image of Layna's broken arm from the joust flashed unbidden before her mind's eye and Eden visibly flinched. It was a strange agony to see Layna in pain, no matter how bravely she bore it and how she tried to belittle it. Eden had never felt such painful empathy before and the thought of facing it again, knowing she'd had the chance to prevent all hurt to Layna, forever, how would she ever endure such a moment? And with Layna D'Alleinecourt, the knight and champion, how likely was it not that it would come sooner rather than later. And over and over again. What if she- She couldn't even think the word.

Still motionless in the water Edentraud briefly closed her eyes and silent salty tears traced down her proud face and dripped quietly in to the river. She watched the sky reflecting in the surface of the water around her and thought how oddly poetic this sentence was; she had always felt such an affinity to Winter and cold. Now she'd have to shoulder that Winter mantle and wield that cold like a weapon against the truest soul she had ever known.

"I accept," she breathed, her voice trembling. Her breath became laboured and soon made a light mist from her mouth as she felt her heart grow colder.

[Thanqol]

If I were Hasselhorf, I would agree to this plan, I believe. But I am a man who looks over his shoulder when he walks at night, watching for white-fire eyes, and I am a man who has cut corpses to fetid ribbons on the battlefield. I have seen what necromancy does to men: I have seen with my own eyes what wretched creatures are these magicians who rend the veil between the land of the living and the silence of death. And my stomach turns to think that this war has turned Altdorf into a city that would stoop to such means to survive.

My heart is troubled as the meeting continues, but I keep my own counsel. After thanking Deorwine, of course.

Tusk gives no speeches. That is not his way. He simply sits and stares and allows the gravity of the situation to sink in. There is some half-hearted debate between the Knights, raising hypothetical scenarios, but it is constantly drained away into an oppressive silence. After a while everyone at the council is sitting in silence, and not long after the council would begin to break up.


Hear me well, ye of little wisdom. You have made an old, powerful man angry in ways that your young mind cannot begin to comprehend. You have ruined my day of rest, you have ruined my clothes, you tried to ruin my library, and worst of all?! You bloodied a dear friend of mine. There will be no home in Altdorf, for you or any of your kind; consider your journey a failure. There will be no home for you among your people; I will personally see to that long before you ever arrive. You, who preach the virtues of hospitality, will have no home on this earth, because I will not rest until I am vindicated.

But first, I must stop by the Reserve for a change of clothes. When I am less dung-covered, I will make straight for the palace. For once, I will beat their summons.

Just as the council seems about to break up, Ardashir enters the hall. All stand respectfully, although some crinkle their noses as he passes.

Ardashir, you can see from the gleam in Tusk's eye and the black mood over the Knights that the topic is undoubtedly the matter of the dead. What do you do?


I would say, rather, that I have withheld judgment and I can now judge them properly. God fearing until they don't like what they're hearing. That's not the way of things. I make my way over to the Star Priest too. I'm sure he's speaking well, even in chains, but I walk next to him and interrupt him. "Why do you lead these people astray, old man? I have seen your mettle today and I know your heart is in the right place. Yet when you turn them from the old gods and from the worship in which I lead them, you bring down the wrath of my goddess upon them. I was not to be much longer, you could wait your turn and I might even be interested to hear your doctrine. There are many gods after, all. But no, instead, you act the innocent fool, and I will not offer another opportunity to repent, for you knew well what you did and these men too knew well their doing. All of you! Dare you interrupt the worship of Gaia and of Tyr?! You will learn respect, even you, Herr Hasselhorf, for allowing your men such faulty morals. The wrath of Gaia and of Tyr, god of war upon you and all your company for your disrespect!"

The Gyrfalcons looked alternately angry and scared, and some of them put their hands on their swords as if to teach you a lesson, but the star priest brushed them all away; as commanding as a king despite his chains. The flame of his zeal, while never dim, burned like a bonfire.

"I welcome this curse!" he said with a smile to the shocked muttering of the men around him. "Because it is Fated that we should suffer it! I was cursed by those pagan gods before and here I stand, in chains because of it - and surrounded by free souls with powerful destinies. Strike these chains from me, brothers, and prove the grace of the Architect of Fate can overcome the cruelties of pagan deities!"

A handsome young woman, Idelle, was the boldest; she stepped forwards and uncuffed the priest. He stood tall, filled with righteous energy. "As for you, dwarf, it is a poor shepherd who blames his flock. You have cursed me twice and here I stand, free and surrounded by friends, while you stand alone without a friend in the world. It will save you much suffering if you learn this lesson before it is taught again."


But today is his appointed day of rest, and though it confuses me that something like that could be afforded anyone I dare not interfere with something that belongs to him by right. And there is only one face my heart wants to look upon right now. I lift my hand above my head and direct the people around me back toward the jousting lists and the festival grounds. There will still be food there, and a chance for them to forget again if only for a bit that they are doomed. My feet carry me in search of my Love. Her smile will make it all make sense.


Still motionless in the water Edentraud briefly closed her eyes and silent salty tears traced down her proud face and dripped quietly in to the river. She watched the sky reflecting in the surface of the water around her and thought how oddly poetic this sentence was; she had always felt such an affinity to Winter and cold. Now she'd have to shoulder that Winter mantle and wield that cold like a weapon against the truest soul she had ever known.

"I accept," she breathed, her voice trembling. Her breath became laboured and soon made a light mist from her mouth as she felt her heart grow colder.

The Goddess of Motion seems disappointed with the choice, but she does not ask you to look backwards. She recedes into the river and is carried away in an instant. Moments later Layna herself arrives, covered in ash, searching for you.

Layna, so long as Edentraud holds to this bargain, you are protected from any Harm that might befall you. Some cursed weapons, sorceries or divine curses may still befall you but you have no more to fear from mortal arms.

[Anarion]

The Gyrfalcons looked alternately angry and scared, and some of them put their hands on their swords as if to teach you a lesson, but the star priest brushed them all away; as commanding as a king despite his chains. The flame of his zeal, while never dim, burned like a bonfire.

"I welcome this curse!" he said with a smile to the shocked muttering of the men around him. "Because it is Fated that we should suffer it! I was cursed by those pagan gods before and here I stand, in chains because of it - and surrounded by free souls with powerful destinies. Strike these chains from me, brothers, and prove the grace of the Architect of Fate can overcome the cruelties of pagan deities!"

A handsome young woman, Idelle, was the boldest; she stepped forwards and uncuffed the priest. He stood tall, filled with righteous energy. "As for you, dwarf, it is a poor shepherd who blames his flock. You have cursed me twice and here I stand, free and surrounded by friends, while you stand alone without a friend in the world. It will save you much suffering if you learn this lesson before it is taught again."


I care not for the men on the ship, my eyes and my voice are only for the old man. "You have friends now because you offer them blessings while my words are not to their liking. Is the Architect of Fate of no more morals than a village whore, that his blessing can be taken by any man who calls his name? These are brave and pious souls here, yet today they followed a man who ordered them to break their oaths and betray the city they were bound to serve. That is not on their heads, but on their leader's, but it is well that now that the battle has ended, they consider what sort of man they ought to follow. Or do you disagree old man. You were left in council this morning, is there some great plan of Altdorf that justified the fire and blood today?"

[Elanorin]

The Goddess of Motion seems disappointed with the choice, but she does not ask you to look backwards. She recedes into the river and is carried away in an instant. Moments later Layna herself arrives, covered in ash, searching for you.

Layna, so long as Edentraud holds to this bargain, you are protected from any Harm that might befall you. Some cursed weapons, sorceries or divine curses may still befall you but you have no more to fear from mortal arms.

Edentraud rises a little from the water when she realises Layna is approaching from the docks behind her. She looks over her shoulder, seeing her in the corner of her eye but stops herself from turning to see her fully. She's covered in ask, it seems, how did she manage to still look so glorious?

"So," her voice is fractured and uneven at first, like the words spoken of one who had been silent so long they'd forgotten what their own voice sounds like. "The city is safe? Your duty done?" It took no small effort, but she managed to bring strength and hardness and ice in to her voice. She sounded different, she could even hear it herself.

[PhoeKun]

Edentraud rises a little from the water when she realises Layna is approaching from the docks behind her. She looks over her shoulder, seeing her in the corner of her eye but stops herself from turning to see her fully. She's covered in ash, it seems, how did she manage to still look so glorious?

"So," her voice is fractured and uneven at first, like the words spoken of one who had been silent so long they'd forgotten what their own voice sounds like. "The city is safe? Your duty done?" It took no small effort, but she managed to bring strength and hardness and ice in to her voice. She sounded different, she could even hear it herself.

Layna's heart leaped to see Edentraud rising up out of the water. Riverdaughter, soaked in water, never has there been a more lovely sight. Nor shall there ever be again; the world and all its wonder and magic is unequal to the task. Overcome with desire to feel the droplets falling from her hair, Layna rushed forward, only to be cut down in mid stride by the tone of that cold, lifeless voice. Where did the passion go? The music that made gods weep? She drew back half a step, awkwardly shaking ash from herself as she pulled her arms together in a defensive posture.

"So I did hurt you. I am sorry. It was wrong of me to leave your side without your permission. Please believe me, if the city were not burning and people were not in danger I would never have done it." It was impossible to hide the note of choking panic in her voice. It was one thing for someone to be uncertain of themselves, and another thing for their lover to be cross with them, but Layna loved Edentraud, and the ice in her voice told the young Knight her world would have no color in it if she heard that voice again. "I-I beg of you, give me leave to seek your forgiveness, and I will cast aside everything that I am. If... only, please, I beg of you, do not speak to me like the dead."

[Thanqol]

I care not for the men on the ship, my eyes and my voice are only for the old man. "You have friends now because you offer them blessings while my words are not to their liking. Is the Architect of Fate of no more morals than a village whore, that his blessing can be taken by any man who calls his name? These are brave and pious souls here, yet today they followed a man who ordered them to break their oaths and betray the city they were bound to serve. That is not on their heads, but on their leader's, but it is well that now that the battle has ended, they consider what sort of man they ought to follow. Or do you disagree old man. You were left in council this morning, is there some great plan of Altdorf that justified the fire and blood today?"

"These are free men," said Arken patiently, "they are not herr Hasselhorf's slaves, they made their choices knowingly. And it is not for us to know or judge the intentions of the Architect, only to embrace the destinies He has laid down for us.

"As for Altdorf, that is a very loaded question, and one to which I suspect you already know the answer," said the Star Priest.

[Elanorin]

Layna's heart leaped to see Edentraud rising up out of the water. Riverdaughter, soaked in water, never has there been a more lovely sight. Nor shall there ever be again; the world and all its wonder and magic is unequal to the task. Overcome with desire to feel the droplets falling from her hair, Layna rushed forward, only to be cut down in mid stride by the tone of that cold, lifeless voice. Where did the passion go? The music that made gods weep? She drew back half a step, awkwardly shaking ash from herself as she pulled her arms together in a defensive posture.

"So I did hurt you. I am sorry. It was wrong of me to leave your side without your permission. Please believe me, if the city were not burning and people were not in danger I would never have done it." It was impossible to hide the note of choking panic in her voice. It was one thing for someone to be uncertain of themselves, and another thing for their lover to be cross with them, but Layna loved Edentraud, and the ice in her voice told the young Knight her world would have no color in it if she heard that voice again. "I-I beg of you, give me leave to seek your forgiveness, and I will cast aside everything that I am. If... only, please, I beg of you, do not speak to me like the dead."

An uncomfortable shiver went down Edentraud's spine; Layna was blaming herself for Eden's ice. Edentraud was not so far gone that she genuinely believed any blame belonged to Layna but oh what an easy out it would be. To not have to walk away with the blame shouted at you for being the one who broke them asunder. Then Eden's pride suddenly flared up again; why should she take all the burden? Had she not sacrificed enough for Layna's immortality? Why should Layna not share some of the weight? But then, the thought of Layna forsaking all of herself just in search for some impossible warmth from her ignited Eden's temper instantly. Not only would it render her own bargain with White Rushing Mane useless and all her efforts to naught, but it would reduce the most glorious soul to draw breath to a husk. No, she would never allow this! In a flash of fury, Eden rose out of the water and up on the dock to face Layna where she was standing. Water cascaded down her body and clothes, her dress and cloak soaked, her hair still sticking to her face, head, neck, shoulders, arms and back and a puddle was quickly forming around her feet.

"Cast aside everything that you are?!" she snapped. "Yes, rid yourself of everything that ever caused me to look on you twice. Does that sound like something that I would find pleasing!?"

Eden paused, her fury burned out quickly this close to Layna, facing her, her eyes looking straight in to her own, the panic she saw in them, it caused her throat to grow painful and tight.

"Do not seek forgiveness from me, Herr D'Alleinecourt. I have none to give you," she eventually said quietly, with the very last of her icy resolve.

Enough.

No... no more.

Edentraud closed her eyes and turned away.

[TheAmishPirate]

Tusk gives no speeches. That is not his way. He simply sits and stares and allows the gravity of the situation to sink in. There is some half-hearted debate between the Knights, raising hypothetical scenarios, but it is constantly drained away into an oppressive silence. After a while everyone at the council is sitting in silence, and not long after the council would begin to break up.



Just as the council seems about to break up, Ardashir enters the hall. All stand respectfully, although some crinkle their noses as he passes.

Ardashir, you can see from the gleam in Tusk's eye and the black mood over the Knights that the topic is undoubtedly the matter of the dead. What do you do?

I am no fool. I know where this is going, and I will have none of it.

"Really, Tusk? You would bring this forth now, of all times?" My voice is sharp and reproachful. It is the voice I use when an idiot is earning their title. "I could list you one hundred marvelous uses for the twice-living, each of them more worthy than raising them as false soldiers, and I would be thrice-senile to think any of them wise. The dead are dead for a good reason. Leave this notion to your fantasies, speak of it no more."

Before he can interject, I continue, ripe with venom. "We have a more pressing matter to discuss. Daerek Soft Spoken," I speak the title as if it were a curse. "Has at last shown his true colors. He has abandoned our hospitality, sided with the treacherous Gyrfalcons, and aided in their escape. Were he not blind as well as deceitful, his shot might have actually harmed me. Even so, it was enough to allow their flight. If this is how their envoy for peace behaves himself, then what can be said of the rest of them?" I strike the ground with my staff, and it is a self-control worthy of song that keeps me from adding a thunderclap. "We must send away any dwarf found within our walls. Let them learn hospitality among themselves before demanding it of us."

[Anarion]

"These are free men," said Arken patiently, "they are not herr Hasselhorf's slaves, they made their choices knowingly. And it is not for us to know or judge the intentions of the Architect, only to embrace the destinies He has laid down for us.

"As for Altdorf, that is a very loaded question, and one to which I suspect you already know the answer," said the Star Priest.

I sigh. "Alright, fine, there's nothing else to do until the boat pulls up to Khar's army, a theology debate it is. These men served loyally today. Free men serving in an army still have a duty to obey their commander. It is not absolute, that is why they're free, but today was not so exceptional that they should have dropped arms and defected to Altdorf. Hasselfhorf should not have given the commands that he gave, whatever his reason for giving them.

But all that leaves me with no better understanding of your Architect. Gaia asks for ritual and sacrifice, and for proper behavior, even when it is not pleasant. In exchange she offers her protection and her blessing. She is one of many gods and goddesses, and pious worship to them creates a good people blessed with wealth and happiness. Why do you preach for the Architect? If he lays out all our destinies, what does it matter what people have to say about him or any of the other gods? If we are, as you say, free, then what does the Architect ask us to choose with that freedom? If his blessing is freely given to all that call his name, then I call him again nothing but a cheap whore."

[Thanqol]

I am no fool. I know where this is going, and I will have none of it.

"Really, Tusk? You would bring this forth now, of all times?" My voice is sharp and reproachful. It is the voice I use when an idiot is earning their title. "I could list you one hundred marvelous uses for the twice-living, each of them more worthy than raising them as false soldiers, and I would be thrice-senile to think any of them wise. The dead are dead for a good reason. Leave this notion to your fantasies, speak of it no more."

Before he can interject, I continue, ripe with venom. "We have a more pressing matter to discuss. Daerek Soft Spoken," I speak the title as if it were a curse. "Has at last shown his true colors. He has abandoned our hospitality, sided with the treacherous Gyrfalcons, and aided in their escape. Were he not blind as well as deceitful, his shot might have actually harmed me. Even so, it was enough to allow their flight. If this is how their envoy for peace behaves himself, then what can be said of the rest of them?" I strike the ground with my staff, and it is a self-control worthy of song that keeps me from adding a thunderclap. "We must send away any dwarf found within our walls. Let them learn hospitality among themselves before demanding it of us."

Tusk raised his hands. "I have said my piece. It is not my fault if no one here can raise an alternative," he thought about your proposal for a moment, then said, "I see no reason not to expel the dwarves," which made it as good as done; when the two of you agreed on something, the Countess rarely overruled you.


I sigh. "Alright, fine, there's nothing else to do until the boat pulls up to Khar's army, a theology debate it is. These men served loyally today. Free men serving in an army still have a duty to obey their commander. It is not absolute, that is why they're free, but today was not so exceptional that they should have dropped arms and defected to Altdorf. Hasselfhorf should not have given the commands that he gave, whatever his reason for giving them.

But all that leaves me with no better understanding of your Architect. Gaia asks for ritual and sacrifice, and for proper behavior, even when it is not pleasant. In exchange she offers her protection and her blessing. She is one of many gods and goddesses, and pious worship to them creates a good people blessed with wealth and happiness. Why do you preach for the Architect? If he lays out all our destinies, what does it matter what people have to say about him or any of the other gods? If we are, as you say, free, then what does the Architect ask us to choose with that freedom? If his blessing is freely given to all that call his name, then I call him again nothing but a cheap whore."

"The Architect is not some pagan spirit who demands people grovel before Him in exchange for miracles," said Arken, and it is clear he has just been asked to do something he loves. "He does not need your worship. It does not sustain Him. It is not a condition for His affection. Why, to a shaman who rules through crude threats and rewards, He must be incomprehensible! Why worship Him at all? Why have priests dedicated to His service?

"Simply put, priesthood is not in honour of the Architect. It is yet another service He gives to all his children. A Star Priest is trained to read destinies and gently guide people back to their proper paths. A Star Priest follows His guidance to reveal and destroy evil. A Star Priest is a doctor, a poet, a mystic and a mentor. We are not sent to enslave those we encounter, we are not sent to force them to live the lives God demands. As the stars illuminate the future, we illuminate men on the path to enlightenment."

[Anarion]

"The Architect is not some pagan spirit who demands people grovel before Him in exchange for miracles," said Arken, and it is clear he has just been asked to do something he loves. "He does not need your worship. It does not sustain Him. It is not a condition for His affection. Why, to a shaman who rules through crude threats and rewards, He must be incomprehensible! Why worship Him at all? Why have priests dedicated to His service?

"Simply put, priesthood is not in honour of the Architect. It is yet another service He gives to all his children. A Star Priest is trained to read destinies and gently guide people back to their proper paths. A Star Priest follows His guidance to reveal and destroy evil. A Star Priest is a doctor, a poet, a mystic and a mentor. We are not sent to enslave those we encounter, we are not sent to force them to live the lives God demands. As the stars illuminate the future, we illuminate men on the path to enlightenment."

"And there you have it. You may be a good man and do good work for people, and I wish you luck in that endeavor. But if you keep interrupting the proper place of the gods with your whore deity who asks for and offers nothing, you will bring ruin to good men."

[Thanqol]

"And there you have it. You may be a good man and do good work for people, and I wish you luck in that endeavor. But if you keep interrupting the proper place of the gods with your whore deity who asks for and offers nothing, you will bring ruin to good men."

"No," said Arken, "I am indeed here to interrupt the proper place of the pagan gods. Men do not need them and the world can survive their destruction, and that is the fate the Architect has decreed for them."

[Anarion]

And there it was. Of course that had been the agenda the whole time, as had been obvious from the moment Daerek saw him sitting in his chair at the council table. He had rather hoped Gaia would manifest her curse in the form of the ship lurching and Arken immediately breaking his leg or better yet, his neck, but that wasn't typically her way. Where can I go from here?

[I'm going to take this moment to size him up. [roll0]
[questions: What does Arken intend to do? Where is he vulnerable to me? How can I get him to give up his belief in the Architect?]

