[WFRP] The Bloody Crown XI

[-Sentinel-]

Elsa was quietly pleased with the result of the vote, though her face remained neutral. She liked Hieronymous and trusted him far more than some stranger. Her speech the day before was mostly a mixture of duty to Sforza (she knew Barbaro was expecting her to express a preference) and competitive spirit against Adelbert. Hopefully the Church of Verena would prove equal to the task of getting the attention and respect of a largely illiterate population.

It's probably healthy for Sforza to learn he can't always get what he wants, she thought.

She called for attention and spoke again: "I'm afraid that the rites of Morr have proven inadequate when it came to keeping the dead in their graves," she said, with an apologetic look at Father Bonifatius. "And even if they were good enough, we just don't have enough Morrites to consecrate every new grave, everywhere. Many people will likely have to be laid to rest in the coming months. Is there a more... mundane way of treating any new bodies in such a way that they cannot rise again, and which would be acceptable to the Church of Morr? I've been thinking about cremation, but I'm told many people would reject the notion."

The idea that anyone would prefer burial to cremation was strange to her. Why would the idea of being eaten by worms in a dark, damp box sound better than having one's ashes scattered in the wind?

[LeSwordfish]

"We're going to have real trouble lying to Urgi about this." Ludo pointed out as they exhumed the spear. "It's not like it'll be easy to hide."

He fingered the rune on the spearhead. "Is this the magic bit? Do you think if we scratched this on the arrowheads..."

[LCP]

The Conclave, 17th Nachgeheim

Elsa's short speech did not go down well. "Inadequate?" spluttered Bonifatius, some colour rising to the old man's grey face. "Inadequate?"

"The fact that the necromancer defiles the dead should not be grounds to abuse them further," said Cezar. "Even if we were willing to countenance such sacrilege - "

" - which we are not - " broke in Bonifatius,

" - it would do nothing to deprive him of the generations already in the ground. You would defile these bodies to deny him a few months' worth of the dead? How long do we intend to allow this creature to roam free?" He looked around the table. "The best cure for necromancy is to destroy the necromancer."

Most of the priests around the table nodded agreement.

"To that end, Father Bonifatius, Brother Cezar," said Hieronymus, "I think I speak for all of us when I say you have the Temple's blessing to write to your brothers and sisters in the north. Stress to them the power of the enemy and ask them to send whatever help they can." More nodding. "Nakht-Horeb will not be idle. The longer this beast is left unchecked, the greater the danger to us all."

"All well and good," said Barbaro, "but as the Magister has told us, he has fled into the marshes. The Captain's army cannot follow there."

"We may not need an army," said Hieronymus. "If I recall my Imperial history, one man in the right place was the undoing of the Von Carsteins. Perhaps, with Morr's help, we can cut the head off this snake."

"And while we wait for these... raven knights?" asked Jocasta. She sounded a little dubious of the plan. "As you said, Father, he will not be idle."

"...I suppose all we can do is ensure he does not leave the marsh," said Hieronymus. "Magister Hildebrand, you said they were encamped in the ruins near Ravenskird? That is your parish, is it not, Brother Cezar?"

Cezar nodded. "Though I had thought to take up Brother Liebrecht's position here," he said. "Someone needs to watch over our initiates."

"Well, regardless," said Hieronymus, still very tentative in the use of his new authority. "It seems to me that perhaps the Temple should increase its presence in Ravenskird. To keep watch over the marsh, and uncover the enemy's plans."

There was a long silence. "I can do it," said Father Hechsler, at last. All eyes turned to him. "They don't need me in Elmridge. I mean... not as much as we need someone here. Carrying the fight against the dark... I think that's what Sigmar would want."

The other priests nodded in appreciation. "Ravenskird is the last settlement on the Azril," said the Abbot. "Azriller would wish us to watch over it as well. With your permission, Father Hieronymus, I will send Brother Grigore to accompany Father Hechsler."

"The more the better," said Hieronymus. He looked to Hechsler. "All the help the Temple can offer will be at your disposal. I only wish we had more priests to send."

[Thragka]

Urgrim – the Conclave, Aubentag 17th Nachgeheim

"Clan Dwimmulson may be able to help with that," Urgrim said. "Rinn Elmendrin would be happy to assist the Temple. If manpower's what you are wanting, I'm sure she'd lend clansfolk to the task. If, of course, the Temple felt that were appropriate." he added, looking particularly to Barbaro. "I'm sure the Rinn has no desire to impugn on the rights of this institution - or the sovereignty of Captain Sforza. But she is hopeful to cooperate however she can in this battle."

[TheSummoner]

Sieghard

"Are you a wizard now?" Sieghard asked, pulling a sack of coins up from the cache. "If making magic weapons was that easy, everyone would have one."

"Urgrim's nice and he's helped us against the vampire, but that doesn't mean we have to tell him everything. It's a dwarf-made spear, what if he decides it belongs to the dwarfs? What if he doesn't, but mentions it to one of the Dwimmulsons and they decide that? It's too important a weapon to risk losing over something so petty."

[LCP]

The Conclave, 17th Nachgeheim

"I'm sure the assistance of Clan Dwimmulson would be much appreciated," said Hieronymus. He looked to his left. "What do you say, Father Hechsler?"