[TheAmishPirate]

Tusk raised his hands. "I have said my piece. It is not my fault if no one here can raise an alternative," he thought about your proposal for a moment, then said, "I see no reason not to expel the dwarves," which made it as good as done; when the two of you agreed on something, the Countess rarely overruled you.

"Then this meeting has no more purpose," I say emphatically. "We are not raising the dead simply because we were unable to think of a better idea in the space of a single afternoon. We have fires to extinguish, rites to see to, and I have a message that needs sending." When and where we reconvene, I leave to the Countess. Matters of schedules and logistics are not my concern.

As the meeting breaks up, I take a moment to look over Orellus. Gods, he looks ten years older, which hurts double because I am acutely aware of our season in life, and it is advanced enough as it is thank you very much. I want to storm off and make preparations for my sending, but not before I have a word with him first.

[Thanqol]

And there it was. Of course that had been the agenda the whole time, as had been obvious from the moment Daerek saw him sitting in his chair at the council table. He had rather hoped Gaia would manifest her curse in the form of the ship lurching and Arken immediately breaking his leg or better yet, his neck, but that wasn't typically her way. Where can I go from here?

[I'm going to take this moment to size him up. [roll0]
[questions: What does Arken intend to do? Where is he vulnerable to me? How can I get him to give up his belief in the Architect?]

He intends to kill no gods. He merely believes they are destined to die out. However, he intends to follow the guidance of the Architect of Fate with a pure heart wherever it leads.

He is vulnerable to you physically. He is old, and though he is still spry he is long past his prime. While he is wise and experienced he is no spymaster.

There is only one thing that could break his faith in the Architect of Fate: The triumph of the great Seljuk Sultan. The Sultan preaches a heretical version of the Architect's faith; one where slavery is not an abomination but salvation. While the common priests of the Architect say that Slavery is wrong because it destroys one destiny in service to another, the great Sultan declares that because he has the most powerful destiny, slavery to him allows all men to share in that grand fate.

The priest is reassured by the simple faith that the Architect plans the Sultan's downfall, so he has fled from Araby to preach the true word in this fallen land. But should the Sultan turn his eyes here, as he surely will in time, and if he triumphs here then even this pious old man will lose his faith.

[PhoeKun]

"Do not seek forgiveness from me, Herr D'Alleinecourt. I have none to give you," she eventually said quietly, with the very last of her icy resolve.

Enough.

No... no more.

Edentraud closed her eyes and turned away.

Layna placed her heart in Edentraud's hands, and then... a flinch. She thought she heard something like a cannon, and the best part of her shattered like glass. The shards covered the river-daughter in shimmering light, and she seemed to Layna like a goddess or a queen, and all the more terrible for her beauty.

"Do not toy with my heart!" she called out at her lover's retreating back, anger her only defense in the moment, "If I can neither please you by my deeds or by sacrifice, then out with it sooner before making me put up with all your... your...!"

But whatever it was that would finish the thought and leave her feeling vindicated, Layna didn't know it, and Edentraud wasn't going to listen to it. That flared temper had nothing left to kindle it, and all that was left inside was an empty space. She clenched her fist, spun on her heels, and punched the dock as hard as she could. She felt nothing, which was frustrating because she meant for it to hurt. Which left her alone with... nothing, really.

Her feet carried her by themselves in search of Ardashir. She was past the point of wanting his advice, but he'd know a means by which her arm could be mended and she needed both of them working for, for. For whatever she could find to throw herself at. Because there was nothing else to do. Maybe the river daughter could love her corpse, glorious and still.

[Thanqol]

Her feet carried her by themselves in search of Ardashir. She was past the point of wanting his advice, but he'd know a means by which her arm could be mended and she needed both of them working for, for. For whatever she could find to throw herself at. Because there was nothing else to do. Maybe the river daughter could love her corpse, glorious and still.

So it is that the War-Captain, the War-Champion and the Court Wizard all convene together. Ardashir seems to be the one everyone seeks out, so where does he hold this meeting? If it is in your home, what sorceries and enchantments surround it? Set the scene for us.


Lady Edentraud, where do you go from here, with the bloody sunset descending towards the smoke-filled horizon?

[Anarion]

"No," said Arken, "I am indeed here to interrupt the proper place of the pagan gods. Men do not need them and the world can survive their destruction, and that is the fate the Architect has decreed for them."

"It's a fate you have decreed, in your pig-headed ignorance. I disagree with it, and if you carry on your course, I see you again in chains and the whole of your country and your people likewise shackled for your foolishness."

Daerek sighed again. He did not love the death and pain that this sort of thing demanded. In his heart, he wished that people would give the gods their proper worship: Gaia was the bringer of feasts and fertility. Death and enslavement was her punishment, not her mandate. "Enough though. My prayer was done and I care not if you add another god that these men can worship if they care to. If you interrupt again rather than wait your turn, we will have words and perhaps more, but there has been enough blood shed today."

[I'd like this ship to arrive where it's going about now, unless Arken or someone else has more to say.]

[Elanorin]

Layna placed her heart in Edentraud's hands, and then... a flinch. She thought she heard something like a cannon, and the best part of her shattered like glass. The shards covered the river-daughter in shimmering light, and she seemed to Layna like a goddess or a queen, and all the more terrible for her beauty.

"Do not toy with my heart!" she called out at her lover's retreating back, anger her only defense in the moment, "If I can neither please you by my deeds or by sacrifice, then out with it sooner before making me put up with all your... your...!"

But whatever it was that would finish the thought and leave her feeling vindicated, Layna didn't know it, and Edentraud wasn't going to listen to it. That flared temper had nothing left to kindle it, and all that was left inside was an empty space. She clenched her fist, spun on her heels, and punched the dock as hard as she could. She felt nothing, which was frustrating because she meant for it to hurt. Which left her alone with... nothing, really.

Her feet carried her by themselves in search of Ardashir. She was past the point of wanting his advice, but he'd know a means by which her arm could be mended and she needed both of them working for, for. For whatever she could find to throw herself at. Because there was nothing else to do. Maybe the river daughter could love her corpse, glorious and still.

The fire in Layna's voice caused Eden's heart to skip a beat. How she loved the courage of that woman, the strength in her. She'd take anger and frustration any time if it meant hearing her voice. At the sound of a thump Eden glanced back over her shoulder just in time to see Layna not having her hand hurt. It was really all the justification Eden needed to regain enough resolve to stand firm.

She saw her go and said nothing. What was there to say that could be said with ice?



Lady Edentraud, where do you go from here, with the bloody sunset descending towards the smoke-filled horizon?

Eden stood at the dock for a while, telling herself she needed a moment to let everything sink in but in truth didn't trust herself to move or she'd be running after Layna. Once she imagine the knight was far enough away to be long since gone from this part of the city she finally moved. She drew her wet cloak tighter around her shoulders, and with the mental image of Layna's broken arm, she went in search of the Silent Knight.

[Thanqol]

"It's a fate you have decreed, in your pig-headed ignorance. I disagree with it, and if you carry on your course, I see you again in chains and the whole of your country and your people likewise shackled for your foolishness."

Daerek sighed again. He did not love the death and pain that this sort of thing demanded. In his heart, he wished that people would give the gods their proper worship: Gaia was the bringer of feasts and fertility. Death and enslavement was her punishment, not her mandate. "Enough though. My prayer was done and I care not if you add another god that these men can worship if they care to. If you interrupt again rather than wait your turn, we will have words and perhaps more, but there has been enough blood shed today."

[I'd like this ship to arrive where it's going about now, unless Arken or someone else has more to say.]

The Star Priest smiles with a touch of pity and leaves you to your thoughts.

The ship does not arrive that day, and it is night and you are alone with your thoughts on the deck of the ship. The creaking of timbers and the soft flapping of sails stand in artificial counterpoint to the honking and screeching of the swamp birds.

One sound stands out to you: the soft splashing of something paddling with intent. Soon after you see something huge and black and canine scrabble over the side of the boat having made an impossible climb.

Do you know the legend of Black Shuk, demon-hound, curse of the Kislev legion? What do you do when you see its hideous form in person?


Eden stood at the dock for a while, telling herself she needed a moment to let everything sink in but in truth didn't trust herself to move or she'd be running after Layna. Once she imagine the knight was far enough away to be long since gone from this part of the city she finally moved. She drew her wet cloak tighter around her shoulders, and with the mental image of Layna's broken arm, she went in search of the Silent Knight.

The Knights of Orvisk have been escorted out of the city without incident, and you spy them travelling on their wooden wagon back down the road. The dark sorcerer's wrath has run its course and he sits despondent on the back of the cart; the Silent Knight is as inscrutable as ever through the haze of dust kicked up by his monstrous boar. What do you do?

[Anarion]

The Star Priest smiles with a touch of pity and leaves you to your thoughts.

The ship does not arrive that day, and it is night and you are alone with your thoughts on the deck of the ship. The creaking of timbers and the soft flapping of sails stand in artificial counterpoint to the honking and screeching of the swamp birds.

One sound stands out to you: the soft splashing of something paddling with intent. Soon after you see something huge and black and canine scrabble over the side of the boat having made an impossible climb.

Do you know the legend of Black Shuk, demon-hound, curse of the Kislev legion? What do you do when you see its hideous form in person?


I know only a little of Black Shuck, the curse of the Kislev. Ollerus told me about it once when we had both had more than a few drinks and he started at one of the big black dogs that are a constant presence around the feast tables in winter. He said that it it takes the form of the wolf that is also their pride, that at times it merely haunts them, but at times it takes a toll from their ranks, and he knows not why nor what must be done to free them from the beast.

For my part, I do not feel great fear towards such a beast. If it is a demon or a ghost, it does not haunt me nor my people. Moreover, I am Gaia's chosen representative, blessed by her protection. Though a man may put a spear in me, as is only proper if I deserve it, in realms of the spirit, my lady may protect me from harm.

As for now, I admit I am curious. It should not be here, it does not haunt these men, and so I wonder what may have garnered its attention. "Hale, Shuck of Kislev" I call to the beast. I do not know from Ollerus' stories whether it speaks man's tongue or not, but we'll see soon. "What call brings you aboard this ship tonight?"

[TheAmishPirate]

So it is that the War-Captain, the War-Champion and the Court Wizard all convene together. Ardashir seems to be the one everyone seeks out, so where does he hold this meeting? If it is in your home, what sorceries and enchantments surround it? Set the scene for us.

To call it a study does my home an injustice. Studies are small, one-room affairs where one goes to do some serious work.

https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/2a/fc/ba/2afcba05670bb55cdf0a8351e9cdfb39.jpg

My study occupies an entire wing of the Humboldt Reserve, and it is ever-growing. All manners of books, scrolls, carved tablets, magical oddities, and other such fascinating objects are spread throughout my home. The intent was to keep certain items out of reach that only more skilled hands should deal with, but it quickly became something of a monument to my curiosity. Anything interesting or puzzling finds it way inside soon enough. Oh, and don't be alarmed if you should see little folk wandering the stacks or the glimmer of wings shooting through the rafters. It is enough to say that I do not own everything in my possession, but rather have established some mutually beneficial arrangements with their owners.

But for a meeting of allies whilst sending a message to a murderous dwarf king, there is only my private workshop.

http://41.media.tumblr.com/1e80faa937446c20a6e01f0374eebe0c/tumblr_npfuc3Cj691uwvznuo1_1280.jpg

Here is where I do my best work. Scattered here are the artifacts of my wondering, the distant thunder of my mind. It is a rare day when there is not something bubbling away. Here is where I spend a majority of my time. It is only clean because Matthias is good at what he does. This includes fetching books and anything else I should want, which means I rarely leave. And this is to my liking. Here, I can unravel the mysteries of the universe and beyond in as much comfort as this city can offer.

Now then. Enchantments. It is true that I have a great deal of freedom over my home, but it is still a part of the Reserve. As much as I would love to try some rather ingenious things with iron and blood on every door and window, Tusk has convinced me this would be counter-productive to the Reserve's goals of having a living student population. But that does mean I am without security. With some assistance from my tenants, I have devised a method of warding inspired by the fae principles of entry. If you do not have express permission from the right individuals, then I'm afraid your incantations will be little more than fancy-sounding words. I am most grateful for the Fire-Wardens too. Not only have they saved countless books from becoming cinders, they really do complement the architecture. Beautiful work, just beautiful. Of course, I would be remiss to have a library of forbidden knowledge if any fool with a spyglass could peep through a window or scry over my shoulder. If you were to try such a thing...

Ho ho ho. Well. It's your eyes. Risk them as you will.

There's bound to be more - most of my best work went into making this place comfortable and extremely unpleasant to intrude upon - but to list them we'd be here quite a while. Not all of them are mighty works; I think I made it so one hallway lights up at the clap of a hand so I wouldn't bang my ankle in the dark again. But those are the biggest ones I can remember.

In any case, there was a meeting we had to have, no? I wish I had sent my message to Kvar beforehand, but for now we'll have to work and talk. I get to setting up a series of mirrors and fetching a few specific candleholders. There are chairs for Ollerus and Layna, set up a safe distance away.

[Raz_Fox]

I suppose it falls to me to say something of the walk back to the Reserve. I take this opportunity to explain to my oldest friend how the betrayal of the city by the Gyrfalcons came about, not leaving out the details on how Hasselhorf tried to convince me to turn on the city, and how I failed to cut him off from seizing the treasury after repelling him from the Reserve. This done, I have no doubt that our conversation touched upon Daerek, on Ardashir's attempt to impede the Gyrfalcons in their flight, and on the subject of his well-spoken ward, Layna. There is exhaustion in my voice, and my cough is bad enough that I am forced to stop and compose myself for a moment when we are within a stone's throw of the university. I need rest, and horribly so.

But there is one thing more that must be done before I can join Ardashir for further discussion, and that much-needed rest. I offer him my promise that I shall be there, and I go to find my dear Vasilka. Perun, let her have been untouched during the fighting. Sigmar, I will slaughter a bull in your name if she is safe, protected along with the rattled and frightened students of the University.

The University itself is much as I remember it, and this is an unsettling thing. Not that I particularly would have wanted to see it changed, but it is hard, damnably hard to see this place touched by war. I make for the Porters' House, which is a particularly stout and forboding building on the edge of the university's grounds - doubtless where students would have fled to, and where the university guard would have sent innocents during the fighting.

[Thanqol]

I know only a little of Black Shuck, the curse of the Kislev. Ollerus told me about it once when we had both had more than a few drinks and he started at one of the big black dogs that are a constant presence around the feast tables in winter. He said that it it takes the form of the wolf that is also their pride, that at times it merely haunts them, but at times it takes a toll from their ranks, and he knows not why nor what must be done to free them from the beast.

For my part, I do not feel great fear towards such a beast. If it is a demon or a ghost, it does not haunt me nor my people. Moreover, I am Gaia's chosen representative, blessed by her protection. Though a man may put a spear in me, as is only proper if I deserve it, in realms of the spirit, my lady may protect me from harm.

As for now, I admit I am curious. It should not be here, it does not haunt these men, and so I wonder what may have garnered its attention. "Hale, Shuck of Kislev" I call to the beast. I do not know from Ollerus' stories whether it speaks man's tongue or not, but we'll see soon. "What call brings you aboard this ship tonight?"

The beast turns and looks at you. It is no mortal, sane wolf - its eyes are as large as dinner plates and run through with crazed veins and swirls of red and yellow, with black pinpricks at the centre, deforming its entire head and face with their bulbous and shifting size. It steps towards you and you gain the terrible impression you have misjudged this creature.

A tongue, rolls out of its mouth, as long as your entire arm, and its teeth shine with spit in the lantern-light. Its breath smells of broken soil and an ugly, moist heat radiates from it.

The beast comes. What do you do?


But there is one thing more that must be done before I can join Ardashir for further discussion, and that much-needed rest. I offer him my promise that I shall be there, and I go to find my dear Vasilka. Perun, let her have been untouched during the fighting. Sigmar, I will slaughter a bull in your name if she is safe, protected along with the rattled and frightened students of the University.

You cannot find her, but three soldiers all swear she was safe and protected when the Gyrfalcons left, and if she is not here it is because of her own will.

[Anarion]

The beast comes. What do you do?


I am unarmed, and frankly, I doubt strength of arm would be of much value against it anyway. Instead, I surge forward to meet it, suddenly and with unexpected power, shouting as I do so to invoke the protections that might avail me. It will not expect that, for prey is want to flee from a wolf, and my hope is to take it off balance and perhaps cause it to lose its footing on the ship, creating an opening.

"Back, foul beast! By Gaia, by Odin, by Freyr, back! Defile not this ship nor the Willow Hag who adorns it! By Mars and by Sigmar, whose servants you dare haunt, I cast you out!"

[I am leaping into action. [roll0]
[I choose to easily cover the distance away from Black Shuck and to startle or scatter it.]

[PhoeKun]

In any case, there was a meeting we had to have, no? I wish I had sent my message to Kvar beforehand, but for now we'll have to work and talk. I get to setting up a series of mirrors and fetching a few specific candleholders. There are chairs for Ollerus and Layna, set up a safe distance away.

By the gods, I hate this place. On the best of days the Reserve is eerie and quiet that even the bustle of scholars running around or discussing whatever amongst themselves seems so dimmed as to make me think they're afraid to wake some horrible beast trapped inside the building. It has nothing of the life of the city just outside it, or even the pleasanter sort of quiet you get standing alone on the shores of a lake. It's stifling and artificial, and I still do not know how not to feel like an intruder in the middle of all this... nonsense.

Far be it from me to question the value of advanced education. I've seen what Ovelia can do and the world would be a lesser place without people as learned as she in it. But there is something about the way of this place that sets my teeth on edge. Herr Ollerus, I have been told, waxes poetic often about this place as a symbol of the golden future, and today I saw him choose to defend it over protecting any of the actual resources of Altdorf. And yet, having educated himself here he chose a life of war at the head of an army. And that I think tells me all I need to know about the Humboldt Reserve.

But today isn't close to the best of days. My arm is in agony, although nothing else seems to touch me. My head and my heart are filled with questions I'm not sure I want the answers to, but I am here in this thrice damned mausoleum being confined to a chair while my mentor ignores me to fiddle with some mirrors for reasons I cannot fathom. He has not even had the decency to berate me for acting "rashly" or what have you as he normally would, merely shunted me to one side and left me with my thoughts which will not stop turning dark no matter where I try to direct them. Worse that he will still find time for it later when he is done ignoring me, or waiting for his good friend or... or...

"I did not realize you could be so occupied on a day like today, Master Ardashir, or else I would not have come. What, pray tell, is so important?"

[Elanorin]

The Knights of Orvisk have been escorted out of the city without incident, and you spy them travelling on their wooden wagon back down the road. The dark sorcerer's wrath has run its course and he sits despondent on the back of the cart; the Silent Knight is as inscrutable as ever through the haze of dust kicked up by his monstrous boar. What do you do?

Eden has no means to claim her prey here and now. But water can wait, water is patient. She follows the cart as it goes, on foot if no other means of transport seem available at the city gates. Edentraud is in no hurry, but she has named her quarry and will not let it go. She follows them at a steady pace from a distance behind, all the way to Orvisk if she has to to gain a chance to approach the Silent Knight alone.

[Thanqol]

I am unarmed, and frankly, I doubt strength of arm would be of much value against it anyway. Instead, I surge forward to meet it, suddenly and with unexpected power, shouting as I do so to invoke the protections that might avail me. It will not expect that, for prey is want to flee from a wolf, and my hope is to take it off balance and perhaps cause it to lose its footing on the ship, creating an opening.

"Back, foul beast! By Gaia, by Odin, by Freyr, back! Defile not this ship nor the Willow Hag who adorns it! By Mars and by Sigmar, whose servants you dare haunt, I cast you out!"

[I am leaping into action. [roll0]
[I choose to easily cover the distance to Black Shuck and to startle or scatter it.]

The great hound recoils, flowing back to the rear of the ship like liquid, mad eyes shifting and roiling. You have it cornered between yourself and the figurehead of the Willow Hag before it stops, turns, and evaluates you again. This time it is furious.

The ship is beginning to stir, and shouts and cries are heard as soldiers rush to arms, but for this moment it is just you and the wolf you have backed into a corner. What do you do?


Eden has no means to claim her prey here and now. But water can wait, water is patient. She follows the cart as it goes, on foot if no other means of transport seem available at the city gates. Edentraud is in no hurry, but she has named her quarry and will not let it go. She follows them at a steady pace from a distance behind, all the way to Orvisk if she has to to gain a chance to approach the Silent Knight alone.

It is to Orvisk they are going. The procession leaves the gates and you follow behind, unnoticed. The wagon rolls down the dusty road. The Silent Knight and his warriors ride in silence, but the dark sorcerer becomes swiftly bored. He makes a game of throwing rocks at the head of one knight, and misses every time. He asks a warrior to guess what he is looking at, providing cryptic clues when he is not immediately answered correctly. He breaks into an off-key song about a dwarf who drank a hundred bottles of mead, and goes on to provide an account of the fate of each bottle. After some time it is dark and they stop the wagon to make camp; still the Silent Knight does not leave the sorcerer's side even as he gathers them around the campfire and regales them with evil stories about necromancy and spirits.

If you do not intervene it shall be a few more days of the same treatment before they finally arrive back at Orvisk.

[Anarion]

The ship is beginning to stir, and shouts and cries are heard as soldiers rush to arms, but for this moment it is just you and the wolf you have backed into a corner. What do you do?


The beast is cornered, but I've spent my moment of surprise and it remains on the ship. No warriors from the gyrfalcons have joined me either. I am unarmed, unarmored, and alone. Does my duty yet require more from me? What more can be done?

[I'm going to Take Stock here instead. Rolled on random.org with a 4+5+0=9.
What is my best way out of this threat?
How might I best husband or preserve my strength?]

[Elanorin]

It is to Orvisk they are going. The procession leaves the gates and you follow behind, unnoticed. The wagon rolls down the dusty road. The Silent Knight and his warriors ride in silence, but the dark sorcerer becomes swiftly bored. He makes a game of throwing rocks at the head of one knight, and misses every time. He asks a warrior to guess what he is looking at, providing cryptic clues when he is not immediately answered correctly. He breaks into an off-key song about a dwarf who drank a hundred bottles of mead, and goes on to provide an account of the fate of each bottle. After some time it is dark and they stop the wagon to make camp; still the Silent Knight does not leave the sorcerer's side even as he gathers them around the campfire and regales them with evil stories about necromancy and spirits.

If you do not intervene it shall be a few more days of the same treatment before they finally arrive back at Orvisk.

They are setting up a fire and Edentraud pauses some way back until they have all gathered around it. It seemed her Gulbrich is the focal point of this group and she noticed how the Knight seemed to never leave his side. She sniffed the air in a single deep breath drawn through her nose, wondering if there was magic at work.

Then she finally decided to approach, hood drawn over her head she strides confidently forwards,

"I do not see you at the water's edge, sorcerer!" she calls out in her very best impersonation of her mother's voice.

[Making and entrance: 2d6+2=9 Someone here craves my counsel]

[TheAmishPirate]

But today isn't close to the best of days. My arm is in agony, although nothing else seems to touch me. My head and my heart are filled with questions I'm not sure I want the answers to, but I am here in this thrice damned mausoleum being confined to a chair while my mentor ignores me to fiddle with some mirrors for reasons I cannot fathom. He has not even had the decency to berate me for acting "rashly" or what have you as he normally would, merely shunted me to one side and left me with my thoughts which will not stop turning dark no matter where I try to direct them. Worse that he will still find time for it later when he is done ignoring me, or waiting for his good friend or... or...

"I did not realize you could be so occupied on a day like today, Master Ardashir, or else I would not have come. What, pray tell, is so important?"

"I met a bastard today." I tell my wayward ward as I nudge a mirror into place. "And I'm letting his people know that he's a bastard."

It's not a perfect method, what I'm doing here. I feel I am close to a more complete method of astral travel and communication, but this is the best I've got. I can speak, I can see and hear the recipient, they can see and hear me, but little else beyond that. To be honest, I'm not sure if the people around the recipient can even see me. I've never been able to test it. What could I do; send a message to myself? Ridiculous.

In any case, as I go to fetch the candles, I pass Layna a cup of something dark and bubbly. "Here; drink that. It will ease the pain. Try to keep quiet when I'm talking."

It may or may not be alcoholic. But that's not important. The important bit is that it's definitely a pain reliever.

[Raz_Fox]

For the first time since I saw Hasselhorf's maps, I feel relief. Vasilka is no stranger to war and has a level head on her shoulders: if she has left, it is doubtless with Alexis, withdrawing to the farm we are using as a residence during the Altdorf campaign. I pay one of the porters to carry word to those same premises that I have survived, that Ulfgan did not, and that I will be home by evening. I pay another to carry word to Ragnus, one of my lieutenants, that he is now the General's Hand; that he is to assume his position as second-in-command immediately; and that he is to co-ordinate the gathering of the dead and bring word of our losses to me by evening.

There are matters of sacrifice to consider; propitiation of the gods who watch over the Legion; questions that must be asked from beyond the mortal world. But first I must speak with Ardashir, and I must take a moment to rest.

The Reserve is typically calming to my heart while I walk its halls. Its vast ceilings are cloaked in shadow that the lamps cannot touch, and the silence is only rarely broken by the sound of writing or an errant cough. The first time I walked through this place, I was overawed. There is so much here, ready to be learned by the wise, ready to instruct those who are willing to take heed. Our history, our culture, and our heritage: this is what the Reserve holds. But I feel ill at ease walking here today; the pungent scent of battle hangs heavy on me: blood, sweat and smoke. I make my way to Ardashir's wing.

Matthias meets me; I offer him my coat, thank him for his service. He brings me a silver basin, filled with scented water, and lets me wash my hands and face before I go in to see Ardashir. We are both aging, Matthias and I. We share a few quick words. I am ever grateful for his loyal service to my brother, and for his courtesy in caring for the needs of us old men. The world has sore need of men like him.

When I enter into the hall, I find D'Alleinecourt there. Doubtless she is as surprised to see me as I am to see her. I offer her a weary smile and a bow of the head. "Ah, Lady D'Alleinecourt. The fires are vanquished, and doubtless you had no small part in this. Thank you again for your assistance. I trust you do not begrudge me a seat." I take my seat in one of Ardashir's more luxurious chairs, a heirloom passed down from a former Curator. I sink back into it, close my eyes, and take a long breath. For a moment I am allowed to be old, and tired, and weary-hearted from what has transpired today.

But I am not decrepit yet, and my blood stirs within me soon enough. I raise my head, look over to D'Alleinecourt. "How badly was the district damaged by the fires? Did we lose anything of great import?"

[Thanqol]

The beast is cornered, but I've spent my moment of surprise and it remains on the ship. No warriors from the gyrfalcons have joined me either. I am unarmed, unarmored, and alone. Does my duty yet require more from me? What more can be done?



In the absence of powerful magic, the only weapon one can use to fight a beast like this is light. Black Shuck comes on moonless nights like tonight, and it shies away from torchlight. Illuminate yourself as completely as possible and it will not approach.

Be warned, though, that fire is a dangerous ally on a ship. Avoid the powder stores and the lines of powder on the deck. Set no open flames. Be wary, especially, of your own shadow! If you hold a lantern before you the beast will wrap around you and strike from behind.


They are setting up a fire and Edentraud pauses some way back until they have all gathered around it. It seemed her Gulbrich is the focal point of this group and she noticed how the Knight seemed to never leave his side. She sniffed the air in a single deep breath drawn through her nose, wondering if there was magic at work.

Then she finally decided to approach, hood drawn over her head she strides confidently forwards,

"I do not see you at the water's edge, sorcerer!" she calls out in her very best impersonation of her mother's voice.

[Making and entrance: 2d6+2=9 [I]Someone here craves my counsel]

Gulbrich flinches and ducks behind the Silent Knight, and then after a moment steps out with an air of false bravery and confidence. Then he falls on his face and grovels in front of you, but he does it in the this-is-how-the-wise-approach-the-Hag sense, and not the I-am-terrified-to-my-bones sense.

A subtle difference, but your life has made you eminently qualified to tell the difference.

"I am heading to Orvisk where I shall properly carry out your demand," he said, and there was a little bit of a smirk on his face as though he'd figured out a way to turn this to his advantage. "You demanded every shred of my magic, after all, and I would not wish to offend you with a botched ritual."


It's not a perfect method, what I'm doing here. I feel I am close to a more complete method of astral travel and communication, but this is the best I've got. I can speak, I can see and hear the recipient, they can see and hear me, but little else beyond that. To be honest, I'm not sure if the people around the recipient can even see me. I've never been able to test it. What could I do; send a message to myself? Ridiculous.

Who are you looking to communicate to, if anyone?

[PhoeKun]

Miserable cretin. Fine, tell me nothing of your plans, since when has it suited your purposes to treat me like an equal? But it would have been kinder to ignore me than prove how stupid you think I am by expecting me to swallow this ridiculous motive. Am I to believe the mighty Sorcerer of the Crown has been out trading insults at old Seth's inn, and now must convene by mirror and candle and arcane ritual to speak ill of another man's parentage? Of all the pointless, hot-headed, useless... why tell such obvious lies? If it is not my place to know, at least have the decency to say so.

I am just about to rise and storm away when I see Herr Ollerus enter, smiling and thanking me. He freezes me to my chair. I have great respect for my elders and their accomplishments (and his are great indeed!), but truth be told I am not overfond of looking on the elderly. There is death everywhere on them. Not in the specters of past wars that flash in their eyes, but the creaking of their joints, the sagging of shoulders and bowing of heads, their bodies too heavy for them to lift properly anymore. They are living, but also dead to the world I inhabit, passing briefly back into the mortal realm when their fancy strikes but paying for it in triple afterward. It is surely better to walk as this great general does than lie cold underneath the ground, and yet... gods, I do not like to think about it.

Suddenly I can no longer feel the sting of pride, and I down Ardashir's concoction in one motion. I just want my arm back, but for now I will settle for not remembering it is broken.


But I am not decrepit yet, and my blood stirs within me soon enough. I raise my head, look over to D'Alleinecourt. "How badly was the district damaged by the fires? Did we lose anything of great import?"

"The whitesmith is gone entirely. Homes are damaged, shops. I saw a jeweler on his knees, weeping. Hope is burned as well. Trust, a sense of safety and belonging," I choke on the next word, but it all keeps tumbling out anyway, "...Love. Ah, but the great symbols of this city live on. I am sure you will be pleased."

I sigh. "Herr Atroxheim, what is the value of a city? If I rode out and laid waste to the Gyrfalcons and razed King Khar's holdings to the ground, is that cause for celebration, or mourning?"

[Anarion]

At least the ship is lit. Standing near the entrance to belowdecks, I snatch one of the lanterns from its chain and raise it above my head, so that its light casts a ring about me. I can hear the gyrfalcons rallying and I shout into the hole for light, torches, whatever may be found.

[Elanorin]

Gulbrich flinches and ducks behind the Silent Knight, and then after a moment steps out with an air of false bravery and confidence. Then he falls on his face and grovels in front of you, but he does it in the this-is-how-the-wise-approach-the-Hag sense, and not the I-am-terrified-to-my-bones sense.

A subtle difference, but your life has made you eminently qualified to tell the difference.

"I am heading to Orvisk where I shall properly carry out your demand," he said, and there was a little bit of a smirk on his face as though he'd figured out a way to turn this to his advantage. "You demanded every shred of my magic, after all, and I would not wish to offend you with a botched ritual."


"Then I will be with you along the way, until you have paid your due." Edentraud watches him as he grovels before her, a slight frown on her face at recognising the insincerity of it. She smelled trouble here and it bothered her.

Her eyes rose to the Silent Knight. "Will you introduce me to your Knight? Tell me, why does he appear equipped and ready to join another joust even now? Here?"

[Thanqol]

At least the ship is lit. Standing near the entrance to belowdecks, I snatch one of the lanterns from its chain and raise it above my head, so that its light casts a ring about me. I can hear the gyrfalcons rallying and I shout into the hole for light, torches, whatever may be found.

The beast shies away from the light but still it comes. The shadows cast by the lantern's iron bars, and the dark pall cast by the place where the chain blocks the glass, these are bridges to it, and it seeks to circle you and come across them.

This is a deadly dance of reflexes and discipline; to hold the Black Shuck at bay, you are undertaking a great labour.


"Then I will be with you along the way, until you have paid your due." Edentraud watches him as he grovels before her, a slight frown on her face at recognising the insincerity of it. She smelled trouble here and it bothered her.

Her eyes rose to the Silent Knight. "Will you introduce me to your Knight? Tell me, why does he appear equipped and ready to join another joust even now? Here?"

"Oh, great and merciful lady of the swamp, I shall introduce you to the Silent Knight but lament that there are no further words to share. One might as well speak to the grave for all the good speaking to this creature would do you, but I am a humble magician and know not what techniques you might employ."

The Silent Knight was actually looking at you like it wanted to ask something. But, as was declared by his name, he had no words to speak.

Be aware that it may not be possible to Win Over the Silent Knight using words alone.

[Anarion]

I think I am starting to regret the +1 Bold -1 Strong instead of the reverse. [roll0]

[TheAmishPirate]

Who are you looking to communicate to, if anyone?

King Kvar, of course. If you want to get a message across, you go straight to the top.

That, and I can list the number of dwarves I know on one hand.


When I enter into the hall, I find D'Alleinecourt there. Doubtless she is as surprised to see me as I am to see her. I offer her a weary smile and a bow of the head. "Ah, Lady D'Alleinecourt. The fires are vanquished, and doubtless you had no small part in this. Thank you again for your assistance. I trust you do not begrudge me a seat." I take my seat in one of Ardashir's more luxurious chairs, a heirloom passed down from a former Curator. I sink back into it, close my eyes, and take a long breath. For a moment I am allowed to be old, and tired, and weary-hearted from what has transpired today.

But I am not decrepit yet, and my blood stirs within me soon enough. I raise my head, look over to D'Alleinecourt. "How badly was the district damaged by the fires? Did we lose anything of great import?"

I depart from my preparations long enough to get you a cup of the same brew I poured my pupil. It will help stave off the worst of your weariness. There will be time for more conversation later, and I trust that you recognize when I am in the middle of something important.


I sigh. "Herr Atroxheim, what is the value of a city? If I rode out and laid waste to the Gyrfalcons and razed King Khar's holdings to the ground, is that cause for celebration, or mourning?"

That said, I am lighting my candles a touch slower now. I want to hear where this goes.

[Elanorin]

"Oh, great and merciful lady of the swamp, I shall introduce you to the Silent Knight but lament that there are no further words to share. One might as well speak to the grave for all the good speaking to this creature would do you, but I am a humble magician and know not what techniques you might employ."

The Silent Knight was actually looking at you like it wanted to ask something. But, as was declared by his name, he had no words to speak.

Be aware that it may not be possible to Win Over the Silent Knight using words alone.

Describe this Knight to me, is he tall? Does he stand confident, arrogant, even? Can I see his face?

*

Edentraud cast a long appraising head-to-toe look over the Silent Knight. "Then how do you communicate?" she asked noticing the interest the Silent Knight seemed to show and wondered if it was just her imagination.

[Raz_Fox]

"The whitesmith is gone entirely. Homes are damaged, shops. I saw a jeweler on his knees, weeping. Hope is burned as well. Trust, a sense of safety and belonging," I choke on the next word, but it all keeps tumbling out anyway, "...Love. Ah, but the great symbols of this city live on. I am sure you will be pleased."

I sigh. "Herr Atroxheim, what is the value of a city? If I rode out and laid waste to the Gyrfalcons and razed King Khar's holdings to the ground, is that cause for celebration, or mourning?"

There is a barb in the young knight's tongue. Certainly, she is none of Altdorf. The men of the Riek view such losses in currency and logistics; the men of my homeland take such loss on their shoulders and keep marching forward to fulfill their duty. Their duty: to hold back the winter, to keep ghosts out of the hall, to follow the law and protect the crown.

I accept the glass from Ardashir and ponder the knight's question for a moment. She deserves an honest answer.

"As a soldier, the value of a city is that it is what we defend, what we rely on for supplies, and where we hope to return. To destroy a city is to deny its warriors these three things. But I do not think that this is the answer you are looking for." I sip from the glass, and allow the warmth to spread from my throat through my body. The fire in me is rekindled, and I am able to draw myself back up into dignity.

"Rather, I would argue that the value of the city is in its people. The hands that built it, who deserve respect; the work of generations to preserve it and pass it on to their successors; the children who inherit all things within it. The measure of the populace is the measure of the city. The Empire stands on the strength of its past and future subjects, and Khar's hold is no different." Had things been different, indeed, I would welcome Khar as an ally. He is no saint, but if his lust for revenge were quenched, the good he could do would be considerable. But if I am asked to choose between the Empire and the Dwarf king, I will uphold my duty. "If you were to destroy Khar's domain, it would be a loss to the world. Altdorf's loss would be the greater, and it is the forestallment of this loss that is to be celebrated - and your skill at arms, that brings you the victory, and the gods, who have favored you. The exaltation of your own people at the expense of another. Does that satisfy your heart?"

[Thanqol]

I think I am starting to regret the +1 Bold -1 Strong instead of the reverse. (2d6-1)[7]

On 7–9, you do it, but barely; ask the MC what was the hardest you suffered, a moment you almost broke.

I return this to you; what was the hardest you suffered or the moment you almost broke as the Black Shuck circles you?


King Kvar, of course. If you want to get a message across, you go straight to the top.

That, and I can list the number of dwarves I know on one hand.

This process may take some time; continue with your current conversation and the connection will soon come.


Describe this Knight to me, is he tall? Does he stand confident, arrogant, even? Can I see his face?

He wears a mask of no earthly design; a strange circular and triangular construction, like a metal hood with a singular round metal plate painted as an eye in the centre. No eye-slits or breathing-holes break the surface. The armour is much alike in its alien structure, like it was crafted by a hand used to working ice or mercury rather than metal.

He is huge physically, head and shoulders above any around him. Despite his size and armour giving him the impression of stillness, though, you see that there is constant small motion to him. His fingers tap, his head shifts silently and impatiently, and he rolls his shoulders. This seems to be simply his natural character; a choleric and passionate person, possessed by the element of fire.


Edentraud cast a long appraising head-to-toe look over the Silent Knight. "Then how do you communicate?" she asked noticing the interest the Silent Knight seemed to show and wondered if it was just her imagination.

"Sometimes I wonder if we do," said Gulbrich, feigning sadness like a toad playing dead. "I talk, and talk, and talk, and sometimes it acts. I have come to predict my Lord's habits and will through the kind of subtle relationship that two old friends possess, but I could not tell you the specifics."

[Anarion]

On 7–9, you do it, but barely; ask the MC what was the hardest you suffered, a moment you almost broke.

I return this to you; what was the hardest you suffered or the moment you almost broke as the Black Shuck circles you?


I kept it at bay as it circled along the deck, though my heart was heaving in my chest. But there was a moment where I lost sight of the beast. It faded back into the shadows and I could not find it. I waved my lantern frantically, up and down, turning to and fro trying to find it until I nearly fell from dizziness. That was the moment it struck, from its perch above me. It had crawled onto the wood, finding a space above the entrance to the lower decks where the lantern light did not reach. As it leapt down, I let out an animal scream and grabbed the lantern directly in my hands, shoving it before me. Oil splashed from it, scalding my fingers, but I held it firm and the beast recoiled from its leap and retreated back again as I steadied myself.

[Elanorin]

He wears a mask of no earthly design; a strange circular and triangular construction, like a metal hood with a singular round metal plate painted as an eye in the centre. No eye-slits or breathing-holes break the surface. The armour is much alike in its alien structure, like it was crafted by a hand used to working ice or mercury rather than metal.

He is huge physically, head and shoulders above any around him. Despite his size and armour giving him the impression of stillness, though, you see that there is constant small motion to him. His fingers tap, his head shifts silently and impatiently, and he rolls his shoulders. This seems to be simply his natural character; a choleric and passionate person, possessed by the element of fire.

"Sometimes I wonder if we do," said Gulbrich, feigning sadness like a toad playing dead. "I talk, and talk, and talk, and sometimes it acts. I have come to predict my Lord's habits and will through the kind of subtle relationship that two old friends possess, but I could not tell you the specifics."

"Hnh," Edentraud scoffed, the insincerity starting to get to her.