"Any dwarf that wants to come with us to Ravenskird is more than welcome," said Hechsler. "I'm sure they'd be worth a dozen of our men."

[RossN]

The Conclave, 17th Nachgeheim

'I am also in favor of any Clan Dwimmulson can give us,' Adelbert said, 'though we should remember the main objective will be to send warning if and when the enemy moves, not to build a fortress out of a village. If the worst happens evacuate the villagers and send word here.'

He hesitated. 'Urgrim, I believe you had some thoughts regarding the Book...?' He looked at the dwarf, inviting him to speak.

[Thragka]

Urgrim – the Conclave, Aubentag 17th Nachgeheim

"Thank you, Father Schreiber," Urgrim said. "I also wanted to remind the Conclave of the Rinn's offer to impound the Book in the Dwimmulhold vaults – it's clearly a prize the enemy will go to great lengths to obtain. If that's also something the Dwimmulsons could assist with before the Cult of Morr's aid can arrive," he said, with a nod to Bonifatius, "the offer stands."

[LeSwordfish]

"Well, I hope you know how you're hiding it." Ludo said dubiously. "Unless you break it off the haft, it won't fit in your bag."

[LCP]

The Conclave, 17th Nachgeheim

"And it is much appreciated," said Hieronymus. "The book is no longer in the Temple's hands, but if the Captain can be convinced, I will urge him to entrust it to the Rinn." No-one seemed to object to that. "After Geheimnisnacht, there is no precaution we shouldn't take."

[-Sentinel-]

"I've been trying to convince him," Elsa chimed in. "Any help in that regard would be much appreciated. I fear he does not understand how dangerous the Book is, and how little use we have for it. He sees it as a sort of tribute to the Myrmidians. Might as well gift them a box of scorpions."

Not for the first time, she wished she had handed over the Book to the dwarfs the morning after the attack on the Temple. She could have explained herself later. Now, if she tried anything, it would not be seen as her merely going over the Captain's head in his absence, but as a brazen act of treason.

"Perhaps the Myrmidians are more likely to be convinced."

[LCP]

The Conclave, 17th Nachgeheim

"The Myrmidians have squashed their share of scorpions," said Barbaro. "We are speaking of the High Temple in Magritta, where the vampire Nourgul was reduced to ash when he tried to seize the Tome of Wisdom. The centre of the Myrmidian faith. With all respect to Signor... Jotunnsson?" - he paused for a moment, not sure he had the name correct - "How can we or the Dwimmulsons consider ourselves better placed to protect this book than the Aguila Ultima?" He looked around the faces of the assembled priests. "The world is wider than this city. It seems a foolish pride to me."

"I agree with Father Barbaro," said the Abbot. "The sooner this book is out of the Reaches the better." He looked to Urgrim. "Though in the meantime, perhaps the Dwimmulhold would be the safest place."

Barbaro shrugged his shoulders at that. Hieronymus nodded. "Father Barbaro, perhaps you can accompany me to speak with Captain Sforza on this matter. I'm sure you know his mind better than anyone here."

Barbaro looked a little uncomfortable, but gave a cautious nod. "It would be my pleasure," he said, with a strained smile.

[-Sentinel-]

OOC: LCP, if you think there would be a better time for this event, feel free to PM me and I'll postpone it.



Elsa - 17th Nachgeheim, late at night

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Elsa sat in her room with a fire burning in the fireplace and an opened bottle of wine by her side, the Harmugstahl grimoire open on her bed at the chapter On Human Sacrifice. She had begun to ponder who might be the most “expendable” subject for a sacrifice—a convicted murderer? A ninety-year-old man? A suicidal person?—when a very simple realization struck her like a thrown brick:

What in Sigmar’s name am I doing?

By then she had a lot of wine in her, and yet she thought more clearly than she had in days, as if emerging from the haze she had been in since Morrslieb’s death. She sat deep in reflection for a moment, and slowly came to admit that all paths led to the same conclusion no matter what reasoning she tried to make. Any indecision on her part came merely from fear, and not the presence of another and equally valid way.

She sat down at her desk, took out a quill and parchment, and began to write. The words came easily to her, as if they had only been waiting at the tip of her quill.

To Sieghard, Ludo and Adelbert,

I am growing older and wiser. I am making mistakes and learning from them. And I realize that power, it is an abstract thing. It can take many forms, only some of which can be taught at colleges or granted by gods or daemons. I have the power to conjure up a massive fire, and some people have the power to make others form bucket lines to put out that fire. And the second kind? I think that is what the Reaches truly need in the current age.

These words will sound familiar to Adelbert, as he heard me express similar sentiments at the recent Conclave. Though I was playing politics for Sforza, I spoke with sincerity. We need fieldworkers and metalworkers more than we need miracle workers. We need swords more than spells, leaders of men more than servants of gods, and courage more than piety or arcane knowledge. These are the things that built civilization. These are the things that will keep it going, and make it overcome all the adversity that the world will throw at it.

Which brings me to the point of this letter.

If you have cause to read this, I have likely been found dead in inexplicable circumstances.

Ever since the Battle of Arrow Heap, I have been watched by daemonic beings visible only to me. They demand that I do unspeakable things in exchange for more arcane power. I have kept quiet about it, both to avoid their retaliation and out of fear that you would think me corruptible and start treating me as a potential enemy.