"Then, how did you come in to his service?" she asked without taking her eyes off the knight. There was something alien yet familiar about him. Something that made him both alien yet familiar at the same time. The element of fire burning within was both something she had complete alignment with and no understanding of whatsoever. She knew that elemental bond intimately, but fire was not in her soul. Could he be... an equal?

Her thoughtfulness was only disturbed by the ire that Gulbrich's insincerity stirred up in her and she suddenly tuned her face to pin her dark eyes on the sorcerer, "How, does he stand, you?"

[PhoeKun]

"If you were to destroy Khar's domain, it would be a loss to the world. Altdorf's loss would be the greater, and it is the forestallment of this loss that is to be celebrated - and your skill at arms, that brings you the victory, and the gods, who have favored you. The exaltation of your own people at the expense of another. Does that satisfy your heart?"

For some time I do not have an answer. It should satisfy my heart, I know this. To exalt Alleinecourt is what drove me into the wider world in the first place. But the glory he speaks of winning is the glory of Altdorf and the glory of the Empire which he serves, which are glories that a far greater being than he has told me it is my destiny to crush.

I look into the general's eyes a moment longer, to see the stern resolve and the quiet sort of fire in his face. What does my face look like, to him? Do I seem sad, or defiant, or simply naive youth to be pitied? What can he guess of my thoughts, which I do not understand myself? I reach up and pull out the key that Seth gave to me from around my neck.

"I have in my possession a dwarven-made machine that by all accounts could by itself keep this city in drink, and if the scholars of Altdorf had ten years to study it they would not be able to create another thing like it if they tried. I am not wise or well educated like you are, but it seems to me that the value of a city or its people is not so easily measured against another. If Altdorf turned its eyes and spears for whatever reason toward my homeland I would not for one instant hesitate to crush this entire place into the ground, and yet I doubt you would tell me that the loss of Alleinecourt and the wondrous horses that we breed could ever equal all of... this."

I notice my hand is clenched tightly enough around the goblet Ardashir gave me that I am in danger of breaking it. I take a breath, loosen my grip, and set it to one side. My mentor, too, seems all of a sudden less interested in his ritual than he had been. I suppose now that I am speaking to both of them.

"Am I a fool for putting my family in front of empires, or is it simply our lot in life to suffer for the things we love? I saw my destiny today in the flames, Herr Atroxheim. It named me as the destroyer of Karak Azgul and Orvisk, and... more besides. We will know very soon if the value of the lands lie in the people or in the legacies we have built around ourselves. When my arm is healed I intend to seek out the future Amoth City-Smiter has shown me, and I should very much like to find the joy in that. There is no longer any left for me elsewhere."

[Thanqol]

I kept it at bay as it circled along the deck, though my heart was heaving in my chest. But there was a moment where I lost sight of the beast. It faded back into the shadows and I could not find it. I waved my lantern frantically, up and down, turning to and fro trying to find it until I nearly fell from dizziness. That was the moment it struck, from its perch above me. It had crawled onto the wood, finding a space above the entrance to the lower decks where the lantern light did not reach. As it leapt down, I let out an animal scream and grabbed the lantern directly in my hands, shoving it before me. Oil splashed from it, scalding my fingers, but I held it firm and the beast recoiled from its leap and retreated back again as I steadied myself.

The Gyrfalcons begin to gather on the deck, advancing under torchlight, pikes held ready. Black Shuck, furious, changes its focus from you to they but they have had time to ready themselves. Each spear-tip is wrapped with paper and gunpowder and as the beast approaches the Gyrfalcons detonate fireworks in its face.

Brilliant blue, red and gold explosions spray sparks everywhere and Black Shuck goes running and howling. The Gyrfalcons rapidly turn to fire management, making sure that their gunpowder remains safely stored and no errant sparks catch blaze - a drill they are well practiced in. One of the lieutenants, a young woman, Idelle, gives you a grin and salute of thanks for holding the beast at bay.


"Hnh," Edentraud scoffed, the insincerity starting to get to her.

"Then, how did you come in to his service?" she asked without taking her eyes off the knight. There was something alien yet familiar about him. Something that made him both alien yet familiar at the same time. The element of fire burning within was both something she had complete alignment with and no understanding of whatsoever. She knew that elemental bond intimately, but fire was not in her soul. Could he be... an equal?

Her thoughtfulness was only disturbed by the ire that Gulbrich's insincerity stirred up in her and she suddenly tuned her face to pin her dark eyes on the sorcerer, "How, does he stand, you?"

"Of course, when he conquered Orvisk I heard his legend and volunteered my services as Court Wizard. I was in between citadels due to that cursed meddling Kislevite and it seemed like a unique opportunity," said Gulbrich. "I could not tell you why he chose to accept the offer of a humble practitioner of the occult such as I, nor why he continues to favour me so, but if you forced me to speculate I would say he sees both genius and greatness within me. I think we are kindred spirits in that regard. Two great geniuses facing the world together, that is what I would say if I were a vainglorious braggart, which I fortunately am not." He patted the Silent Knight on the shoulder.

The Silent Knight abruptly got to his feet. He tilted his head back, suddenly vigilant. He gestures and one of the knights of Orvisk puts a spear like a battering ram in his hand and he holds it high. His focus looks complete but even now you can see the impatience, clenching and tensing, like even this small delay was angering him. Gulbrich remained seated and took a bite out of a piece of bread smothered with melted cheese, and then offered you the slice.

[Anarion]

I lower the lantern gingerly and give Idelle a tired but grateful smile. She just saved my life as much as I may have saved hers and there will be no new debts this night. Still, I am troubled. This was not random, bad the presence of a demon of Kislev here suggested that the Gyrfalcons had attracted more anger than they realized.

[Elanorin]

"Of course, when he conquered Orvisk I heard his legend and volunteered my services as Court Wizard. I was in between citadels due to that cursed meddling Kislevite and it seemed like a unique opportunity," said Gulbrich. "I could not tell you why he chose to accept the offer of a humble practitioner of the occult such as I, nor why he continues to favour me so, but if you forced me to speculate I would say he sees both genius and greatness within me. I think we are kindred spirits in that regard. Two great geniuses facing the world together, that is what I would say if I were a vainglorious braggart, which I fortunately am not." He patted the Silent Knight on the shoulder.

Edentraud stared at Gulbrich as he spoke, having to fight back genuine queasiness at his blatant narcissism. It was just too familiar.


The Silent Knight abruptly got to his feet. He tilted his head back, suddenly vigilant. He gestures and one of the knights of Orvisk puts a spear like a battering ram in his hand and he holds it high. His focus looks complete but even now you can see the impatience, clenching and tensing, like even this small delay was angering him. Gulbrich remained seated and took a bite out of a piece of bread smothered with melted cheese, and then offered you the slice.

She looked up at the sudden movement from the knight. Being tall herself, she was not used to having to look up to anyone to the extent that she had to with the Silent Knight. She reached out both hands to place her palms on his chest and closed her eyes, humming a melody of melting spring, rushing water and warmth returning, searching for any level of common ground between them through which they could understand each other.

[Roll weird?]

[Thanqol]

I lower the lantern gingerly and give Idelle a tired but grateful smile. She just saved my life as much as I may have saved hers and there will be no new debts this night. Still, I am troubled. This was not random, bad the presence of a demon of Kislev here suggested that the Gyrfalcons had attracted more anger than they realized.

You hear pained and furious howls from the forest beyond, and the Gyrfalcons keep their weapons ready. No one will sleep tonight.

No further danger comes, though, and you are borne towards King Khar. Do you make any preparations?


She looked up at the sudden movement from the knight. Being tall herself, she was not used to having to look up to anyone to the extent that she had to with the Silent Knight. She reached out both hands to place her palms on his chest and closed her eyes, humming a melody of melting spring, rushing water and warmth returning, searching for any level of common ground between them through which they could understand each other.

[Roll weird?]

The Silent Knight put his hand on the top of your head, picked you up by the crown, and unceremoniously dropped you behind him. Then he threw the spear.

There was an anguished howl from the forest. The Silent Knight broke into a run towards the trees; no one seemed inclined to follow.

[Anarion]

No further danger comes, though, and you are borne towards King Khar. Do you make any preparations?

Does Hasselhorf have any clean clothes that wouldn't look comical on me? Mine are burned and stained with gunpowder and oil. I'd like to clean and bandage my hands as well and make myself presentable for my king. When the physical needs are cared for, I will pass my remaining time in prayer to Gaia. I would seek her blessing and her guidance as I go forward to meet Khar. I would hope to bring him a sign and to know his mind as best I might.

[TheAmishPirate]

For some time I do not have an answer. It should satisfy my heart, I know this. To exalt Alleinecourt is what drove me into the wider world in the first place. But the glory he speaks of winning is the glory of Altdorf and the glory of the Empire which he serves, which are glories that a far greater being than he has told me it is my destiny to crush.

I look into the general's eyes a moment longer, to see the stern resolve and the quiet sort of fire in his face. What does my face look like, to him? Do I seem sad, or defiant, or simply naive youth to be pitied? What can he guess of my thoughts, which I do not understand myself? I reach up and pull out the key that Seth gave to me from around my neck.

"I have in my possession a dwarven-made machine that by all accounts could by itself keep this city in drink, and if the scholars of Altdorf had ten years to study it they would not be able to create another thing like it if they tried. I am not wise or well educated like you are, but it seems to me that the value of a city or its people is not so easily measured against another. If Altdorf turned its eyes and spears for whatever reason toward my homeland I would not for one instant hesitate to crush this entire place into the ground, and yet I doubt you would tell me that the loss of Alleinecourt and the wondrous horses that we breed could ever equal all of... this."

I notice my hand is clenched tightly enough around the goblet Ardashir gave me that I am in danger of breaking it. I take a breath, loosen my grip, and set it to one side. My mentor, too, seems all of a sudden less interested in his ritual than he had been. I suppose now that I am speaking to both of them.

"Am I a fool for putting my family in front of empires, or is it simply our lot in life to suffer for the things we love? I saw my destiny today in the flames, Herr Atroxheim. It named me as the destroyer of Karak Azgul and Orvisk, and... more besides. We will know very soon if the value of the lands lie in the people or in the legacies we have built around ourselves. When my arm is healed I intend to seek out the future Amoth City-Smiter has shown me, and I should very much like to find the joy in that. There is no longer any left for me elsewhere."

I drop all pretense of eavesdropping and rise to my feet. "By the gods, child, you sound as if you are three cups down and twenty years older." I take her goblet and sniff judiciously; no, that wasn't the strong stuff. I suspect that it is the wine of youth that ails her head. That, or the river-daughter has muddled her thoughts. Again. I warned her no good would come of that.

I shake my head and stand before her. At least when she is sitting, I can look at her without straining my neck. "Listen to yourself. You rightly say that the value of a people is not so easily divined, then you swear to crush many peoples beneath your lance, and Altdorf too if they cross you. You think of love and safety and the rightness of things, and speak for death and destruction. You talk as a knight, but your intent is suspiciously reminiscent of an unthinking boulder tipped disastrously down a hill, most likely by foolish children."

"If you should wish to spare yourself from such a fate, then I would suggest you use that which differentiates knight from boulder." I look to her forehead pointedly. "You could start with remembering the Architect. Or was there another god before Him that laid claim to your destiny?"

[Anarion]

"You could start with remembering the Architect."

Somewhere miles away, Daerek shudders for what appears to be no reason.

[Raz_Fox]

I, too, am on my feet in a moment.

Amoth City-Smiter.

Here. In the fires of Altdorf. Where he goes there, too, is destruction; is ruin; breaker of walls and lord of the ashes.

"What did he say?" I interrupt my brother's conversation with his student, eyes on her face. What had she said? Karak Azghul, Orvisk. Other things besides. "Did you see him truly? What did he say?" This could mean anything. The destruction of Altdorf. The fall of the Empire; that the ships of Arabay will sail up the Reik; that Altdorf will be the only thing that survives the coming fires. "What omens? What word from him?"

[Thanqol]

Does Hasselhorf have any clean clothes that wouldn't look comical on me? Mine are burned and stained with gunpowder and oil. I'd like to clean and bandage my hands as well and make myself presentable for my king. When the physical needs are cared for, I will pass my remaining time in prayer to Gaia. I would seek her blessing and her guidance as I go forward to meet Khar. I would hope to bring him a sign and to know his mind as best I might.

The Gyrfalcons are both fine tailors and incredibly jealous of their clothing. They can certainly put something together for you but they shall not do it for free. I believe you have already claimed your boon from them so you must trade using whatever you have.

As to Gaia, spirits and gods of that rank do not manifest in person, nor do they speak outside of signs and portents. The more powerful the spirit the harder it is to get their attention, and you have said that she is a mighty deity indeed. If you are casting an augury, please tell me how you do it and roll to contact the other world; if not then your prayers shall go unanswered.

[Elanorin]

The Silent Knight put his hand on the top of your head, picked you up by the crown, and unceremoniously dropped you behind him. Then he threw the spear.

There was an anguished howl from the forest. The Silent Knight broke into a run towards the trees; no one seemed inclined to follow.

Edentraud lets out an indignant yelp at being lifted by her head and gracelessly plopped on the ground with no chance to catch herself or her dignity and just falls on her behind on the ground.

Her eyes narrows to slits as she glares at the disappearing knight, "How dare you, manhandle me?!" she shouted after him as he went, fists clench at her sides and pound the soft earth. "I am a Riverdaughter, and you treat me like some common peasant!" There was genuine fury in her voice at this treatment, she was not accustomed to such blatant disrespect. "You may carry the embers of smoldering coals within you but do not forget I walk in the wake of The River and can render you nothing more than a pile of hissing steaming cracked rubble!" Edentraud's hands grabbed at whatever was at her side and she felt the mud squelch between her fingers. She opened her hands, staring at them in horror, "This, is, dirt!" she screamed in a voice that would make dogs bark.

[Thanqol]

Edentraud lets out an indignant yelp at being lifted by her head and gracelessly plopped on the ground with no chance to catch herself or her dignity and just falls on her behind on the ground.

Her eyes narrows to slits as she glares at the disappearing knight, "How dare you, manhandle me?!" she shouted after him as he went, fists clench at her sides and pound the soft earth. "I am a Riverdaughter, and you treat me like some common peasant!" There was genuine fury in her voice at this treatment, she was not accustomed to such blatant disrespect. "You may carry the embers of smoldering coals within you but do not forget I walk in the wake of The River and can render you nothing more than a pile of hissing steaming cracked rubble!" Edentraud's hands grabbed at whatever was at her side and she felt the mud squelch between her fingers. She opened her hands, staring at them in horror, "This, is, dirt!" she screamed in a voice that would make dogs bark.

The Knights of Orvisk, as inured as they are to pain and suffering, quietly shift to be as far away from you as it's safe to be.

After a moment there are the sounds of trees splintering and unnatural howling. The howling draws closer, and the Knights ready their spears. But then the Silent Knight emerges, dragging the dreaded Black Shuck by the tail. His spear has been broken in two but he has broken the legs of the monster in turn, which howls and thrashes behind him. Its crazed eyes bulge and thrash against its skull.

He drags it directly over to you, Edentraud, and delivers the insane monster before you. You get the strange impression of a dog dragging something bloody in on the carpet. He is certainly not braced for your wrath. What do you do?

[Anarion]

The Gyrfalcons are both fine tailors and incredibly jealous of their clothing. They can certainly put something together for you but they shall not do it for free. I believe you have already claimed your boon from them so you must trade using whatever you have.

As to Gaia, spirits and gods of that rank do not manifest in person, nor do they speak outside of signs and portents. The more powerful the spirit the harder it is to get their attention, and you have said that she is a mighty deity indeed. If you are casting an augury, please tell me how you do it and roll to contact the other world; if not then your prayers shall go unanswered.

I wonder, perhaps if my armor and weapons, even my goblet, could be found on board the ship. They were fine dwarven things and might well have been looted from Altdorf today. I would happily trade one such thing for clean clothes just now. If not, they rest still in a merchant house, doing me little good. Lacking anything else, I would bargain the robes off my back. I'm sure that some gyrfalcon would be interested given their value and the chance to clean them later. I simply lack the time to do so now, and would trade my vestments for a clean change of clothes of reasonable presentment.

As for an augury, tonight is a night for divination by fire. I will light several candles for my prayers, and then cast chicken bones from the gyrfalcons' finished dinner through the flames, charring them slowly as they pass from one to the next and casting the bones in a square before me. I trust that the casting of bones and the marks of the flame will hold a sign within them from my goddess. [roll0]

[PhoeKun]

"What did he say?" I interrupt my brother's conversation with his student, eyes on her face. What had she said? Karak Azghul, Orvisk. Other things besides. "Did you see him truly? What did he say?" This could mean anything. The destruction of Altdorf. The fall of the Empire; that the ships of Arabay will sail up the Reik; that Altdorf will be the only thing that survives the coming fires. "What omens? What word from him?"

"Yes, I saw him truly. No trick of the flames, he was far too alive and far too... full to be a mirage." I turn my head between these two esteemed old men, and I must seem to them very nervous indeed. In fact I am, and worry that what I say will either be dismissed as childish fantasy, or else mark us as enemies in some way. Either way I will be left alone.

"Today the Silent Knight came to Altdorf bearing with him a detestable sorcerer who laid a challenge on the city's knights, to duel and win safety for this city for as long as its champion should live, or else spend awhile in Orvisk's torture. I tell you this because it seems you were both occupied and given everything, news may not have spread. I have many questions about what happened in our joust, but I will leave them aside for now and simply say that I took on their challenge and defeated the Silent Knight, if only because his honor demanded he cede the match to me.

Amoth praised my skills and my passion, and named me as his champion in the mortal realms. He gave me the names of several cities and told me I would one day choose to set them to the torch, and when I protested and asked him not look down on me for being unfond of death and carnage, he laughed and said he was not giving me orders but telling me the future. He asked that I try to find happiness in what was to come."

It is not hot here in the study, but under Ardashir and Ollerus' gazes I find that I am sweating, and my arm is starting to tremble. It is like being a child again, telling my father a secret and waiting for him to toss it aside and tell me to put such nonsense out of my head. Such is the wisdom the experienced pass on to the young: 'Yours is a false fear, yours is an imagined burden, do not bring your blindness here and distract me from my true problems.' They call it perspective and mean it to help, and perhaps they cannot see how deeply it cuts us.

"What different destiny than this have you perceived for me, Master Ardashir, that you have kept hidden from me? If there is another road for me to follow, then please speak its name. If not, then give me leave to retrieve what Altdorf has lost today; my heart is heavy and confused, and the only clarity I see lies ahead on a battlefield."

[Raz_Fox]

In my heart I feel the stirrings of what, in a lesser man, might ferment into envy. She saw a god in the flesh - or the fires, or however the dreaded City-Smiter manifested himself before her. She is too earnest, too anxious to be spinning this tale out of nothing but moonbeams and snow. The gods do not come to men like me, no matter how I pray, no matter that I lead the ceremonies of a multitude of the Legion's mystery-cults. They come to handsome young knights whose voices tremble with outrage and whose fingers clench with rage, who have a passion in their hearts that rhymes with the voices of the gods.

This knight is lost, and she will need Ardashir's aid if she is not to become another martyr, another anointed hero who burns too brightly, too fiercely, too sharp. And, if I am not wrong, she will need my aid, too. And I may need hers.

"I am afraid I must attend to my duties once more, Ardashir. Thank you for your hospitality, but we both know- never ceasing, never settling." I place my hand with affection on his shoulder, for a moment, hoping that the gesture will display my gratitude, my wish that I could stay here and rest. "D'Alleinecourt. Your account, what I have heard of it, rings with truth. You walk a dangerous road, and may find yourself bereft of companions and succor on the journey that the will of the otherworld has set you upon. Allow me to offer you this: the Kislev Wolf Legion has taken heavy casualties today, Morr taking from us without regard to rank and station. I require more officers, more men. You may be able to fulfill this destiny at the head of a battalion, with hardy men and the Imperial eagle by your side."

I offer my hand to her. Her hand is the hand of a soldier, and so is mine; but mine has been weathered by age, leathered and scarred and beaten.

And I will ask the gods of her tonight, to know if this is right. But my heart tells me that I act well in this.

[TheAmishPirate]

"Yes, I saw him truly. No trick of the flames, he was far too alive and far too... full to be a mirage." I turn my head between these two esteemed old men, and I must seem to them very nervous indeed. In fact I am, and worry that what I say will either be dismissed as childish fantasy, or else mark us as enemies in some way. Either way I will be left alone.

"Today the Silent Knight came to Altdorf bearing with him a detestable sorcerer who laid a challenge on the city's knights, to duel and win safety for this city for as long as its champion should live, or else spend awhile in Orvisk's torture. I tell you this because it seems you were both occupied and given everything, news may not have spread. I have many questions about what happened in our joust, but I will leave them aside for now and simply say that I took on their challenge and defeated the Silent Knight, if only because his honor demanded he cede the match to me.

Amoth praised my skills and my passion, and named me as his champion in the mortal realms. He gave me the names of several cities and told me I would one day choose to set them to the torch, and when I protested and asked him not look down on me for being unfond of death and carnage, he laughed and said he was not giving me orders but telling me the future. He asked that I try to find happiness in what was to come."

It is not hot here in the study, but under Ardashir and Ollerus' gazes I find that I am sweating, and my arm is starting to tremble. It is like being a child again, telling my father a secret and waiting for him to toss it aside and tell me to put such nonsense out of my head. Such is the wisdom the experienced pass on to the young: 'Yours is a false fear, yours is an imagined burden, do not bring your blindness here and distract me from my true problems.' They call it perspective and mean it to help, and perhaps they cannot see how deeply it cuts us.

"What different destiny than this have you perceived for me, Master Ardashir, that you have kept hidden from me? If there is another road for me to follow, then please speak its name. If not, then give me leave to retrieve what Altdorf has lost today; my heart is heavy and confused, and the only clarity I see lies ahead on a battlefield."

I hear her recount her singularly fantastic day without saying a word. When she has finished, and looks to me for advice, I am silent. My stick clacks against the cold stone floor as I walk to my table of potions, pour myself a goblet of the good stuff, and drain it in a single swig. Then I pour another, rub the bridge of my nose with a long-suffering sigh, and return slowly to the pair of them.

This is precisely why I need my day off.


In my heart I feel the stirrings of what, in a lesser man, might ferment into envy. She saw a god in the flesh - or the fires, or however the dreaded City-Smiter manifested himself before her. She is too earnest, too anxious to be spinning this tale out of nothing but moonbeams and snow. The gods do not come to men like me, no matter how I pray, no matter that I lead the ceremonies of a multitude of the Legion's mystery-cults. They come to handsome young knights whose voices tremble with outrage and whose fingers clench with rage, who have a passion in their hearts that rhymes with the voices of the gods.

This knight is lost, and she will need Ardashir's aid if she is not to become another martyr, another anointed hero who burns too brightly, too fiercely, too sharp. And, if I am not wrong, she will need my aid, too. And I may need hers.

"I am afraid I must attend to my duties once more, Ardashir. Thank you for your hospitality, but we both know- never ceasing, never settling." I place my hand with affection on his shoulder, for a moment, hoping that the gesture will display my gratitude, my wish that I could stay here and rest.

"And never seemed shorter when years were fewer." I finish with a wan grimace. I don't recoil from the touch.


"D'Alleinecourt. Your account, what I have heard of it, rings with truth. You walk a dangerous road, and may find yourself bereft of companions and succor on the journey that the will of the otherworld has set you upon. Allow me to offer you this: the Kislev Wolf Legion has taken heavy casualties today, Morr taking from us without regard to rank and station. I require more officers, more men. You may be able to fulfill this destiny at the head of a battalion, with hardy men and the Imperial eagle by your side."

I offer my hand to her. Her hand is the hand of a soldier, and so is mine; but mine has been weathered by age, leathered and scarred and beaten.

And I will ask the gods of her tonight, to know if this is right. But my heart tells me that I act well in this.

Though I would wish somebody in this city would consult me first before doing something rash. Just once. It would make a nice change.

"Before you rush off on your joyous campaign of endless devastation, hear me well." I approach the two of them, brows furrowed. "Child, when you arrived in Altdorf, I spotted the mark of the Architect on your brow. He marked you for a destiny that would shape the stars until they fell from the sky at the end of all things. Now, Amoth City-Smiter appears before you, declaring that your destiny instead lies in the burnt rubble of many cities." I give them a long pause. They are some drinks down, after all. "I am not a man who risks his money at gambling. Instead, I will simply inform Matthias to pick up my winnings when another god appears before you within the month."

I pace slowly around my mirrors and candles, the smoke wisping 'round my cloak. "The legends speak - and many more reliable sources verify - of individuals poised at the crossroads of history. The barest flick of their finger could spell the downfall of nations, the merest word could bring prosperity to all people. And all the pantheons take note. They are visited by many of the divine, some offering, most declaring a destiny for them. Yet in the end, only some such destinies can be fulfilled. And therein lies the real question; were the gods speaking falsely? Could they really see which path this champion was destined for? Or were they merely bidding on a world they most desired? How does a god even comprehend the passing of time, of worlds, of people, I wonder?"

I am lost in thought for some time, before I realize there are two other people in the room with me.

"Oh, yes. And you are one such historical individual. For whatever reason." I make a vague motion with my staff.

[Thanqol]

I wonder, perhaps if my armor and weapons, even my goblet, could be found on board the ship. They were fine dwarven things and might well have been looted from Altdorf today. I would happily trade one such thing for clean clothes just now. If not, they rest still in a merchant house, doing me little good. Lacking anything else, I would bargain the robes off my back. I'm sure that some gyrfalcon would be interested given their value and the chance to clean them later. I simply lack the time to do so now, and would trade my vestments for a clean change of clothes of reasonable presentment.

As for an augury, tonight is a night for divination by fire. I will light several candles for my prayers, and then cast chicken bones from the gyrfalcons' finished dinner through the flames, charring them slowly as they pass from one to the next and casting the bones in a square before me. I trust that the casting of bones and the marks of the flame will hold a sign within them from my goddess. [8]

The laws of hospitality have special meaning for dwarves, because dwarves give themselves too easily to greed and isolation. It is too tempting to lock the door and sit in the dark with your gold - and in the dark that is where dragons find you.

The moment you touch the bone of Khar to the fire the entire length combusts as though it were covered in gunpowder. You drop it in a moment of shock and almost before it has left your hand a large, predatory rat dashes across your lap to snatch it up. It withdraws to the shadows of the overhang and watches you with evil eyes.

Then the call goes up; the war camp of the Underking has been reached.

[Anarion]

Is Khar lost? Has vengeance claimed him beyond reason? Perhaps I should take the sign literally and worry that he will burn for his madness. I do not doubt it could come to pass.

I shake myself free of those thoughts and change into the new clothing I exchanged for my old. One of the shorter gyrfalcons will be well pleased to own a priest's vestments. And now I have washed my beard in the water, scraped the soot from my face, and dressed in my new dark green cloth coat and leather vest.

"Herr Hasselhorf, thank you and your men for your hospitality and your transport. I am sorry that they incurred Gaia's wrath a second time with their impiety amidst our prayers, but I am hopeful that you and they will remember the lesson, whatever may occur." I refrain from chuckling and instead make my way first towards Khar's camp. Though unless I miss my guess, that blasted Star Priest is not far behind.

[Elanorin]

The Knights of Orvisk, as inured as they are to pain and suffering, quietly shift to be as far away from you as it's safe to be.

After a moment there are the sounds of trees splintering and unnatural howling. The howling draws closer, and the Knights ready their spears. But then the Silent Knight emerges, dragging the dreaded Black Shuck by the tail. His spear has been broken in two but he has broken the legs of the monster in turn, which howls and thrashes behind him. Its crazed eyes bulge and thrash against its skull.

He drags it directly over to you, Edentraud, and delivers the insane monster before you. You get the strange impression of a dog dragging something bloody in on the carpet. He is certainly not braced for your wrath. What do you do?

Edentraud quickly pulled her feet away from the mewling beast, staring at it in shocked disbelief, before finally getting up off the ground, having temporaily forgotten about being covered in dirt.

"What's this?" she finally demanded of the Silent Knight and briefly leaned in to look at Black Shuck a little closer before grimacing and pulling back. "Is this some kind of... offering?" Her mind boggled at the thought as she watched the writhing creature, it was both frightening and pitiful both at once.

[Thanqol]

Is Khar lost? Has vengeance claimed him beyond reason? Perhaps I should take the sign literally and worry that he will burn for his madness. I do not doubt it could come to pass.

I shake myself free of those thoughts and change into the new clothing I exchanged for my old. One of the shorter gyrfalcons will be well pleased to own a priest's vestments. And now I have washed my beard in the water, scraped the soot from my face, and dressed in my new dark green cloth coat and leather vest.

Your expectations will be dashed if you expect a suit of only one colour. That dark green will have one sleeve of neon orange and the other of lacy white you suspect was torn from a wedding dress.


"Herr Hasselhorf, thank you and your men for your hospitality and your transport. I am sorry that they incurred Gaia's wrath a second time with their impiety amidst our prayers, but I am hopeful that you and they will remember the lesson, whatever may occur." I refrain from chuckling and instead make my way first towards Khar's camp. Though unless I miss my guess, that blasted Star Priest is not far behind.

Mephistophilies grabs you from behind with a roar.

"Daerek! You old bastard, good to see you!" he cried.

Mephistophilies - Meph to his friends - is a Dwarven Slayer, a member of the fanatical warrior cult who seek glorious death in battle to atone for some great sin. Meph is bad at being a Slayer - he keeps winning. He's covered in tattoos of snakes, his hair is dyed orange and wild rising up into the distinctive Slayer crest, and he owns nothing but his clothes and his spear.

"I told you he was coming. Didn't I tell you he was coming?" said Belial with an edge of unwarranted nervousness. Belial was a young dwarf in fine, comfortable clothing and with a bit of a paunch. He looked like a merchant but he was actually a wizard, one with a knack for air magic. He's a cousin of yours.

"Finally. Heeded the Underking's summons to war, eh?" said Asmodeus. Asmodeus is a scout and is madder than an ogre at a Slayer convention. He's ruthless, stealthy, invisible and wears grenades like Gyrfalcons wear jewelry. He does the gruff veteran thing and feigns cynicism but half of his scouting reports are along the lines of 'there were people here and now they are all dead'.

Alright, alright, I'll explain the names.

Elves have a superstition that if you tell a demon your name then it can steal your soul. The Dwarves of Mror, who traded regularly with the Elves back when Carthage was mighty, came into contact with this superstition and decided that rather than play weird name-guessing games like the Elves liked to, they would just name their children after powerful demons instead. The tradition grew from a fad to the norm when the Dwarves allied with the Empire of Eagles against Carthage, where naming things after Elven demons was done of mockery.


Edentraud quickly pulled her feet away from the mewling beast, staring at it in shocked disbelief, before finally getting up off the ground, having temporaily forgotten about being covered in dirt.

"What's this?" she finally demanded of the Silent Knight and briefly leaned in to look at Black Shuck a little closer before grimacing and pulling back. "Is this some kind of... offering?" Her mind boggled at the thought as she watched the writhing creature, it was both frightening and pitiful both at once.

The Silent Knight says nothing. He places his broken spear against the creature's neck and looks at you.

The monster howls and whines, mangled.

[Elanorin]

The Silent Knight says nothing. He places his broken spear against the creature's neck and looks at you.

The monster howls and whines, mangled.

Edentraud studied the scene and decided to master her temper, for the moment. She stepped closer and cautiously kneeled by the restrained beast and sought its eyes with her own to catch it in a deep stare. She gently reached out her hands to place them on the beast's chest, hoping the spear was enough to keep those ferocious fangs away.

"I know you, don't I?" she said softly to the animal, spreading her fingers through its fur, trying to capture its attention, "you have skulked in my shadow before, haven't you, Black One. Would you like to come closer? To stay?"

[Rolling to Win Black Shuck Over: 2d6+1=3 How can I win Black Shuck's loyal service to me? *bracing for the worst*]

[Anarion]

Your expectations will be dashed if you expect a suit of only one colour. That dark green will have one sleeve of neon orange and the other of lacy white you suspect was torn from a wedding dress.


As long as it's presentable. I'm sure the neon orange will go over superbly with the dwarven public.



Mephistophilies grabs you from behind with a roar.

"Daerek! You old bastard, good to see you!" he cried.

Mephistophilies - Meph to his friends - is a Dwarven Slayer, a member of the fanatical warrior cult who seek glorious death in battle to atone for some great sin. Meph is bad at being a Slayer - he keeps winning. He's covered in tattoos of snakes, his hair is dyed orange and wild rising up into the distinctive Slayer crest, and he owns nothing but his clothes and his spear.

"I told you he was coming. Didn't I tell you he was coming?" said Belial with an edge of unwarranted nervousness. Belial was a young dwarf in fine, comfortable clothing and with a bit of a paunch. He looked like a merchant but he was actually a wizard, one with a knack for air magic. He's a cousin of yours.

"Finally. Heeded the Underking's summons to war, eh?" said Asmodeus. Asmodeus is a scout and is madder than an ogre at a Slayer convention. He's ruthless, stealthy, invisible and wears grenades like Gyrfalcons wear jewelry. He does the gruff veteran thing and feigns cynicism but half of his scouting reports are along the lines of 'there were people here and now they are all dead'.

Alright, alright, I'll explain the names.

Elves have a superstition that if you tell a demon your name then it can steal your soul. The Dwarves of Mror, who traded regularly with the Elves back when Carthage was mighty, came into contact with this superstition and decided that rather than play weird name-guessing games like the Elves liked to, they would just name their children after powerful demons instead. The tradition grew from a fad to the norm when the Dwarves allied with the Empire of Eagles against Carthage, where naming things after Elven demons was done of mockery.


I smile. It has been along time. "Meph, Bel, Asmo, it's good to see you. I admit, I hadn't heard the summons, something about being stuck in Altdorf, I imagine. It's a good story to tell you some time, I had to shoot at a wizard, even if he's normally a nice old man, and then I had to hold back a demon with naught but a lantern and Gaia as my guide. But some other time, I'm afraid, I must hasten to Khar, there's news to bring. And between us, I'm not yet ready to give up Altdorf to fire, there are good people there, yet. Would you three be kind enough to show me to the King?"

[PhoeKun]

I offer my hand to her. Her hand is the hand of a soldier, and so is mine; but mine has been weathered by age, leathered and scarred and beaten.

And I will ask the gods of her tonight, to know if this is right. But my heart tells me that I act well in this.


I pace slowly around my mirrors and candles, the smoke wisping 'round my cloak. "The legends speak - and many more reliable sources verify - of individuals poised at the crossroads of history. The barest flick of their finger could spell the downfall of nations, the merest word could bring prosperity to all people. And all the pantheons take note. They are visited by many of the divine, some offering, most declaring a destiny for them. Yet in the end, only some such destinies can be fulfilled. And therein lies the real question; were the gods speaking falsely? Could they really see which path this champion was destined for? Or were they merely bidding on a world they most desired? How does a god even comprehend the passing of time, of worlds, of people, I wonder?"

I am lost in thought for some time, before I realize there are two other people in the room with me.

"Oh, yes. And you are one such historical individual. For whatever reason." I make a vague motion with my staff.

Silence. Hesitation.

"...Oh."

It's a pathetic response, but my mind is reeling and I cannot muster much more. Never treat with wizards if you wish to make sense of the world, for he will tell you everything and in doing so tell you nothing. My head hurts, and all I really understand (or want to) is that one way or another answers do not lie here in this chamber. I wish that I could speak with Edentraud. Hold her again. Feel...

No. This is too much; my face is contorting with pain and I can only hope these men will think it's because of my arm. Or the staggering weight of this "destiny" that's been declared for me. What have I ever asked for in life that goes beyond the ken of a questing knight? To duel, to win honor and glory, to help people in need! What about these things demands such... such... why would the universe ask this of a sixthborn and least of her people?

"The Architect is not about to reveal the true nature of my destiny," my voice is shaky despite my attempt at bravado, "Which still leaves Altdorf bereft of its wealth and a need for someone like me to do what can be done to reclaim it. With your blessing, I would at least ride out to learn more about the world and my place in it."

His blessing, I hope, includes medicine or a healer. But I know better than to ask.

"There is... one more thing. After Amoth named me his champion, I broke away from him to put out the fires in Altdorf. You will admonish me, I know, but in my haste to save the people and their livelihoods I made no regard for my own body. Only, no flames, no smoke, no debris, nothing. Nothing touched me, has touched me. What does it mean, that I have felt no pain since the city came under fire?"

[Thanqol]

Edentraud studied the scene and decided to master her temper, for the moment. She stepped closer and cautiously kneeled by the restrained beast and sought its eyes with her own to catch it in a deep stare. She gently reached out her hands to place them on the beast's chest, hoping the spear was enough to keep those ferocious fangs away.

"I know you, don't I?" she said softly to the animal, spreading her fingers through its fur, trying to capture its attention, "you have skulked in my shadow before, haven't you, Black One. Would you like to come closer? To stay?"

[Rolling to Win Black Shuck Over: 2d6+1=3 How can I win Black Shuck's loyal service to me? *bracing for the worst*]

It lunges at you.

The Silent Knight cuts its taloned paw off before it touches you.

What strikes your face is a severed human hand.

Howling, changing, Black Shuck writhes and thrashes in agony. Black magic pours from the wound. Its fur becomes mottled and ragged and dead, the fur of a skinned wolf. Underneath is not flesh and muscle but a human, a woman, an old woman. You know her. Vasilka. The wife of Atroxheim of the Kislevite Wolf Legion. It is she who has borne the lycanthropic curse all these years, hunting the Legion's enemies, its cowards, its traitors in the dark of the moon.

The Silent Knight kicks her over and again rests the spear at her throat. He gestures at his knights, and then he points at the torture rack.

You can win her loyalty by saving her from what is about to happen.


I smile. It has been along time. "Meph, Bel, Asmo, it's good to see you. I admit, I hadn't heard the summons, something about being stuck in Altdorf, I imagine. It's a good story to tell you some time, I had to shoot at a wizard, even if he's normally a nice old man, and then I had to hold back a demon with naught but a lantern and Gaia as my guide. But some other time, I'm afraid, I must hasten to Khar, there's news to bring. And between us, I'm not yet ready to give up Altdorf to fire, there are good people there, yet. Would you three be kind enough to show me to the King?"

"A demon! Will you ribbit ribbit ribbit," said Asmodeus, transformed into a frog.

Mephistophilies looked around, grabbing his spear, but in a second he was shrunk into a toad as well. Belial tried to run but he was caught mid-stride and his froggy shape went tumbling into the water. All over the camp dwarves yell in panic before being transformed. The Gyrfalcons on the ship fared little better, being transformed into spectacular birds of paradise. Within five minutes you alone have your shape in a camp full of beasts.

"I beg your pardon?" said a raspy, scratchy voice - cordial sweetness forced from a throat long accustomed to hard whisky and smoky rooms. A plaster mask of makeup swings around into your view along with the stink of smoke, booze and sex. Though she has long limbs, dark hair, and all the finest, the Willow Hag could only be mistaken as beautiful by those who are entirely drunk.

She is surrounded by a flock of crows. Two of them land on your shoulders and in a moment they are beautiful girls, her daughters, stroking your chest and whispering dangerous things in your ears.

"Did you say with Gaia as your only guide?" said the Willow Hag. "Because I distinctly remember you calling on my name. My name. Me. You called upon me to protect you. And here you stand. Mouthing off about the benevolence of that cowardly whore Gaia. Is this gratitude? Is this my due?"

Today we learn a valuable lesson about taking the Willow Hag's name in vain.

Roll +Weird to see what her mood is.

[Anarion]

"My lady, forgive my foolish oversight." I bow, as deeply as I would bow for anyone at all, the stroking women crows bending with me if they wish to continue. "I thought perhaps you would be displeased at evil spirits defiling a boat with your image, and I did indeed call upon the protection of all who might listen in my moment of need. I am grateful for your aid."

[roll0]

[Elanorin]

It lunges at you.

The Silent Knight cuts its taloned paw off before it touches you.

What strikes your face is a severed human hand.

Howling, changing, Black Shuck writhes and thrashes in agony. Black magic pours from the wound. Its fur becomes mottled and ragged and dead, the fur of a skinned wolf. Underneath is not flesh and muscle but a human, a woman, an old woman. You know her. Vasilka. The wife of Atroxheim of the Kislevite Wolf Legion. It is she who has borne the lycanthropic curse all these years, hunting the Legion's enemies, its cowards, its traitors in the dark of the moon.