As I write these lines, I do not yet know to what extent these beings can harm me in the physical world, but I fear I am about to find out. I just made a decision that they will not like.

Elsa.




After the ink dried, she folded the sheet in two, then wrote on top of it:

Open only if I am found dead. Elsa.

As she set down the folded letter on her nightstand, Elsa realized she had never been so scared in her entire life. This was not the surface-level terror of facing down an Orc warlord or an ancient vampire, but something bone-deep, much like—or so she imagined—being told by a physician that one’s symptoms were starting to resemble a deadly illness for which there was no known cure.

She closed the grimoire of daemonic magic and set it down in her lap. She took a deep breath. Then she spoke, keeping her voice low; she did not want a passing servant to overhear.

“I don’t know if you’re listening,” she said, addressing them. “But I’ve given some thought to what you want me to do.”

“It was clever of you to appeal to my vanity; to imply that all we needed to win, was for me to be more powerful. My arrogant self wanted to believe it. But what if I had never left the Empire and come down here in the first place? Would Nahorek’s victory be inevitable? Hah. I am hardly the savior of the Reaches. There are no such things as chosen ones. Nahorek is no god at all, and the mortals of the Reaches can defeat him, with or without me.”

Preferably with me.

“I don’t know what you can do to me in retaliation or in spite, for all the good that it will do you. I won’t lie, it terrifies me. But I’ve made up my mind.”

“What you want me to do—I will not do it.”

She rose, walked over to the fireplace, and consigned the grimoire to the flames.


OOC:

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I suppose the daemonic beings, depending on whether they reside in Elsa’s head or observe her from outside, could interrupt Elsa at any time. This post is a statement of intent—that is to say, Elsa intends to do all the above if nobody stops her.

Some meta commentary…

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It’s a tale as old as time. Well-intentioned person seeks power to do good deeds, becomes corrupted by power, ultimately uses power to do evil deeds.

It’s a good tale. Just not the tale I want for Elsa.

As a player, I was tempted. The themes of corruption and slippery slopes loom large in the Warhammer-verse. But if it’s not too late, I would like to tell another tale: the tale of someone who walks over to the edge of the abyss, looks down, then decisively takes a step back. The Savonne fire and the death of Morrslieb, both very avoidable disasters that lie squarely on Elsa’s shoulders, seem like perfect catalysts for the realization that it is time for her to take responsibility for her actions and that more magical muscle is not necessarily the key to everything. Not to mention that Nahorek is not as powerful as she had been led to believe.

Another, more pragmatic consideration is that I struggle to think of how Elsa could possibly prepare and perform the daemon-summoning ritual without the knowledge of the other PCs, and how she could retain their friendship and trust once her willingness to make deals with daemons comes to light. The consequences of obeying the daemonic beings would tear the party apart and ultimately hinder more than help us.

Lastly, I feel Elsa was being a bit forced down this path, and I think it would fit her contrarian nature to refuse to play ball.

Being out of Fate Points, I am well aware that this decision is a potentially deadly one, and I accept this. In any case, Elsa is nearing the end of her PC lifespan, so any benefit derived from selling her soul is unlikely to pay off in the long run. I would much rather that she die making a stand for herself.

Well… actually, I would much rather that she live making a stand for herself. I’m hoping that’s still on the table.

[LCP]

Elsa, 17th Nachgeheim

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For a moment after she tossed it into the fire, the flames licking the book burned pink and blue, like the alchemical powders they had tried to teach her about at the College. The effect lasted only for a moment, before whatever residue had caused it burned away, and the fire regained its usual hue - but when Elsa closed her eyes, the fading after-image it had left behind seemed to form the outline of a raven's skull.

No answer to her words crawled out of the Aethyr. No scrape of iron nails or stink of charred flesh assailed her senses. Alone in her chamber, she sat in silence and watched the pages burn.

OOC:

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It's completely up to you what direction to take with Elsa - you don't have to justify your decisions to me.

To give a bit of meta-commentary of my own, I'm not trying to give you just a singular choice; I'm trying to show the tightrope Elsa is walking all the time as a renegade, half-schooled wizard. So you can be sure these dangers and temptations won't go away just because Elsa said 'no' - but at the same time, it's your call how to respond to them, and I'm never going to have a preferred story to tell with Elsa. Your character is your character.

[-Sentinel-]

Elsa

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Elsa felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders, though there was still fear at the back of her mind. It could not possibly be that simple, could it? Just refuse them? Surely they would return?

But it was not as if she could undo what she had done. The grimoire was burnt. And there was some comfort in having crossed the point of no return. One less decision to make. No way to go but forward, for better or worse.

For the first time in a very long while, she knelt and prayed to Sigmar. Asking for a god's assistance was a bit of a contradiction with the ideas she had expressed both at the Conclave and in her letter, but she felt it could not hurt. She did not wish for divine intervention; she just wanted strength for herself. When she was done praying, she returned to her bed. She needed some sleep.

The letter remained on her nightstand. Someday it might still need to be read.

OOC: I'm done.

[-Sentinel-]

On the day of the return of Sieghard and Ludo, Elsa decided to give Morrslieb a proper sendoff. She did not have a body to bury, but bought a freshly-killed (?) pigeon from a bonepicker to serve as a replacement. She gathered only her closest friends, as she knew that holding a wake for a raven would only make her seem even weirder to most people.