The Silent Knight kicks her over and again rests the spear at her throat. He gestures at his knights, and then he points at the torture rack.

You can win her loyalty by saving her from what is about to happen.

Edentraud recoiled at the sudden attack. It had crossed her mind that this thing might try something like that but the knight proved as vigilant as she had hoped. The severed human hand was disturbing, though mostly from having hit her face with unexpected force, and mess.

Eden was on her feet in an instant, dress covered in dirt and now blood across her face, "No," the Riverdaughter commanded.

[Raz_Fox]

I leave D'Alleinecourt and Ardashir to their own counsel. I will be keeping an eye on this knight and her future, if I survive that long, but there are things that must still be accounted for. Ardashir knows this as well as I do.

Doubtless there is much still to be done before I may make my offerings to the gods at nightfall, much of it with Alexis and my officers at my command post (which is one room of the humble farmhouse I make my residence in these days). Reading the list of the dead and offering libations for their souls. Stockpiling our weapons. Making sure that every man of the Legion is ready for the coming battles.

Then, only then, will I be able to don the ceremonial cloak of one who comes before the gods of war and ask them what counsel they have to offer me.

[Thanqol]

"My lady, forgive my foolish oversight." I bow, as deeply as I would bow for anyone at all, the stroking women crows bending with me if they wish to continue. "I thought perhaps you would be displeased at evil spirits defiling a boat with your image, and I did indeed call upon the protection of all who might listen in my moment of need. I am grateful for your aid."

[10]

"Yes, yes, I remember you sticking my name in between Freya and Mars like I was a comma," said the Hag, picking up the Meph-frog by the leg and dangling it in front of her. "But I don't blame you, darling. I don't blame you. You're just a retard," she pats your head like you're a dog. "It's not your fault. It's the fault of all these gods. All these cults. All these polytheistic pagan temples filling your head and muddying your mind with too. Many. Damn. Gods! So I'm going to help you, my poor idiot grandson. I'm going to help by making the world much more simple."

She throws the frog, pegs it really, watches it fall and tumble across the camp and vanish behind a tent. She stamps and swears. "Missed!" she grabs another frog, Belial, and starts lining up her aim more carefully.


Edentraud recoiled at the sudden attack. It had crossed her mind that this thing might try something like that but the knight proved as vigilant as she had hoped. The severed human hand was disturbing, though mostly from having hit her face with unexpected force, and mess.

Eden was on her feet in an instant, dress covered in dirt and now blood across her face, "No," the Riverdaughter commanded.

Gulbrich chose this moment to slink out of sight. He did not want to be a part of this showdown.

The Silent Knight ignores you. His knights hesitate for a moment at your command, but they look to their liege and his bloody spear, and they slowly resume their task.


I leave D'Alleinecourt and Ardashir to their own counsel. I will be keeping an eye on this knight and her future, if I survive that long, but there are things that must still be accounted for. Ardashir knows this as well as I do.

Doubtless there is much still to be done before I may make my offerings to the gods at nightfall, much of it with Alexis and my officers at my command post (which is one room of the humble farmhouse I make my residence in these days). Reading the list of the dead and offering libations for their souls. Stockpiling our weapons. Making sure that every man of the Legion is ready for the coming battles.

Then, only then, will I be able to don the ceremonial cloak of one who comes before the gods of war and ask them what counsel they have to offer me.

When you count your fallen, ask the MC the following questions, and then rewrite your warriors accordingly.

My favored solution for adjusting the scale of Dark Age is change 'souls' to 'figures of note'. If your Legion has 'thirty souls' then it has thirty leaders and unit commanders, for instance. Your Legion was gutted during the conflict with the Gyrfalcons. I am also assuming that you do not have the full force of Kislev at your disposal, and this Legion's detachment is closer to an outlaw band in numbers and composition. This meant you started the battle with around 300 soldiers and civilians.

• How many of us are dead? How many dying?

It was a bad engagement, but you fought it on the offensive so the enemy did not have time to butcher your wounded. A third of your force lies slain or injured beyond fighting. Some of the survivors request leave and pensions once they have recovered enough to travel.

• How many of us are missing?

Desertion is low. If Kislevite has a national character it is the unwillingness to flinch or retreat. Perhaps thirty in all, mostly civilians.

• How many of us are wounded but still able to fight?

Many, but this shall not be a problem. You are in Altdorf and the surgeons of Altdorf are delighted to practice their treatments for tending to bullet injuries. If there was a place to be wounded, it is here.

• Who notable is dead, missing, or wounded?'

You saw Ulfgan fall yourself, but you were unfortunate to also lose Pyotr the tracker and Johan the Quartermaster was wounded and Nancy the Annalist is reduced to dictating his account to his understudy.

What do you do?

[Anarion]

"Yes, yes, I remember you sticking my name in between Freya and Mars like I was a comma," said the Hag, picking up the Meph-frog by the leg and dangling it in front of her. "But I don't blame you, darling. I don't blame you. You're just a retard," she pats your head like you're a dog. "It's not your fault. It's the fault of all these gods. All these cults. All these polytheistic pagan temples filling your head and muddying your mind with too. Many. Damn. Gods! So I'm going to help you, my poor idiot grandson. I'm going to help by making the world much more simple."

She throws the frog, pegs it really, watches it fall and tumble across the camp and vanish behind a tent. She stamps and swears. "Missed!" she grabs another frog, Belial, and starts lining up her aim more carefully.


"I...uh, what do you plan to do, grandmother?"

[Elanorin]

Gulbrich chose this moment to slink out of sight. He did not want to be a part of this showdown.

The Silent Knight ignores you. His knights hesitate for a moment at your command, but they look to their liege and his bloody spear, and they slowly resume their task.


"Any person who touches her without my approval will leap off the Willow Bridge of Altdorf before Midsummer's Night!" Edentraud declared, ensuring her eyes marked every single one here as she spoke, ending with the Knight himself. She took a step forwards to stand above the wounded woman on the ground. "This woman is mine. You submitted her at my feet. I swear by the rain above and rivers below, I will make you pay dearly if you do not honour this and release her to me now."

[I confront the Silent Knight and declare a 12]

[TheAmishPirate]

"The Architect is not about to reveal the true nature of my destiny," my voice is shaky despite my attempt at bravado, "Which still leaves Altdorf bereft of its wealth and a need for someone like me to do what can be done to reclaim it. With your blessing, I would at least ride out to learn more about the world and my place in it."

His blessing, I hope, includes medicine or a healer. But I know better than to ask.

I take a long, slow breath, rumbling with displeasure. "I have told you many a time about the values of careful study and examination. And after the wild risks you have undertaken this day, I am less convinced that you possess even a shred of discipline and self-preservation, both of which are remarkably useful in my ongoing pursuit to ensure you keep breathing."

I fix her with a stern glare, but then I sigh and shake my head.

"However, not all studies can be conducted from the safety of a library. Ollerus has survived countless campaigns that would have shattered lesser men; you will not find a better guide than he. And if you truly desire to learn..." By the gods, I'm going to regret this. "...then I suppose it would be most foolish to stand in your way."


"There is... one more thing. After Amoth named me his champion, I broke away from him to put out the fires in Altdorf. You will admonish me, I know, but in my haste to save the people and their livelihoods I made no regard for my own body.

"...this does not fill me with confidence, child." I add flatly.


"Only, no flames, no smoke, no debris, nothing. Nothing touched me, has touched me. What does it mean, that I have felt no pain since the city came under fire?"

My trepidation wanes as my curiosity waxes. I approach my young student, fishing a thin needle out from one of my many pouches of materials. I take hold of her good arm in one hand, the needle in the other, and attempt to stab her with all my might.

The needle shatters before it even touches her skin.

"Fascinating..." I mutter, gathering up the metal fragments. I put them in a ceramic bowl, and fill it full of water, with a few drops of my own blood for good measure. Turns out holding a needle when it shatters is harmful to one's fingers. We have learned at least one thing this day. I whisper words of water and guidance, of waves and stars, and I watch intently as the shards point their way home.

[Rolling to Contact the Other World: [roll0]]

[Thanqol]

"Any person who touches her without my approval will leap off the Willow Bridge of Altdorf before Midsummer's Night!" Edentraud declared, ensuring her eyes marked every single one here as she spoke, ending with the Knight himself. She took a step forwards to stand above the wounded woman on the ground. "This woman is mine. You submitted her at my feet. I swear by the rain above and rivers below, I will make you pay dearly if you do not honour this and release her to me now."

[I confront the Silent Knight and declare a 12]

The Silent Knight stares you down. You blink first, for the painted eye on his mask is unblinking, but a second after you do he gestures and his knights drop the maimed woman on the ground before you.

He then turns and sits, facing the woods again, painstakingly repairing his spear.


"I...uh, what do you plan to do, grandmother?"

"Shh!" said the Willow Hag, and threw Belial. The frog struck the centre of the flagpole she was aiming for and there was a crack, and the frog's back broke, and the Hag's raven daughters swept down upon it to tear its guts out. The Willow Hag pumped a fist and cackled in triumph. "Did you see that? What a throw!" she said, totally ignoring your question and waiting for your praise.


"Fascinating..." I mutter, gathering up the metal fragments. I put them in a ceramic bowl, and fill it full of water, with a few drops of my own blood for good measure. Turns out holding a needle when it shatters is harmful to one's fingers. We have learned at least one thing this day. I whisper words of water and guidance, of waves and stars, and I watch intently as the shards point their way home.

[Rolling to Contact the Other World: [roll0]]

The water runs and flows without ceasing or stilling, full of a thousand metal shards. The blood freezes into a single crimson crystal. As fast as the stormy water turns and as heavily as the metal shards strike the ice it remains unyielding. The white foam that forms in the water is known to be associated with the Goddess of Horses, Rivers and War, White Rushing Mane; this sorcery is her doing.

[Anarion]

"Shh!" said the Willow Hag, and throwew Belial. The frog struck the centre of the flagpole she was aiming for and there was a crack, and the frog's back broke, and the Hag's raven daughters swept down upon it to tear its guts out. The Willow Hag pumped a fist and cackled in triumph. "Did you see that? What a throw!" she said, totally ignoring your question and waiting for your praise.


"Quite the arm, grandmother! You must get a lot of practice. So what were you saying before about helping somehow?"

[Elanorin]

The Silent Knight stares you down. You blink first, for the painted eye on his mask is unblinking, but a second after you do he gestures and his knights drop the maimed woman on the ground before you.

He then turns and sits, facing the woods again, painstakingly repairing his spear.


Keeping a wary eye on the Silent Knight Edentraud crouched down by the wounded woman. She unclasped her cloak and wrapped it around her before trying to lift her up as carefully as she could. Her wounds were many, however, and Edentraud not used to carrying hurt women, but did as best she could to get her on to the empty cart.

[Thanqol]

"Quite the arm, grandmother! You must get a lot of practice. So what were you saying before about helping somehow?"

"Didn't I just say - didn't I just say - that I was doing this because your head was too full of useless garbage already?" snapped the Hag, and both the daughters hanging from your arms drove their fingers into your side, under your ribs. "And grow a spine, you pathetic lickspittle. Girls! We're going," she said, and began to stalk away.

After a moment your spine begins to ache, and in another few moments you get to experience the transcendent agony of having your spine dissolve and re-grow.


Keeping a wary eye on the Silent Knight Edentraud crouched down by the wounded woman. She unclasped her cloak and wrapped it around her before trying to lift her up as carefully as she could. Her wounds were many, however, and Edentraud not used to carrying hurt women, but did as best she could to get her on to the empty cart.

That's not an empty cart. That is a cart loaded down with heavy torture equipment and spare weapons. Nowhere to put an injured lady.

Vasilka's mouth was drawn tight with agony and she was losing a lot of blood from her severed wrist. What do you do?

[Anarion]

"Didn't I just say - didn't I just say - that I was doing this because your head was too full of useless garbage already?" snapped the Hag, and both the daughters hanging from your arms drove their fingers into your side, under your ribs. "And grow a spine, you pathetic lickspittle. Girls! We're going," she said, and began to stalk away.

After a moment your spine begins to ache, and in another few moments you get to experience the transcendent agony of having your spine dissolve and re-grow.


I attempt to endure this all in stoic silence, fail, let out an ear-piercing scream instead, fall to the ground, and then look up, panting and trying to catch my breath. What has happened to all the frogs and other beasts?

[Thanqol]

I attempt to endure this all in stoic silence, fail, let out an ear-piercing scream instead, fall to the ground, and then look up, panting and trying to catch my breath. What has happened to all the frogs and other beasts?

Still frogs. The Willow Hag didn't turn them back, either deliberately or accidentally. She's well gone by this point, who knows where. Maybe it'll wear off?

Oh, you do notice that the Star Priest, Arken, wandering around looking baffled. He's kept his form somehow.

[Elanorin]

That's not an empty cart. That is a cart loaded down with heavy torture equipment and spare weapons. Nowhere to put an injured lady.

Vasilka's mouth was drawn tight with agony and she was losing a lot of blood from her severed wrist. What do you do?

Then slumped over the back of one of the beasts of burden then?

Eden was no healer, she'd picked up the odd little thing here and there but this was not her forte, but even she could see this loss of blood was problematic. Once Vasilka was set down she took her belt and tied it as tight as she could around the wrist to stay the bleeding.

"This beast will be returned to you," she said and took hold of whatever harness it had to lead it away back towards Altdorf. She reckoned she knew someone who'd want to see her.

[Raz_Fox]

• How many of us are dead? How many dying?

It was a bad engagement, but you fought it on the offensive so the enemy did not have time to butcher your wounded. A third of your force lies slain or injured beyond fighting. Some of the survivors request leave and pensions once they have recovered enough to travel.

They will receive them, though currently we struggle to provide pensions to our troops. The Legion is old, and struggling, just as I am - though far older, far more noble.


• How many of us are wounded but still able to fight?

Many, but this shall not be a problem. You are in Altdorf and the surgeons of Altdorf are delighted to practice their treatments for tending to bullet injuries. If there was a place to be wounded, it is here.

Excellent. The captains have already seen to this, the bandaging of the wounded, moving them carefully to places where they may be treated for their wounds, paying out of the Legion's purse for the stitching and the poultices and the linen wraps. This much, at the very least, I do not need to concern myself with.


• Who notable is dead, missing, or wounded?'

You saw Ulfgan fall yourself, but you were unfortunate to also lose Pyotr the tracker and Johan the Quartermaster was wounded and Nancy the Annalist is reduced to dictating his account to his understudy.

What do you do?

Pyotr's loss is dear to me, for not only was he an excellent scout and skirmisher but also one I considered a friend. Johan will pass his work on to Aden, his apprentice, for the time being. Nancy needs rest, I wager, and hopefully rest he shall have.

I will miss those three as I prepare, outside the city, to commune with the gods of war, as is my right as General of the Legion. The practices I follow were old when the Legion's flag was first raised; they have been passed down, from soldier to soldier, from father to son, never divulged to one who has not served an Imperial commission. These things are sacred. And it is my duty to use these ancient rites to ask the gods, once more, what path will lead me to victory.

May I do such? Or will other matters intrude on me before I may attend to the rites?

[Thanqol]

Then slumped over the back of one of the beasts of burden then?

Eden was no healer, she'd picked up the odd little thing here and there but this was not her forte, but even she could see this loss of blood was problematic. Once Vasilka was set down she took her belt and tied it as tight as she could around the wrist to stay the bleeding.

"This beast will be returned to you," she said and took hold of whatever harness it had to lead it away back towards Altdorf. She reckoned she knew someone who'd want to see her.

The Silent Knight stood to watch you go.

"You cannot tell anyone of this," said Vasilka through gritted teeth. "The curse is not on me. The curse is on the Legion. Any who learn of it will succumb to it. You must keep it secret."


Pyotr's loss is dear to me, for not only was he an excellent scout and skirmisher but also one I considered a friend. Johan will pass his work on to Aden, his apprentice, for the time being. Nancy needs rest, I wager, and hopefully rest he shall have.

I will miss those three as I prepare, outside the city, to commune with the gods of war, as is my right as General of the Legion. The practices I follow were old when the Legion's flag was first raised; they have been passed down, from soldier to soldier, from father to son, never divulged to one who has not served an Imperial commission. These things are sacred. And it is my duty to use these ancient rites to ask the gods, once more, what path will lead me to victory.

May I do such? Or will other matters intrude on me before I may attend to the rites?

There is nothing between you and the Broken Hill.

The Broken Hill is as much a part of the Legion as the standard or annals, and the Legion carries the Hill with it wherever it goes. Whenever the Legion makes camp they select a nearby hill and burn and clear all the greenery from the top, they break the top of the peak with picks, and they scatter bones through the ashes. So consecrated, so ruined, what was once a simple mound of dirt is now possessed by the evil spirit of the Broken Hill, the first Temple to Mars that once stood looking over Rome.

Bregi Halfhand, Priest of Mars, knows his work well. He greets you at the base of the hill and marks your brow with blood from the Legion, your left with blood from the enemy, and your right with blood from the civilians. He gives you a torch, heavy with smoke, wrapped in bands of incense, your only guide and defense in this awful place. Then he stands aside and watches you climb.

The Broken Hill is a place of curses, and murder, and war. Evil spirits of rapine, slaughter, plunder, and terror congregate around the slopes and they press their demonic faces against the smoke that billows around you. You can see their faces illuminated by the torchlight, these scions of butchery, screaming threats, insults, crude promises. You see the ghosts who have chained themselves to eternal service to the Legion standing silent vigil in lines against kings and tyrants who swore eternal enmity upon it.

The trees run with blood and beg you to be made into instruments of war, that they might taste more. They offer their branches for spears and their trunks for catapults and their daughters for arrows. The shifting stones underfoot, run in gulches by the rain and petrified by the sun, crack under your feet to reveal crystalline veins of iron and bronze. A brief slash of rain cuts across the moon, and you must take shelter for the raindrops contain lead bullets.

The moon hangs low and red in the sky, glowing through torn and savaged storm clouds. You hear the ringing of anvils. You see gears turn and beasts sweat. You see columns of men marching up and down the hill, weary and grey. You see wolves bringing down a mighty horse, even as it cracks their skulls with massive blows from its hooves. You see the foxes, the crows and the rats scurry around in packs, cautiously circling each other, posturing and hissing over corpses, as organized in their scavenging as the warriors were in life. Your eyes sting from the smoke and incense worsens your cough.

You reach the summit. A line of stones wrap around the top of the hill, having stopped the fire from spreading down the slope. On the far side of the ring is ash, broken and hacked trees, broken and hacked ground. A wound in the world, deep and abiding, through which the demons of war can enter. Your torch burns red-orange and sends crimson sparks falling to the ground.

Alone on the hill-top is a man, short and bow-legged from a lifetime in the saddle. His left leg is bound in a cruel metal brace, keeping his maimed limb straight enough to limp on. He has daemonicly flat features, yellow in the torchlight, a short goatee, and eyes like horizontal slits. He wears a great fur cape, a longbow, a horn. You know you stand in the presence of Amoth City-Smiter in his aspect as the Lame Khan, who once burned all the lands of Arabay, and for this was immortalized as an aspect of the Imperial Ghost of the Empire of Eagles.

Make your demands. Beg your case. Ask for your orders. Treat with this spirit of war and butchery how you will, for he understands all the ways of soldiers, but roll to Contact The Other World as you do so.

[Anarion]

Still frogs. The Willow Hag didn't turn them back, either deliberately or accidentally. She's well gone by this point, who knows where. Maybe it'll wear off?

Oh, you do notice that the Star Priest, Arken, wandering around looking baffled. He's kept his form somehow.

I am tired, and my back aches. "Arken, what do think of my grandmother's handiwork? A whole camp turned to frogs and left be. And naught left for us to do but let it wear off. Perhaps we can find a tent that still has dwarves in it, maybe Khar himself. Or at least some place to rest and food and fresh water while we wait."

[TheAmishPirate]

The water runs and flows without ceasing or stilling, full of a thousand metal shards. The blood freezes into a single crimson crystal. As fast as the stormy water turns and as heavily as the metal shards strike the ice it remains unyielding. The white foam that forms in the water is known to be associated with the Goddess of Horses, Rivers and War, White Rushing Mane; this sorcery is her doing.