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Unfortunately Elsa does not yet count Urgrim among her "closest friends", merely as her group's contact among the dwarfs. They haven't yet explored any daemon-infested libraries together.

She built a campfire outside of town, and brought the dead pigeon in a wooden box. She started with a speech:


"I have not always been as good of a friend to you as I should have been, Morrslieb.

My employer saw you merely as a useful tool; a means to an end. And out of obedience I often treated you as such. I sent you into life-threatening situations. I rewarded you with treats and trinkets, not with affection or genuine gratefulness. I never made a meaningful personal sacrifice for you; mostly because I was never really sure what a raven might expect of a human. Even the name I gave you, Morrslieb, was a bit of a joke. I thought it would shock people that I named you after the Chaos moon. Nobody seemed to care.

Now that you're gone, I realize a part of myself is gone, too. The part that I poured into you. And there was a lot of you in me. I like to think that your surly, argumentative side came from me. Or perhaps I'm just flattering myself? Perhaps it was always you, and our similarities are how I knew there was a connection between us when I first met you in the swamps? I've sometimes wondered... how did it feel like for you, to become a sentient being? To become a person? Did you see yourself as having become something more than you were? Or did you feel that something was taken from you, like ignorant bliss or freedom? Did you even notice the difference, or did it just feel like growing up from a freshly hatched chick to an adult?

It's too late to ask these questions.

My employer expects me to replace you. You could never be replaced. I could find some other familiar that can do much of what you could do, but it would not be a replacement. Not really. This is not something I could make the Captain understand.

In any case... it took me a while to realize it, but you gave me a sense that I created something. Me, someone whose art is dedicated to destruction... I created something. And it feels... good. I want to create again. And if any would destroy what I create, I will destroy them first. Even a raven can understand that, I'm sure. Creating, and protecting what you create, is one of nature's most fundamental instincts.

The swamps where you lived and died are a place teeming with life. I will make sure they will remain so. That's the only thing I can do for you now; fight the dead so that your watery grave does not go dry.

Thank you, and farewell."


She dropped the wooden box into the campfire, where it was soon consumed by the flames.

[LCP]

Ludo & Sieghard, 18th Nachgeheim

While Sieghard had been digging up his buried treasure, Rahim had been buzzing around the town like an angry hornet, gathering Abdul’s supplies for the coronation. With amazing speed, the carts filled with fruit, vegetables, meat and wine. One of the Thorns who had marched with them tried to pocket an apple before the hawk-eyed Rahim slapped it out of his hand.

Cracks were showing in the Arabyan’s usual disinterested demeanour. Avoiding Ravenskird had cost them time, and now they had two days to cover the sixty miles or more back to the city. It didn’t take a mathematical genius to see that the numbers didn’t add up, and Rahim was clearly itching to be on the road again.

---

Backertag, 19th Nachgeheim - Savonne

The reconsecration of the Temple was a solemn affair, but it did Adelbert’s heart good to see the various priests of the Conclave working together without bickering. Brother Cezar led them in a circuit of the Garden of Morr, sprinkling the boundary of the Temple grounds with blessed water while the priests behind him carried symbols of each of their gods.

When the circle was complete, they descended to the sanctuary. There, in the sight of the Temple’s relics, they made their offerings to the gods: candles for Verena, hides and grain for Taal and Rhya, a pitcher of river water for Azriller. Incanting a Classical prayer to Morr, Hieronymus took a knife from one of the initiates and sliced the palm of his withered hand, squeezing a few drops of blood into a silver bowl upon the altar. As the assembled priests bowed their heads in prayer, Adelbert thought he felt the ancient walls breathe again - a breath they had been holding since Geheimnisnacht.

That afternoon, Cezar wrote a letter to the Morrite orders in the north, entrusting it to one of the older initiates to carry. Approachable where Raqiyah had been distant, kindly where Liebrecht had been stern, Cezar was growing into the position of master of initiates as if he had been born to it. He already had a message from Petre and Nastassa in Alvarran: after dinner, he sought out Adelbert to read it.

Father Schreiber, Brother Cezar,

It has taken us some time, but we have traced the location of Duke Alvarr’s body. After the city fell, most of the dead were buried in pits outside the walls, next to Alvarran’s Garden of Morr. Brother Berthold, who was sexton to Father Vengist before the reverend father passed away, keeps the garden here now, and showed us the graves where he claims to have buried the Duke and the commander of the Storm Swords. They are unmarked, but he has shown us this ring which he claims belonged to the Duke.

Brother Berthold appears a little simple, so we have spoken the Unnamed Rite over all the graves in case it was not performed properly the first time. We remain in Alvarran and await your instructions.

Petre

Cezar clucked his tongue. “I'll have to have a word with this one when he gets back,” he said. “We can’t have our initiates referring to their brothers as ‘simple’.”

Adelbert’s attention was more on the ring that had been enclosed with the letter. A signet bearing the device of a boar’s head, it was one he had seen often enough on Alvarr’s own hand. Though it was now dirty and tarnished, there was no doubting it was the same ring.

---

Konigstag, 21st Nachgeheim

Preparations had been going on all week for the coronation, and as dawn broke on Konigstag the anticipation had reached fever pitch. Every inn was packed with visitors from out of town, and the streets around the North Market were decked with gaily-coloured flags. Some of the local street vendors had even got in on the action, selling flags on sticks bearing a crude imitation of the Iron Company’s crossed-pikes banner. They didn’t seem to be selling particularly fast.

It was around noon when Sieghard and Ludo arrived back at the river gate, Rahim having driven the mules almost to exhaustion to get back on time. Abdul was waiting for him in the courtyard of the keep, already dressed in his finery for the ceremony - the two Arabyans had a brief, fierce argument in their own language, during which Rahim pointed repeatedly at Sieghard. Waving Rahim’s words aside, Abdul shooed him off in the direction of the kitchens, the poor mules dragging their loaded carts the last few yards before they could finally rest.

“Friends!” said Abdul, spreading his hands and greeting Sieghard and Ludo with his usual toothy smile. “This is what you call ‘cutting it fine’, yes?” He looked them up and down, noting how they were covered in the dust of the road. “This is the Lady Sforza’s big day. If you’re planning to attend the ceremony, best to wash and find some new clothes as fast as you can. She will remember if you don’t.”

Even the jovial quartermaster seemed on edge.

OOC:

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All the PCs are welcome to attend the coronation - if they want to. Adelbert will know that Hieronymus is taking part in his new capacity as High Priest and that most of the priests are planning to attend. Urgrim will know that the Rinn and some of the high-ranking Dwimmulsons are attending too.

[RossN]

Adelbert

'Yes, of course,' a distracted Adelbert replied to Brother Cezar. 'You can write to them recalling them.'

He looked at the ring, turning it over and over again in his hand. Such a small thing to be all that remained in these lands of such a man. Well that was it... or was it? Was this a sign? He knew so little about the Duke's background. For all he knew there was an heir out there that he was meant to pass on the ring...

Adelbert took a deep breath and whispered a prayer to Verena...

OOC:

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Channeling: (1d100)[42] vs 63

The Past Revealed (8): (1d10)[2](1d10)[10]

---

Konigstag, 21st Nachgeheim

He'd never presided over the funeral to a bird before. It was a strange experience, made all the stranger by Elsa's pain and grief. Though Adelbert could not quite agree with all her sentiments he could offer what support he could, laying a hand on her shoulder as she finished speaking.

'Ravens are sacred to Morr. Most think that is because Morr is lord of the dead, but that is not the full truth of things. Morr is the god of dreams, of that strange and secret world where our minds wing their way too every night when we close our eyes. A world of shadows, of ideas... of magic. That is where Morrslieb came from Elsa and that is where he now resides in our dreams. Somewhere he still beats his wings Elsa and soars still beyond the reach of petty princes and undead convinced they can find immortality by shackling their own souls.'

He bowed his head and softly spoke a prayer.

Once the funeral was over he very slowly walked back to the Temple. Adelbert had already sternly informed the other priests he had no intention of attending the coronation - 'Quiet frankly Father Hieronymus I'd sooner bathe an ogre than witness the Tilean and his wife publicly applaud themselves'. Instead he intended to go to his quarters, bolt the door to block out the noise and get a very early night's sleep.

[-Sentinel-]

After the funeral, Elsa headed to her quarters, washed herself with a washcloth (like most pyromancers, she disliked baths) and put on her military-looking black-and-red outfit in preparation for the coronation. With her still-short hair, she looked very serious and austere, which fitted her somber mood.

She was about to witness a new page being turned in the history of the Reaches. How many lords of the Border Princes had laid claim to so much territory at any one time? And yet she found little pride or joy in being so close to power. She no longer had the ambition she used to have. If she could, she would find a quiet place to live out a relatively independent life, as Beatrix Fassbender had done. But she could not afford that luxury. Not with the Reaches threatened by Nahorek. She had to stay near the top, so that she could help steer the Reaches in the right direction.

She hated politics. But it seemed that much depended on her becoming good at it, because most rulers were fools and could not be left without counsel for even a minute.

[TheSummoner]

Sieghard

"I'll be quick about it," Sieghard replied. "All this with half the city homeless or starving," he muttered. He doubted it would do anything to improve the way the city felt about its new rulers.

[LeSwordfish]

Ludo had found the time to drop in on the funeral for Morrslieb. He had never entirely understood the nature of Elsa's bond with the bird, but grief was grief. He had bought Stoutheart not long after his mother's death, as Elsa had acquired Morrslieb after the death of Beatrix, and would have been devastated by the terrier's death. He had said some vague platitudes that even he didn't remember, and had added the idea that, without the bird, they would all have died a few times over.

What he hadn't mentioned was that Morrslieb's death felt like a bad omen. It, and the hard journey, had completely dispelled any lingering confidence he had after the vampire had been driven off. The coronation didn't sound like fun, per se, but he would have felt bad for missing it, so after the fastest and least luxurious bath of his life he had presented himself at the castle with Sieghard, in the neatest uniform he could contrive.

[LCP]

Adelbert Only, 19th Nachgeheim

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Feeling the cold metal of the ring in his palm, Adelbert reached out to his goddess - and somewhere deep in his heart, he felt Verena reach back. The divine spark of knowledge passed into him, and he saw...