Have I ever told you what a wonderful feeling it is to be always right? There's really nothing like it.

"It seems you have caught the eye of another patron already." I say, setting the bowl down between us. "This magic is the work of White Rushing Mane, Goddess of Horses, Rivers and War. So long as her spell is upon you, neither sword nor storm will harm you."

The next question is obvious; why? I fix my pupil with a curious eye. "Did you speak with yet another deity this day? Were her terms so distasteful that you sought not to mention her? Or have you somehow curried her favor completely by accident? Think; did anything else strange happen to you this day? Perhaps near a river?"

[Elanorin]

The Silent Knight stood to watch you go.

"You cannot tell anyone of this," said Vasilka through gritted teeth. "The curse is not on me. The curse is on the Legion. Any who learn of it will succumb to it. You must keep it secret."

Edentraud, cast a final look back at the Silent Knight, she was sure it was not the last she'd see of him. In fact, she'd make sure it wasn't.

She paused at Vasilka's words and directed a dark gaze at her, "are you telling me that you've just passed this curse to me?"

[Thanqol]

I am tired, and my back aches. "Arken, what do think of my grandmother's handiwork? A whole camp turned to frogs and left be. And naught left for us to do but let it wear off. Perhaps we can find a tent that still has dwarves in it, maybe Khar himself. Or at least some place to rest and food and fresh water while we wait."

"This is monstrous and the creature that did this must die," said Arken simply, but with conviction. His hand went to the metal bracer on his wrist. He followed as you began to look but whole dwarves are in short supply, though food and water is plentiful.


Edentraud, cast a final look back at the Silent Knight, she was sure it was not the last she'd see of him. In fact, she'd make sure it wasn't.

She paused at Vasilka's words and directed a dark gaze at her, "are you telling me that you've just passed this curse to me?"

"Not unless you join the Legion. Let me start from the beginning..." said she.



~ The Werewolf's Tale ~

There was once a man who had a nose like an eagle's beak and a mind like a chessboard carved from ivory. He was cold and cruel and he dreamed above his station, which made him as many enemies even as it drew to him many followers. He gathered those who came to him and promised them power and glory and that all things great and proud would be humbled before them. Then he took them into the forest, away from the eyes of his enemies, to learn to hunt and conquer.

For many years they ranged through the forests, and the forests ranged through their souls. The men wore the pelts of wolves as coats and howled as they flew into battle, and their hair and beards became wild like the barbarians they fought. Yet the man, the general, walked in the opposite direction. In a world without cities he built cities in his mind, and while his men dreamed of war and blood he dreamed of empires. He grew to hate the forest and he grew to hate his men, even as they grew simple and complacent in their love of him and their love of battle.

One day, the general received word from home. He was to be lauded for his victories and would be hosted a triumphant procession on the streets of the capital. He should have received this news with pride; hate made his reaction horror. He, the noble master of strategy, was to take these unwashed beasts of men back to the capital? These beasts who had once been citizens as fine and noble as he? He would be mocked. He would be ruined.

And so, he turned to the Willow Hag.

He sought her out in the depths of the Reik and begged that she might transform his beast-men back into what they were. That she might lock away the hate and bloodlust that he had cultivated in them and give him back his shining soldiers so that he might march through the streets of the capital with his head held high. The Hag took a liking to him and agreed to do this. She warned that if they ever found out what had been done to them the spell would reverse and the bestial sides of their nature would take full command until their pent-up bloodlust was sated. The general agreed, and happily.

So he marched back into the city with his rows of shining soldiers, and a triumph was held, and all sang the general's name. For a day his cold heart was at rest. Soon enough, though, the victory march was over and the general was told he was to be sent into the field again - and this time he would stay until he was too old and feeble to pose any threat to anyone. The general seethed in fury. How could they send him back into the forests that he hated? How could they ask him to fight a war that they could not even comprehend? How could they deny him his rightful crown?

So he gathered his men together and told them all the secret. They became wolves that night and they sacked the great capital and filled the wells with blood. And in the bloody wreckage of the morning after the general rode through the city and placed a crown on his own head and declared imperium. And thereafter the Wolf Legion was his personal guard, his striking spear, his executioner's blade, and all the world lived in fear of it.

[Raz_Fox]

There is nothing between you and the Broken Hill.

The Broken Hill is as much a part of the Legion as the standard or annals, and the Legion carries the Hill with it wherever it goes. Whenever the Legion makes camp they select a nearby hill and burn and clear all the greenery from the top, they break the top of the peak with picks, and they scatter bones through the ashes. So consecrated, so ruined, what was once a simple mound of dirt is now possessed by the evil spirit of the Broken Hill, the first Temple to Mars that once stood looking over Rome.

Bregi Halfhand, Priest of Mars, knows his work well. He greets you at the base of the hill and marks your brow with blood from the Legion, your left with blood from the enemy, and your right with blood from the civilians. He gives you a torch, heavy with smoke, wrapped in bands of incense, your only guide and defense in this awful place. Then he stands aside and watches you climb.

There is only one thing here that must be added: I am not alone. It is not my place to go and meet with the gods as one man, one heroic spirit erected against their wills. I am joined in this by a company of twelve men, each given one such mark- but I am the one who leads. I am the one who carries the torch, as befits my status in the mystery-cults of the Legion. And when I will speak with the gods, it is not alone, but as one voice speaking for many silent men.

We form silent ranks as we march up the hill. Each of us bears upon our person red and white garments, and covers our brow with a hood, that we might not be individuals, but together initiates of the mysteries. We do not speak of what we see as we march up the hill; what torments, what horrors fall upon our eyes. I bear the torch high in my right hand, and guide them along the right path, and do not speak to the spirits. It is not my right to speak to them; it is their right to attempt to make me speak.

I am silent. But it is a trial, and every time the horror of the trial begins anew: the faces of the apparitions, twisted into wicked snarls and grimaces, are each terribly unique, never an experience that can be expected or girded against. I see the faces of Mongols, of Gauls, of goblinfolk and Northmen. I see the hard, wind-weathered faces of Kislevite men, bearing their swords and shields still; I see the high plume of my grandfather's helmet, but it is not given to either of us that we may acknowledge each other. We march on in solemn silence, and we do not speak of what we see. It is not given to us that we might speak.

My lung-tearing cough breaks the silence, and the ghosts press hungrily against me, as if they can steal some vitality from my bloody breath. The torch crackles, and the smoke is the smoke of burning buildings, of cannon-fire, of jammed guns. Set, be with me. Sigmar, let me carry out my duty still.


You reach the summit. A line of stones wrap around the top of the hill, having stopped the fire from spreading down the slope. On the far side of the ring is ash, broken and hacked trees, broken and hacked ground. A wound in the world, deep and abiding, through which the demons of war can enter. Your torch burns red-orange and sends crimson sparks falling to the ground.

Alone on the hill-top is a man, short and bow-legged from a lifetime in the saddle. His left leg is bound in a cruel metal brace, keeping his maimed limb straight enough to limp on. He has daemonicly flat features, yellow in the torchlight, a short goatee, and eyes like horizontal slits. He wears a great fur cape, a longbow, a horn. You know you stand in the presence of Amoth City-Smiter in his aspect as the Lame Khan, who once burned all the lands of Arabay, and for this was immortalized as an aspect of the Imperial Ghost of the Empire of Eagles.

Make your demands. Beg your case. Ask for your orders. Treat with this spirit of war and butchery how you will, for he understands all the ways of soldiers, but roll to Contact The Other World as you do so.

Hawhahet, the Guard, steps forward to take the torch from me. (His name is Sennic, one of our scout commanders, but on the Broken Hill he is Hawhahet.) I yield it to his grasp; we have come to our destination, and if the Lame Khan will not allow us to return, no torch will show us the way back down the hill through the dark.

I salute the Lame Khan, striking my weary breast with one closed fist, and those who follow me bow their heads to honor him. He is a part of the Imperial Ghost, after all, and a terrible god to be reckoned with. Then, in silence, I give him an offering: blood poured out on the hill, blood shed by the swords of the Legion this day. Only then, once he acknowledges us and our tribute, do I speak.

"Ave, Khan! This city, jewel of our Empire, o east wind that burns away the city and the field, lies within the jaws of the wolf. We come to ask what may be done, what must be done, and what should be done to preserve it for the glory of the Double-headed Eagle." A shift in the wind; I lack the cunning to interpret this omen. "And if the answer is woe to us, speak to us our duty."

[roll0]

[Elanorin]

"Not unless you join the Legion. Let me start from the beginning..." said she.



~ The Werewolf's Tale ~

There was once a man who had a nose like an eagle's beak and a mind like a chessboard carved from ivory. He was cold and cruel and he dreamed above his station, which made him as many enemies even as it drew to him many followers. He gathered those who came to him and promised them power and glory and that all things great and proud would be humbled before them. Then he took them into the forest, away from the eyes of his enemies, to learn to hunt and conquer.

For many years they ranged through the forests, and the forests ranged through their souls. The men wore the pelts of wolves as coats and howled as they flew into battle, and their hair and beards became wild like the barbarians they fought. Yet the man, the general, walked in the opposite direction. In a world without cities he built cities in his mind, and while his men dreamed of war and blood he dreamed of empires. He grew to hate the forest and he grew to hate his men, even as they grew simple and complacent in their love of him and their love of battle.

One day, the general received word from home. He was to be lauded for his victories and would be hosted a triumphant procession on the streets of the capital. He should have received this news with pride; hate made his reaction horror. He, the noble master of strategy, was to take these unwashed beasts of men back to the capital? These beasts who had once been citizens as fine and noble as he? He would be mocked. He would be ruined.

And so, he turned to the Willow Hag.

He sought her out in the depths of the Reik and begged that she might transform his beast-men back into what they were. That she might lock away the hate and bloodlust that he had cultivated in them and give him back his shining soldiers so that he might march through the streets of the capital with his head held high. The Hag took a liking to him and agreed to do this. She warned that if they ever found out what had been done to them the spell would reverse and the bestial sides of their nature would take full command until their pent-up bloodlust was sated. The general agreed, and happily.

So he marched back into the city with his rows of shining soldiers, and a triumph was held, and all sang the general's name. For a day his cold heart was at rest. Soon enough, though, the victory march was over and the general was told he was to be sent into the field again - and this time he would stay until he was too old and feeble to pose any threat to anyone. The general seethed in fury. How could they send him back into the forests that he hated? How could they ask him to fight a war that they could not even comprehend? How could they deny him his rightful crown?

So he gathered his men together and told them all the secret. They became wolves that night and they sacked the great capital and filled the wells with blood. And in the bloody wreckage of the morning after the general rode through the city and placed a crown on his own head and declared imperium. And thereafter the Wolf Legion was his personal guard, his striking spear, his executioner's blade, and all the world lived in fear of it.

Reassured she had not just inherited this curse for herself Edentraud continued the journey back to Altdorf, taking in the full implication of what she had just learned. She should have smelled her mother's handiwork here. It annoyed her a little that she'd missed it.

"I take it your husband doesn't share your knowledge and your curse?" she eventually asked after a very long silence.

[Anarion]

"This is monstrous and the creature that did this must die," said Arken simply, but with conviction. His hand went to the metal bracer on his wrist. He followed as you began to look but whole dwarves are in short supply, though food and water is plentiful.


"Good luck with that. I think she enjoys it when people try to slay her, keeps her feeling young." I take a sip of water and lay out some rations on open ground. Not many, just a light snack from one of the tents, nothing more than necessary for the two of us. "Come, eat, not too busy being pious to accept food, are you? The spell will wear off in time and then we can treat with Khar. Or it won't and we can tell the armies of Altdorf that disaster is averted and hope they're adequately distracted hunting down the remaining Gyrfalcons that they don't immediately run off to sack the dwarven lands."

[PhoeKun]

Have I ever told you what a wonderful feeling it is to be always right? There's really nothing like it.

"It seems you have caught the eye of another patron already." I say, setting the bowl down between us. "This magic is the work of White Rushing Mane, Goddess of Horses, Rivers and War. So long as her spell is upon you, neither sword nor storm will harm you."

The next question is obvious; why? I fix my pupil with a curious eye. "Did you speak with yet another deity this day? Were her terms so distasteful that you sought not to mention her? Or have you somehow curried her favor completely by accident? Think; did anything else strange happen to you this day? Perhaps near a river?"

"I have told you all that I know. I have nothing more to say." Layna's voice lacked any of its usual verve or even her curiosity, and it fell flat and hollow inside the study.

Over and over again, her mind was tracing the moment by the docks with Eden. She tried to interpret the moment as many different ways as she could, but none of them made her feel particularly hopeful, happy, or anything other than dull and numb. Her mind was reeling. What kind of cruel plot was this? She knew that she had angered Edentraud, but to curse her so? The punishment seemed so far beyond the crime. Or maybe the Riverdaughter had honestly thought this a trade Layna would desire - to be made into an invincible battle maiden in exchange for a wound on her hear that would not, could not heal. She had no idea which felt worse, and for the moment willed herself to disbelieve all of them so that she would have the strength to take her feet again.

"I, that is, thank you," she began shakily, "For your council and your aid. I should go. I must send word home, the events of today will be of interest to Father and my eldest sister, and I must ask their aid besides. If I am to travel to the dwarven lands, I should do it astride an Alleinecourt steed and not..."

Scenes from her duel with the Silent Knight flashed inside the young knight's head. She stopped short of insulting the horses of Altdorf.

[Thanqol]

Reassured she had not just inherited this curse for herself Edentraud continued the journey back to Altdorf, taking in the full implication of what she had just learned. She should have smelled her mother's handiwork here. It annoyed her a little that she'd missed it.

"I take it your husband doesn't share your knowledge and your curse?" she eventually asked after a very long silence.

"No. I only know because your sainted mother went out of her way to tell me," said Vasilka. "Her idea of a joke, or perhaps I offended her in some way." While she was obviously bitter about that, there was a faint tone of good humor in her voice. "Or maybe it was a blessing. The wolf does not get old, you see, and it has been a long time since I have been that young."


"Good luck with that. I think she enjoys it when people try to slay her, keeps her feeling young." I take a sip of water and lay out some rations on open ground. Not many, just a light snack from one of the tents, nothing more than necessary for the two of us. "Come, eat, not too busy being pious to accept food, are you? The spell will wear off in time and then we can treat with Khar. Or it won't and we can tell the armies of Altdorf that disaster is averted and hope they're adequately distracted hunting down the remaining Gyrfalcons that they don't immediately run off to sack the dwarven lands."

Arken sat down cross legged opposite you and began preparing his food. His religion evidently did not forbid meat. "Why has no one succeeded against the Hag? Does her immortality have a legend? Is there a prophecy?" asked the Star Priest.


Hawhahet, the Guard, steps forward to take the torch from me. (His name is Sennic, one of our scout commanders, but on the Broken Hill he is Hawhahet.) I yield it to his grasp; we have come to our destination, and if the Lame Khan will not allow us to return, no torch will show us the way back down the hill through the dark.

I salute the Lame Khan, striking my weary breast with one closed fist, and those who follow me bow their heads to honor him. He is a part of the Imperial Ghost, after all, and a terrible god to be reckoned with. Then, in silence, I give him an offering: blood poured out on the hill, blood shed by the swords of the Legion this day. Only then, once he acknowledges us and our tribute, do I speak.

"Ave, Khan! This city, jewel of our Empire, o east wind that burns away the city and the field, lies within the jaws of the wolf. We come to ask what may be done, what must be done, and what should be done to preserve it for the glory of the Double-headed Eagle." A shift in the wind; I lack the cunning to interpret this omen. "And if the answer is woe to us, speak to us our duty."

[9]

The Khan limps over to the Stone of Sacrifice and sits astride it, bound leg stretching out. "You know that the Empire's woes run far deeper and far darker than the fate of Altdorf," said the Khan. "The Empire's true problem is that it lacks an Emperor,"

With a snarl of contempt, the Khan snapped the neck of a chicken and tore its guts out with his bare hands. He splayed its guts across the altar and held up the mangled bird's diseased brain.

"The head is rotting. The travelling circus that claims my title is an offense to me and the Empire I built. I curse them, and all who fight for them. I give my blessings to those who I believe would be worthy of the title and who prove their valor on the field. This is my answer to you, Legionnaire. Do not be on the side of the weakling Emperor. Be on the side of the Empire. Be on the side of those who would make it strong."

[Anarion]

Arken sat down cross legged opposite you and began preparing his food. His religion evidently did not forbid meat. "Why has no one succeeded against the Hag? Does her immortality have a legend? Is there a prophecy?" asked the Star Priest.


Instead of answering immediately, I look over at the bracer on his wrist. "Your god protected you from the curse, I think, perhaps with a relic you wear. Perhaps you should try and put a bit of steel into her, to see what happens." I chuckle and tear into the smoked ham with pleasure. "Or perhaps if you did, she would simply kill you for it, she's much stronger than she looks. Or one of her many children or grandchildren would stop you. Perhaps me, aye? But then again perhaps not, I have not much enjoyed the attentions of my grandmother, which I'm sure is why she so delights in them."

There is a serious question there, though, and one worth thinking about. "Would you want her gone, if you could do it? You called her a monster, and indeed she does monstrous things, but I am not so certain the world would be better without her. She is randomness, capriciousness given form and though she may wax overly powerful in this world of weak and petty princes, nevertheless a land where she is gone entirely would not be a joyful one, I think. It would be a land of tyrants and slaves, of people without freedom or creativity. There is no prophecy or quest to undo her, just as there is no prophecy that speaks of the end of storms or of the wild beasts of nature. But if you would seek to subdue her as civilization has sought to subdue the wilds, I imagine that some great knight with the Architect's blessing could succeed. I would just ask again if that is truly the world you seek to create."

[TheAmishPirate]

"I have told you all that I know. I have nothing more to say." Layna's voice lacked any of its usual verve or even her curiosity, and it fell flat and hollow inside the study.

Over and over again, her mind was tracing the moment by the docks with Eden. She tried to interpret the moment as many different ways as she could, but none of them made her feel particularly hopeful, happy, or anything other than dull and numb. Her mind was reeling. What kind of cruel plot was this? She knew that she had angered Edentraud, but to curse her so? The punishment seemed so far beyond the crime. Or maybe the Riverdaughter had honestly thought this a trade Layna would desire - to be made into an invincible battle maiden in exchange for a wound on her hear that would not, could not heal. She had no idea which felt worse, and for the moment willed herself to disbelieve all of them so that she would have the strength to take her feet again.

"I, that is, thank you," she began shakily, "For your council and your aid. I should go. I must send word home, the events of today will be of interest to Father and my eldest sister, and I must ask their aid besides. If I am to travel to the dwarven lands, I should do it astride an Alleinecourt steed and not..."

Scenes from her duel with the Silent Knight flashed inside the young knight's head. She stopped short of insulting the horses of Altdorf.

Strange. But if the gods were at such work, it would not be long before they made themselves known. Or before I find some hint of their works. Eyes open, always searching.

"Hrmph. And you won't be travelling anywhere in this state." I ring my little bell to summon Mathias. "Bring her to a healer, tell them I want her arm cleaned and taken care of. If they raise a stink, tell them-oh, I don't know. Tell them I'll turn them into something suitably grotesque. I trust your imagination."

[Elanorin]

"No. I only know because your sainted mother went out of her way to tell me," said Vasilka. "Her idea of a joke, or perhaps I offended her in some way." While she was obviously bitter about that, there was a faint tone of good humor in her voice. "Or maybe it was a blessing. The wolf does not get old, you see, and it has been a long time since I have been that young."


"Yes," Edentraud smiled, "that sounds like her. All of it. It entirely depends what mood she was in that day."

She continued in thoughtful silence for a while longer, until the city was beginning to approach in the distance.

"He's going to want to know what happened to you."

[Thanqol]

It strikes me that several of you are planning things that may take some time to pull together. As such the season is darkening and might pass before too long if nothing sudden happens. This is simply some advance warning.


Instead of answering immediately, I look over at the bracer on his wrist. "Your god protected you from the curse, I think, perhaps with a relic you wear. Perhaps you should try and put a bit of steel into her, to see what happens." I chuckle and tear into the smoked ham with pleasure. "Or perhaps if you did, she would simply kill you for it, she's much stronger than she looks. Or one of her many children or grandchildren would stop you. Perhaps me, aye? But then again perhaps not, I have not much enjoyed the attentions of my grandmother, which I'm sure is why she so delights in them."

"This?" said the Star Priest, pulling a small, sharp, bent blade with a rainbow, mother-of-pearl sheen to it. "This is Califix, a cursed weapon. It was lodged in the throat of a whale for a thousand years and soaked in all the monster's pain and ferocity. A weapon of madness and evil. If I am no longer a man of violence it is because the Architect gave me this blade as a warning of where that path leads. And yet I was a man of violence and I was given this particular blade and sent to this land. I must divine why."


There is a serious question there, though, and one worth thinking about. "Would you want her gone, if you could do it? You called her a monster, and indeed she does monstrous things, but I am not so certain the world would be better without her. She is randomness, capriciousness given form and though she may wax overly powerful in this world of weak and petty princes, nevertheless a land where she is gone entirely would not be a joyful one, I think. It would be a land of tyrants and slaves, of people without freedom or creativity. There is no prophecy or quest to undo her, just as there is no prophecy that speaks of the end of storms or of the wild beasts of nature. But if you would seek to subdue her as civilization has sought to subdue the wilds, I imagine that some great knight with the Architect's blessing could succeed. I would just ask again if that is truly the world you seek to create."

"I find it is a mistake to look at monsters and call them necessary," said Arken. "I see the same thing whispered by the oppressed all across the world. The Sultan is a demon, but oh! If it were not for him the capital would not be so grand! The djinn is wicked, but oh! If he did not tempt men they might never prove their virtue by refusing! My faith calls for the innate nobility of men to win out over all spirits and monsters, for there is no happiness for mortals at their feet."

There was a crack of lightning and the rain began to pour. As it fell it washed away the animal forms the Hag had left (tumbling many flying Gyrfalcons into the river). Confused looking dwarves looked around, muttering and clutching their beards protectively.

Belial lay dead where the Hag had thrown him and broken his back. His guts were torn open. His eyes were wide in terror.


Strange. But if the gods were at such work, it would not be long before they made themselves known. Or before I find some hint of their works. Eyes open, always searching.

"Hrmph. And you won't be travelling anywhere in this state." I ring my little bell to summon Mathias. "Bring her to a healer, tell them I want her arm cleaned and taken care of. If they raise a stink, tell them-oh, I don't know. Tell them I'll turn them into something suitably grotesque. I trust your imagination."

"Scarabs, sir," said Mathias, bowing. "I recall you appreciate referring to the arzti as scarabs; an educated insult for educated men."

The Altdorf healers will happily bind your arm, Layna, so that the bones will mend cleanly and without pain. They give you a bag of Qat, a mild painkiller that is chewed like tobacco, and happily say as many bad things as they can about talentless wizards who don't know the first thing about real medicine. That harm isn't healed yet but stay off it and the healing may be quite brisk.

Afterwards, both of you are free to pursue your own interests. Where do you go?


"Yes," Edentraud smiled, "that sounds like her. All of it. It entirely depends what mood she was in that day."

She continued in thoughtful silence for a while longer, until the city was beginning to approach in the distance.

"He's going to want to know what happened to you."

"I imagine I shall have to lie," said Vasilka. "For I know better than to ask the daughter of the Hag for a replacement hand."

[Elanorin]

"I imagine I shall have to lie," said Vasilka. "For I know better than to ask the daughter of the Hag for a replacement hand."

"You are perhaps wise not to. Even were I of a mind to, I cannot guarantee a hand is what you would receive. I assume you are also wise enough to know I did not save you for no reason," Edentraud said seriously.

"Now, I am not about to send you to serve on my mother's land," she explained, "but I do ask for your loyalty. To me."

[Raz_Fox]

The Khan limps over to the Stone of Sacrifice and sits astride it, bound leg stretching out. "You know that the Empire's woes run far deeper and far darker than the fate of Altdorf," said the Khan. "The Empire's true problem is that it lacks an Emperor,"

With a snarl of contempt, the Khan snapped the neck of a chicken and tore its guts out with his bare hands. He splayed its guts across the altar and held up the mangled bird's diseased brain.

"The head is rotting. The travelling circus that claims my title is an offense to me and the Empire I built. I curse them, and all who fight for them. I give my blessings to those who I believe would be worthy of the title and who prove their valor on the field. This is my answer to you, Legionnaire. Do not be on the side of the weakling Emperor. Be on the side of the Empire. Be on the side of those who would make it strong."

My blood runs as cold as winter underneath my weary skin. Behind me, the soldiers listen. They do not speak. But here, before them, a god demands my dissent. Am I to follow this command from the heavens? I am too troubled to insist on further words. Rather, we step forward; we each take a sacrifice from the yielding ground; we spill their blood and let it mingle with the blood of the chicken, the fur of his leggings, and murmur our thanks for victory.

These things must be done, whether the Lame Khan will or no.

Then, we make our way back down the hill, through the dark, through the smoke and the screaming, but it is muted. The Lame Khan has spoken, and even the spirits of the unrestful dead will not trouble those who he has marked too fiercely.

Amoth is here, in many faces. Set's influence rises in the east. My heart is troubled further; what do my men speak of this, when we return to the camp, when I am silent and seek only to find my wife and my scribe?

[Thanqol]

"You are perhaps wise not to. Even were I of a mind to, I cannot guarantee a hand is what you would receive. I assume you are also wise enough to know I did not save you for no reason," Edentraud said seriously.

"Now, I am not about to send you to serve on my mother's land," she explained, "but I do ask for your loyalty. To me."

"I owe you my life," said Vasilka. "But I swore my life to my husband and I shall not break that oath for any other. Do not put me in a situation where I must refuse you."


My blood runs as cold as winter underneath my weary skin. Behind me, the soldiers listen. They do not speak. But here, before them, a god demands my dissent. Am I to follow this command from the heavens? I am too troubled to insist on further words. Rather, we step forward; we each take a sacrifice from the yielding ground; we spill their blood and let it mingle with the blood of the chicken, the fur of his leggings, and murmur our thanks for victory.

These things must be done, whether the Lame Khan will or no.

Then, we make our way back down the hill, through the dark, through the smoke and the screaming, but it is muted. The Lame Khan has spoken, and even the spirits of the unrestful dead will not trouble those who he has marked too fiercely.

Amoth is here, in many faces. Set's influence rises in the east. My heart is troubled further; what do my men speak of this, when we return to the camp, when I am silent and seek only to find my wife and my scribe?

Your men are eager. Their loyalty is to you, not the Empire, in that simple way of fighting men. They joke about you being crowned with laurels and them all becoming kings. They fantasize about the treasures they will own. They stand to have the blessing of the Imperial Ghost and to follow their General all the way to the throne - what greater ambition is there for a soldier?

Their hopes and spirits are high, and to tell them that they must dare the ire of the City Smiter would break their hearts and fill them with fear. No soldier wants to anger the gods of war.

[Anarion]

"A grave loss." I shake my head as I look at Belial and the dwarves come to their senses. "So, now Khar will recover, and the rest of the dwarves save my poor friend will have this incident pass. Are we bound to be at odds again? Will you go to him and attempt to deny me a place at his side because your God can have no contenders?"

[TheAmishPirate]

"Scarabs, sir," said Mathias, bowing. "I recall you appreciate referring to the arzti as scarabs; an educated insult for educated men."

I do, don't I? Some of them are certainly eager to go digging about in a body.


Afterwards, both of you are free to pursue your own interests. Where do you go?

Afterwards, I stay right here. There is not much to do but sit, and be ready for when my mind makes contact.

Ironically, it is probably the most relaxed I have been all day on this, my one day off.

[Thanqol]

"A grave loss." I shake my head as I look at Belial and the dwarves come to their senses. "So, now Khar will recover, and the rest of the dwarves save my poor friend will have this incident pass. Are we bound to be at odds again? Will you go to him and attempt to deny me a place at his side because your God can have no contenders?"

"The dwarves do not have a bright future ahead of them," said Arken. "And the Architect has bid me avoid them. I shall stay with the Gyrfalcons."

And soon enough, you are shown in to see The Underking, Khar One-Eye. He is a mighty king, dressed for war and with fury in his eye; the countenance of a mountain who has made the decision to unleash an avalanche.


Afterwards, I stay right here. There is not much to do but sit, and be ready for when my mind makes contact.

Ironically, it is probably the most relaxed I have been all day on this, my one day off.

We'll see how long that lasts.

The image stabilizes in the mirror just in time for you to see Daerek Soft-Spoken enter the tent of the Underking, who sits proud and stern (though perhaps strangely awkwardly?) upon his anvil. You can see and hear each other; what do you say?

[Elanorin]

"I owe you my life," said Vasilka. "But I swore my life to my husband and I shall not break that oath for any other. Do not put me in a situation where I must refuse you."


"I will keep that in mind." Edentraud said and thought carefully of Vasilka's words, her tone, the empasis she had placed on what syllables and eventually asked, "do you love your husband?" There was genuine curiosity in her eyes, no judgment.

[Anarion]

"My lord." I bow on one knee before the great dwarven King, as is proper. I know that I do not truly look fit for my audience with him, but it will do.

When he is ready, I speak, looking up but still on one knee as is proper. "I bring news. The Gyrfalcons have broken their oaths, raided Altdorf, and looted the treasury, bringing the wealth they stole on ship nearly to the camp. They offered me safety on their ship, though they steered us into danger, and the old laws required that I shoot at a dear friend of mine to defend their ship, yet nevertheless they are here."

I pause and swallow, then continue. "As well, my King, I read the portents of bones last night and though this news would sound fortuitous, the bones saw the flames consume you and carry you to a dark end. I would urge caution. Do not trust the gyrfalcons, for they have broken oath once already. Do not move rashly. The city has already been punished for the wrongs done, and if you march on Altdorf to take it, you leave your own halls unguarded and speed towards a fate that will consume you." I bow my head. "Lord, forgive me for being the harbinger of ill news."

[TheAmishPirate]

We'll see how long that lasts.

The image stabilizes in the mirror just in time for you to see Daerek Soft-Spoken enter the tent of the Underking, who sits proud and stern (though perhaps strangely awkwardly?) upon his anvil. You can see and hear each other; what do you say?

"Greetings, mighty Underking." My voice drips with propriety. "I am Ardashir the Learned, Sorcerer to the Crown, and Curator of the Humboldt Reserve. Fear not, for I bring no foul sorcery against you. I come bearing a tale, a tale I must tell you this day."

I raise my hands to the sky. "Once upon a time, a certain dwarf came to the city of Altdorf. Though our peoples feud bitterly, he invoked the ancient rights of hospitality, and Altdorf gave to him willingly. A roof over his head, a fire to warm his heart, and good food in abundance. He was allowed to walk among the learned scholars, the common folk, and even the Countess' table. All he asked for and more, he was given freely, as was his right."

"But greed poisoned the dwarf's heart. He saw the riches of the Empire within his grasp, and his lust for gold dwarfed his honor. One morning, as the city was celebrating the sacred rites of Spring, he plead allegiance to Altdorf's enemies, stood idly by as they pillaged and bloodied his host, and only raised a musket to cover their escape. He sailed away with them, drowning in plunder, and now he stands before you. No doubt spinning tales to cover his treachery."

All good manners are forgotten. There is only indignation.

"Is this how King Khar makes war? Has the honor of the Underking fallen so far, that he would treat in spies and thieves? What, because a few dragon-eyed nobles could not understand hospitality, you now seek to bury the old ways in the cold, dead ground?!" I spit. Yes, it may only sully my floors, but it's the principle of the thing. "Hear me now, Underking. As I speak, the dwarves formerly of Altdorf march for the safety of your camp. Let them tell you personally what is left of King Khar's honor. Let them tell all of your people how righteous your wrath truly is. If they are silenced, then I will speak for them. From the least to the greatest, all will hear of this travesty. So speaks Ardashir."

[Thanqol]

"I will keep that in mind." Edentraud said and thought carefully of Vasilka's words, her tone, the empasis she had placed on what syllables and eventually asked, "do you love your husband?" There was genuine curiosity in her eyes, no judgment.

"Not love as a fresh-faced youth like you would understand it," said Vasilka. "If you spend a lifetime with someone they change you as much as you change them. Fire sets into stone and bedrock."

You have arrived in the camp of the Wolf Legion; the fires burn low and the broken hill that towers above seems a bloody and evil place.


"My lord." I bow on one knee before the great dwarven King, as is proper. I know that I do not truly look fit for my audience with him, but it will do.

When he is ready, I speak, looking up but still on one knee as is proper. "I bring news. The Gyrfalcons have broken their oaths, raided Altdorf, and looted the treasury, bringing the wealth they stole on ship nearly to the camp. They offered me safety on their ship, though they steered us into danger, and the old laws required that I shoot at a dear friend of mine to defend their ship, yet nevertheless they are here."

I pause and swallow, then continue. "As well, my King, I read the portents of bones last night and though this news would sound fortuitous, the bones saw the flames consume you and carry you to a dark end. I would urge caution. Do not trust the gyrfalcons, for they have broken oath once already. Do not move rashly. The city has already been punished for the wrongs done, and if you march on Altdorf to take it, you leave your own halls unguarded and speed towards a fate that will consume you." I bow my head. "Lord, forgive me for being the harbinger of ill news."


"Is this how King Khar makes war? Has the honor of the Underking fallen so far, that he would treat in spies and thieves? What, because a few dragon-eyed nobles could not understand hospitality, you now seek to bury the old ways in the cold, dead ground?!" I spit. Yes, it may only sully my floors, but it's the principle of the thing. "Hear me now, Underking. As I speak, the dwarves formerly of Altdorf march for the safety of your camp. Let them tell you personally what is left of King Khar's honor. Let them tell all of your people how righteous your wrath truly is. If they are silenced, then I will speak for them. From the least to the greatest, all will hear of this travesty. So speaks Ardashir."

The Underking Khar wears no patch over his maimed eye. The scar strikes across his face, fresh and confronting, surrounded by a tracery of veins and mottled bruises. His teeth grind when he speaks, and he speaks rarely. He carries the ancient Dwarven tome known as the Book of Grudges, a holy relic where every wrong and evil done to the Dwarven people is recorded in blood until vengeance sets it right. His beard is like steel wool and his hands scorched and burned from long days at the forge. He is the essence of a Dwarven King, and as he is told of these wrongs and betrayal his face sets like granite.

"Daerek Soft-Spoken," rasped the Underking, "you stand accused of violating the Ancient Law. The punishment for this is exile. You may appeal to the Iron Court if you wish. The Gyrfalcons will have no such recourse. Manlings have little enough honour to begin with. Karak Azgul will defend its reputation. Asmodeus. Seize the Gyrfalcon ship and put the crew to the axe. I have spoken."

You can see in the shadows under the anvil, a handsome rat in fine clothing and a needle-sword is paying close attention to the proceedings.

[Anarion]

"My King, I violated no law. I did not know of the betrayal when I was brought to the Gyrfalcon ship, and I raised no arms against Altdorf save a single musket round fired against the Wizard who speaks to us now, and that only because he had begun casting a spell against our ship and the ancient law demands that I defend the hosts who had granted me a boon."

[TheAmishPirate]

"My King, I violated no law. I did not know of the betrayal when I was brought to the Gyrfalcon ship, and I raised no arms against Altdorf save a single musket round fired against the Wizard who speaks to us now, and that only because he had begun casting a spell against our ship and the ancient law demands that I defend the hosts who had granted me a boon."

"And what of the host who had granted you every boon you could ask for? Did you stand in defense of Altdorf as she burned?" I counter bitterly. "No, you were on the Gyrfalcon's ship, watching them shell your former host. But of course, you did not know of any betrayal. You just happened to find yourself in the company of our enemies, in the very hour of their treachery. Did you think the cannons were an elaborate fireworks display? Were the screams from the harbor the shouts of joyous festival-goers?!"

I did not think it was possible to feel more wrath towards this fool, but here we are. "What manner of delusional, thoughtless, self-righteous, unfathomable work of mental acrobatics lets you claim innocence without bursting into laughter at your own hypocrisy?!"

[Anarion]

I did not think it was possible to feel more wrath towards this fool, but here we are. "What manner of delusional, thoughtless, self-righteous, unfathomable work of mental acrobatics lets you claim innocence without bursting into laughter at your own hypocrisy?!"

"The truth, you goat-loving whoreson, though I imagine that you may have trouble hearing it with all the dung in your ears from where you landed earlier."

[Thanqol]

"I have spoken, and yet others speak," said Underking Khar. "The sacred judgment of the Underking in matters of law has been questioned. By so doing Daerek has forfeited his right to appeal in the Iron Court. Guards, cast him into the river along with what remains of his Gyrfalcons. He is banished. I have spoken."

[Anarion]

"I have spoken, and yet others speak," said Underking Khar. "The sacred judgment of the Underking in matters of law has been questioned. By so doing Daerek has forfeited his right to appeal in the Iron Court. Guards, cast him into the river along with what remains of his Gyrfalcons. He is banished. I have spoken."

"My King, please reconsider. Would you call down a curse upon your own head on the brink of your triumph? Even if my actions have caused offense, it is still my right to the hospitality of hall and hearth, and banishment is not yours to choose. Your decision here will be remembered."

[Raz_Fox]

Your men are eager. Their loyalty is to you, not the Empire, in that simple way of fighting men. They joke about you being crowned with laurels and them all becoming kings. They fantasize about the treasures they will own. They stand to have the blessing of the Imperial Ghost and to follow their General all the way to the throne - what greater ambition is there for a soldier?

Their hopes and spirits are high, and to tell them that they must dare the ire of the City Smiter would break their hearts and fill them with fear. No soldier wants to anger the gods of war.

Well. That evening, I invite the men who came with me to dinner. It is a cold, simple dinner, spartan in the way soldiers take their meals.

(I cannot breathe, between the words of Amoth- between my wife, who is not here, she has not been seen since the assault- between the cough taking my chest and striking it like a dwarf-hammer on the anvil- it is all I can do to do what must be done. My duty must be carried out. This is all I have left. If my duty is performed, my ancestors will accept me among them when this damn sickness carries me away.)

There, underneath candlelight, my lips bloody, I tell my men that I will carry out my duties to the Empire, to the letter. (My fingers are cold, as if I have been out in the winter chill, as if I have been caught in the rain.) That I do not intend to accept laurels unless the Imperial throne becomes contested, and that should Neville (the gods preserve him) perish, then and only then will I step forward. (I cannot find it in me to admit that the head is rotting. He is weak, he is petty, but he is my liege.) I swore an oath to serve the Empire, and I will follow my oaths; I will not act in folly, I will not act rashly, and I will see what the wind brings us.

Silence, there at the table. I close my eyes. I open them, smile faintly.

Thank you, I tell them. For your service. For your loyalty.

Kislev and the North. (The tin drinking-glasses are raised.) Kislev, and the North, and a place set for us in the deep dark.

[Elanorin]

"Not love as a fresh-faced youth like you would understand it," said Vasilka. "If you spend a lifetime with someone they change you as much as you change them. Fire sets into stone and bedrock."

You have arrived in the camp of the Wolf Legion; the fires burn low and the broken hill that towers above seems a bloody and evil place.


"A fresh-faced youth, am I?" Edentraud suddenly burst in to laughter and it was bright and clear as it broke through her melancholy, even if it was brief. "I thank you for the flattery, but you surely know, looks can deceive."

Edentraud paused their steady journey as she looked on the camp ahead.

"Where would your husband be now?"

"Why did you fight the Silent Knight?" she suddenly asked, deadly serious, and then, more importantly "why did you lose?"

[TheAmishPirate]

"I have spoken, and yet others speak," said Underking Khar. "The sacred judgment of the Underking in matters of law has been questioned. By so doing Daerek has forfeited his right to appeal in the Iron Court. Guards, cast him into the river along with what remains of his Gyrfalcons. He is banished. I have spoken."


"My King, please reconsider. Would you call down a curse upon your own head on the brink of your triumph? Even if my actions have caused offense, it is still my right to the hospitality of hall and hearth, and banishment is not yours to choose. Your decision here will be remembered."

By all means, if this fool wishes to utterly ruin what life he had left, who am I to argue? I sit back - well, I would, if I had thought to bring sufficient cushions, lesson for next time - and watch the show.