...a craftsman in Bretonnia, his eye looming hugely through the jeweller's loupe he wore as he carved the boar's head device into the polished lump of chalcedony set into the ring's bezel. A man in nobleman's clothing stood behind him, inspecting his work. He was not the Duke, but Alvarr thought he saw some vague family resemblance. By the accent of the two men when they spoke, Adelbert would have placed them somewhere in the south of Bretonnia - perhaps Quenelles or Brionne.

Finishing his work, the jeweller sat back in his chair and showed the ring to his lord. The nobleman seemed pleased as he held it up to the light. He motioned to a servant, who began counting out gold pieces onto the jeweller's bench as his master strolled out of the shop.

~

...a crumbling house by the sea, the piercing cries of gulls drifting through its open windows. An man with a grey beard and a bedraggled moustache lay in a filthy bed, his chest rising and falling with labouring breaths. At the foot of the bed, a girl of nine or ten was watching the old man breathe his last; by its side, a boy of about sixteen held the invalid's hand in his own. Young though he was, the boy's stern brown eyes were undoubtedly those of Edouard Alvarr.

Sitting up with a supreme effort, the dying man pressed the ring into the boy's hand, whispering something to him in Bretonnian before collapsing back onto the bed. As he exhaled his last, rattling breath, the boy's hand tightened to a white-knuckle grip around the boar's head signet.

~

...the ring leaving an imprint on a blob of molten wax as it sealed a letter. The hand that wore it handed it to another - Adelbert recognised the stubborn face of Eugen Jager. He was looking lean and battle-scarred, more so than the last time Adelbert had seen him. So was the Duke.

Jager was arguing, protesting that his place was on the walls, that Alvarr could find another messenger. Alvarr refused his requests. He was to carry his master's message out of the city, and that was an order. The Duke didn't raise his voice - though his manner remained as firm as Adelbert remembered, in his eyes he looked tired and defeated.

Their conversation was interrupted by a distant, bassy rumble - the sound of the collapse of the curtain wall. Reaching for his sword, the Duke sharply repeated his order for Jager to go. Saluting his lord one last time, Alvarr's Bulldog turned and headed for the stairs...

---

21st Nachgeheim - The Coronation

The gates of the castle stood open, and a steady stream of guests was passing through - at least, those that passed the inspection of the Iron Company guards. The merchants, the guilders, the priests and the landlords of the Reaches flowed through the open gates, while the tradesmen, the boatmen, the beggars and rat-catchers stayed locked outside the high walls. In the great hall of the keep, constellations of candles were twinkling in the iron chandeliers, casting a soft light over this gathering of the great, the good, and the reasonably alright. Sforza’s banner hung from every wall - they must have kept every seamstress in the city stitching for weeks to make so many.

Up on the dais at the head of the hall, Hieronymus stood beside two empty thrones, dressed in his best priestly regalia. In the place of honour at the front of the crowd below were Sforza’s officers; they were flanked on their left by the other priests of the Temple, and on the right by the handful of Dwimmulsons who had descended from the Rock. Elmendrin was there, in a deep blue dress with golden knotwork around the hem and a mantle of fine grey wool. Of all the aspiring courtiers and hangers-on in the hall, she was the one who looked the most like real nobility.

Behind these guests of honours stood dozens of others. Sieghard didn’t recognise most of them, but there were a few faces he did. There on the left was Steffan Sussman, shaking hands and talking animatedly with a portly stranger in merchant’s attire. There on the right was Leona Groz, holding her infant son. Behind her were a pack of men he recognised as the Putbad guilders - though he could see no sign of Guildmaster Tobar.

“They are all here, hm?” said Abdul, slipping into place beside Sieghard. Wearing a jacket of green and gold, the Arabyan was looking just as fine as the others. “Like the small fish that follow the shark. They smell opportunity in the water.” He inhaled a deep breath. “Lands and titles, oh yes. It is a great thing, the generosity of a prince.”

Before he continue his musings, a brassy fanfare rose from the minstrels in the gallery. Every head turned as the Captain and his wife entered the hall, the crowd parting to let them through.

The Sforzas practically glittered in the candlelight, the richness of their attire putting their guests to shame. The minstrels played a stately tune as the two of them proceeded to the dais, bowing their heads to Hieronymus before turning to face the crowd. A hush fell over the hall, broken only by Hieronymus clearing his throat. Making the sign of Verena over his breast, he uttered a brief prayer in Classical for the gods to bless their proceedings. He wasn’t very good at projecting his voice: those at the back of the cavernous hall had to strain to hear what he was saying.

“O gods,” he mumbled, when the blessing was complete. “We beseech thee, sanctify your servant, our prince. Morr grant him foresight, Verena, grant him wisdom. Taal, grant him strength, Rhya, grant him children. Shallya, grant him compassion, Azriller, grant him plenty.” Hieronymus hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking to the front row where Barbaro was subtly spinning his finger to indicate he should go faster. “Myrmidia, grant him victory, enrich his heart with your abundant grace, and crown him with all princely virtues, as we crown him here today.”

Turning behind him, he picked up the crown and held it high for all to see. New-made and unblemished, it shone in the candle-light, polished rubies from the Rock glinting like drops of blood. Artisans in Rockshadow had been labouring over it day and night since Sforza’s return: it looked every inch the crown of a king.

Hieronymus handed it over to Sforza, who held it high in both hands before slowly lowering it onto his own head. A smaller, more elegant crown was then produced for Irene, who bowed her head to allow her husband to crown her too. She had retained an expression of serene grace up until this point in this ceremony, but as she turned her face to the floor, Elsa could see an irrepressible smile spreading across her face.

Irene straightened up again, unable to keep herself from beaming as brightly as the crown glittering on her head. Muzio took her hand, and as the two of them took their seats on the twin thrones, Carraciolo turned and addressed the hall with the voice he used to carry across battlefields.

“The glorious and august Prince Muzio Sforza is crowned and enthroned. Viva il Principe! Viva la Principessa!”

Along the back of the hall, a line of Iron Company men thundered their approval, so loud that they almost drowned out the others who joined in the shout.

VIVA IL PRINCIPE! VIVA LA PRINCIPESSA!

As the castle rang with their praises, Elsa could have sworn Irene Sforza had tears of happiness in her eyes.

~

When the ceremony was finished, the newly-crowned Prince and Princess of the Reaches proceeded to the castle walls, where a far larger crowd of the common people was waiting below. Hundreds of hungry, wary eyes looked up at them, the golden circles on their brows catching the light of the setting sun as the Captain - the Prince - stepped forward.

“People of Savonne!” he declaimed, his voice ringing out over the rooftops. “My people! They called this land the Broken Reaches. War-torn, fractured, divided. No more!” Putting his arm around Irene, he drew her forward. “The days of blood are over. You have one prince now, one princess - one Reaches. Let the days of peace begin!”

The gates swung open again, and Iron Company men came marching out, dragging with them wagons loaded with food and drink. It was cheap fare, but as the soldiers began to throw bread and fruit into the crowd, they went wild with cheers for their new rulers. The Sforzas waved graciously from atop the battlements as the crowd surged forwards, the soldiers having to hold them back to keep themselves from being overwhelmed. A few scuffles broke out towards the back - as long as they didn’t threaten to upset the carts, the Prince’s men didn’t intervene.

Back inside the keep, a much more lavish feast had been laid out. Wine flowed, candles burned and minstrels played, bidding goodbye to the summer in grand style. A great patch of the floor was cleared for dancing, and as the band struck up the opening notes of a volta, the Sforzas led the first dance.

However much she detested her, Elsa had to admit that Irene could dance. Elsa had been to a few balls in Altdorf, when her parents had still been trying to find her a suitable match - dull, interminable things, full of gangly, nervous boys treading on her feet. This was different. A graceful whirl of emerald silks and satins, Irene moved so swiftly in time with the music that her husband had to fight to keep up. The assembled onlookers clapped and cheered, the pure, unadulterated happiness that shone from the new Princess’ face seeming infectious. She had got the thing she’d wanted all her life, and she was dancing with the man who had given it to her. Despite the hundreds of eyes that watched them, the two of them seemed to have eyes only for each other.

Once the first tune was over, another began, and more and more couples began joining the dance. Plenty of the merchants who had wangled their way into the ceremony had brought their daughters, and Carraciolo was dancing with a succession of them. Others were making eyes at Sieghard from a corner by the dais, whispering to one another and giggling behind their hands.

Valdes, returned from Alvarran, seemed to be refraining from dancing for now, standing on the sidelines and looking into the depths of his cup. The dwarfs, too, had no time for dancing: Elmendrin sat politely and watched while Skorgrund downed drink after drink, opining at length on the defects of each new umgi draught he tried. Urgrim was sitting with them when a perspiring Irene emerged from the dancers and greeted them.

“Rinn Elmendrin,” she said, “it makes me so glad to see you here. Thank you so much for coming.”
“It’s our pleasure… Principessa?” said Elmendrin, having some difficulty with the unfamiliar Tilean word. “Is that right?”
“It is!” Irene grinned back, her dazzling smile seeming almost to split her face in two. “Will you not dance with us?”

“I’m afraid we Dwimmulsons aren’t much for human dancing,” said Elmendrin, the model of diplomacy. “But it is very entertaining to watch.”
“You will have to show us a dwarfish dance one day,” said Irene. “One day soon! You will always be welcome here at the castle - I hope we will see you here often.”
Before she could press the matter any further, another dance began, and her husband gathered her back onto the floor. Belching, Skorgrund glowered after their receding backs over the top of his tankard.

“I suppose you like this kind of thing, eh Jotunnssson?” he said. “Umgi music. Sounds like someone torturing a cat to me.”

OOC:

Spoiler

Show

Food and drink at the coronation feast is of course free - if you think your character would get drunk, feel free to decide for yourself how much drink they avail themselves of and whether they need to make any tests.

---

The Temple

With most of the senior priests up at the castle, the Temple felt almost deserted. Sitting in his cell room, reading idly through one of Hieronymus’ books for the third or fourth time, Adelbert was deep in thought about how much he hoped the others weren’t enjoying themselves when he heard a knock at the door. It was Jocasta.

“They’re giving out wine at the castle gate,” she said, holding up a small bottle. “Do you want any?”

[TheSummoner]

Sieghard

"Abdul was right," Sieghard muttered to Ludo, glancing back towards the merchants' daughters. "Just like small fish following a shark." No doubt they saw him as a means to get closer to Sforza and perhaps whisper in his ear. He also realized that it could raise questions if he didn't feign interest. He forced a smile and made his way over towards them to find a dance partner.

~~~

After dancing with a number of them, he made an excuse to get away from the dance floor and made his way to where Elsa was drinking. "They seem happy now," he whispered, taking a seat "But I bet you a crown the two of them will be back to fighting by this time next month."

[LeSwordfish]

"You're cynical but play your cards right and you could be the mayor of somewhere by this time next year." Ludo had availed himself of the wine. "And you could have a wife with hair, too."

[RossN]

Adelbert Only, 19th Nachgeheim

Spoiler

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Adelbert let out a shuddering breath. Well.... no wonder Elsa was changed by her magic. Did it feel like this for her too when she brushed the Divine?

He looked down at the ring in the palm of his hand blinking back the beginning of tears. He thought of that girl in his vision - though if she lived yet she was surely a woman now. He thought of Jager and the Duke's last stand.

'Your Grace may be gone, but he has a friend yet,' Adelbert murmured to himself or to the walls or to the dead. After the coronation he'd be Alvarann bound.

---

21st Nachgeheim - The Coronation

Adelbert looked surprise in Jocasta before her question brought a smile to his lips. 'I think I could be persuaded, yes thank you. We'll find something to drink it out of.'

His eyes flicked around the modest cell and he felt awkward. Adelbert had done his best to make it livable but it was a cell. 'I'm happy to see you Jocasta but are you sure you wouldn't want to be up there? I'd be willing to bet soldiers would be dueling each other in the streets for the chance of a dance.'

[Thragka]

"Suppose as you like," Urgrim snapped back, and immediately wished he hadn't. He took a long, slow breath through his nose, and and consciously avoided looking at Skorgrund. That was the sort of reaction to cantankerous elders that he really wished he'd trained himself out of by this point in his life. Maybe it was the stresses of the past weeks that were making him fall back into old habits.

He took a sip of his red wine. If there were one thing he agreed with Skorgrund about, he didn't doubt it would be the quality of the ale. From his seat with the dwarves, he watched Sieghard dancing, a wry smile on his face.

[LCP]

Adelbert

Jocasta raised an eyebrow at Adelbert's attempted flattery. "I feel like I've spent enough time indoors this last week," she said. "Don't you?"

Outside, the night was still warm. From the top of the Temple mound, Adelbert could see the lights twinkling in the windows of the keep, and hear the distant strains of music drifting over the rooftops. Sitting down on the age-worn steps, Jocasta passed him the bottle. It was cheap stuff, sharp as vinegar - of course Sforza wouldn't be wasting good wine on the hoi-polloi. Still, it was wine.

"I think I'll be leaving tomorrow," said Jocasta, her gaze wandering off into the middle distance. "The Conclave's done, and I've spent enough time inside these walls. They'll be bringing in the harvest soon, and we need to find a new brother for Taal." She took the bottle back and poured herself a cup. "You seem to have things in hand here, now that Hieronymus is High Priest."

She trailed off. Following her eyes, Adelbert saw she was looking at a patch of dead grass, a few yards in front of the steps. The moonlight was dimmer than it had been on Geheimnisnacht, but still the memory came surging back - that was the spot where Nakht-Horeb had stood, when he broke the wards and woke the dead.

"He's got to be planning something," said Jocasta, after a long silence. "They talked about hunting him like he was an animal... but I remember how he spoke, when he killed Raqiyah in the sanctuary. He wasn't some dumb beast. He wanted her to join him."

She shivered at the memory.

"What do you think he'll do next?"

---

At the Castle

Skorgrund grumbled something in Khazalid about the youth these days. Elmendrin gave him a sidelong look - perhaps just checking that the old loremaster was still sober enough to make it back up the Rock. For her part, she seemed to be being quite abstemious for a dwarf - but then again, the Dwimmulsons remembered what had happened to Eberhard Groz in this very hall. Perhaps they were right to be on their guard.

[RossN]

Adelbert

Adelbert smiled ruefully as he took a sip of the wine. It struck him as fairly typical of his life that a young woman showing up at his door with a bottle of wine would mean a stomach churning 'vintage' and a talk strictly about business while overlooking a desecrated graveyard.

'He isn't animal, just a very small and petty man who managed to convince himself of his own lies. Oh there is power and knowledge there I'll grant you but I've seen him fail and I've seen him hurt.' Adelbert said. 'I don't know what he'll do next but I do have faith in us. We learn and we adapt and over time we'll discover more of his weaknesses.'

He looked at Jocasta and smiled. 'I'll be sorry to see you go Jocasta, though believe me I understand if you want Savonne at your back as soon as possible. I'd go somewhere else too if I could, but the Temple... and my friends.'

Vinegary or no maybe the wine was getting to him.

[LeSwordfish]

After only four or five minutes of teasing Sieghard about the young woman who had danced with him, Ludo headed to find Hieronymous.

"So has this ever happened before?" Ludo asked as an unceremonious opening "one person ruling the whole reaches?"

[TheSummoner]

Sieghard

"More than just a mayor, I imagine." Sieghard replied. "The Captain is one man and now has more land than he can rule over on his own. Carraciolo and Valdes have served longer, they'll be rewarded first. Bianco, Barbaro, and Al-Makir... I may be wrong imagine he'll keep them closer at hand. Who comes next?"