Magic, Blood & Gunpowder – A Fantasy RP (Closed/TG Approval)

[Cheye]

Hilltop, Blackrock - 4E-152

Amelia Van Der Barr slowly regained consciousness, her head throbbing as a burst of nauseousness coursed through her body and she clambered from the unmade bed towards the bedpan that sat on a sideboard.

Her eyes watered as she deposited the digested contents of last night’s meal into the pan and she staggered toward the water jug back by the bed. Raising it to her lips, she took a second before coughing and sputtering as she realised it contained not water but wine, which after last night was the last thing she wanted.

A cracked mirror hung above the bed, and as Amelia’s eyes shifted up towards it, she was suddenly hit by intense shame at the sight of herself. Her makeup was smudged and her lips looked purple from dried wine. Her dark hair was matted and tangled, and she still wore the same black dress from last night, though it now sported several creases and stains, upon closer inspection, a rip ran right up her leg.

As the Princess-regent began to wonder what exactly had taken place last night to leave her looking, and indeed feeling like death, a nearby groan caused her eyes to flick across the room.

A man, one of Reave’s younger ‘guards’ who had accompanied them on the ride from Medina, lay face-down at the foot of the bed. Amelia’s heart began to race as images of the night began to flash through her mind, and she began to wonder what all the revelry might have led too. Like her, the man was fully clothed, though not in typical guardsman attire, as Reave’s guards appeared to be little more than bandits. Still the discovery that he was clothed began to calm her, as a soft giggle drifted from the floor on the other side of the bed.

Amelia rounded the bed to see Maryvonne, wearing nothing but the shirt of another outlaw, stretching and chuckling as the topless man who lay next to her playfully nibbled at her ear.

“Mary… what… what are you doing?” Amelia let out.

The Countess flashed her a knowing look, as she ran her fingers through the man’s hair and muttered for him to get off. Amelia was shocked to discover that another barely-clothed man lay on Maryvonne’s right.

Amelia grimaced, looking away as the thought of what her friend and part-time mentor had been doing sandwiched between the pair flashed through her mind.

“Relax Amelia...” Maryvonne exhaled, her Franchean accent giving her voice a slightly patronising hint. “..By this place’s standards last night was nothing. Just a bit of harmless fun.”

Amelia glanced nervously at the outlaw guardsman on the bed, who began to stir, she bit her lip nervously at the thought of what might have happened.

More images ran through her head, not just from last night, but from before. She recalled Reave introducing the man back in Medina, slapping him on the back and barking; “Touch the girl and I’ll break your balls.” The pair had chatted during the journey about the snows and how they would often blanket Itrusk far worse than Carvania. Then last night they had danced together at the party-turned-orgy that Reave’s Sons of Borag had hosted upon his return to Blackrock. The pair had kissed, drunkenly in a deserted hallway, before going back to Amelia’s room…

“Did I?....” Amelia asked, fear creeping into her tone as she looked down at her guardsman.

“No.” Maryvonne answered as she staggered to her feet and begun to collect her various articles of clothing from around that corner of the room. “In your drunken state you were quite adamant that you were going to save yourself for Prince Marius... And the lad, for all his knavish charm, kept his word to Reave and did not take advantage.”

“Good…” Amelia exhaled, visibly relaxing. “What about these two? Seems they struggled to stay as disciplined?”

“A girl has her ways.” Maryvonne chuckled, using the oversized shirt to cover herself as she pulled on her undergarments before perching on the bed to pull up her stockings.

“Do you mind me asking about the Chevalier Courvoisier?” Amelia averted her eyes as Maryvonne removed the shirt and changed into her own travelling dress.

“What about him?” Maryvonne grimaced.

“He won’t mind you… Sleeping with other men?”

Maryvonne rolled her eyes; “If I know my husband, he’s probably shacked up in Castle Syliv with some aspiring courtesan, right under Edmure’s nose.” She sighed as she caught Amelia’s frown. “Do not think our marriage is loveless dear Amelia. We care for each other very much, but we both understand that the human needs for desire, intimacy and passion can sometimes be enjoyed elsewhere.”

Amelia raised a sceptical brow; “And you’re both comfortable with that?”

Maryvonne shrugged, a little unsure; “It is the way it is. We hardly exchange details, but I trust Michal not to catch anything, just as he trusts me not to fall pregnant to another man.” Maryvonne nodded slowly, more to herself than to Amelia; “I think such trust may have actually brought us closer together.”

“How do you stop yourself getting pregnant?” Amelia asked curiously, ignoring the tail end of her comment.

Maryvonne smiled. “I shall explain, but not now. You need to hurry up and change into something fresh, I am curious to hear the Blackrock’s reaction to Reave’s proclamation.”

Amelia nodded, at first she had been perturbed by Reave’s ‘offer’ to travel with them, handsome bandit guard included or not. After learning the actual reason for his own journey south however, her eagerness to reach first Blackrock and then Drakwold, and to witness their plans becoming reality, had grown tenfold...

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The Grand Square, Farford, Farvas - 4E-152

“...The remaining Barons will be hunted down and defeated!” A tidal wave of applause filled the square as Titus Lannis gripped the edges of the podium tightly. Once it had eventually subsided he continued; “Their attempted coup has left Farvas scarred and on the brink of civil war, but I assure you my resolve to avert this crisis could not be stronger!”

As another rapturous round of applause took up among the crowd Lannis glanced to the benches stationed on the platform next to him. Jacques sat there, looking as regal as ever, Vaas Van Drak too, though he just looked sinister, hunched over and eyeing the crowd with an overt hunger as he was. The other chairs were taken by mortals and a few new gets, they were the key advisors the conclave had elevated into positions of power around Lannis so as to ensure Farvas would continue to function as a state while the Vampires settled in to their new collective home.

Arvid Graff stood by the edge of the stage, he had taken up command of the palace guard, even though the position hadn’t been left vacant as a result of the coup. The Vampires had chosen to kill the commander since then, after he began to ask too many questions about the palace’s new residents. Sydine Avaalon and Ava Severin had not come to watch the inaugural address of Farvas’s new Chancellor, Sydine choosing to remain at Glarenvas so as not to raise questions about the role of an elf in the new government and Severin no doubt sulking about how her rival had been given this important role to play by the conclave, while her bloodline remained scattered on the sidelines in southern Golgotha.

That though, was the crucial, if somewhat subtle, context through which the plan would be delivered, at least as Titus saw it. In rebuilding their separate lives since the fall of the Ascendancy, the Vampires of the conclave had created a network of safe-havens from which they could call upon wealth, property and manpower in addition to having a wide array of options and fall back points. Severin might think her Vampires were sitting on the sidelines, but Titus knew that Jacques had them waiting in the wings, ready to play whatever part they were needed for, just like he had been. This was how Vampyric rule would be restored.

As the applause finally settled, Titus continued his inaugural address; “The Barons’ rebellion has been foiled and the Borderlands stands on the threshold of a new beginning! In order to ensure security and continued stability, Farvas will be reorganised as the newest composite member of the Sunset Empire!” The applause started slowly this time. “For a safe and secure society!” Titus added, banging his fist on the lectern, and the volume of the clapping engulfed him.

“The virtuous beauty of peace has triumphed over the shadowy schemes of shameful aristocrats! The direction of our course is clear. I will sit at Empress Madeline’s side and ensure that no plotters can ever bring harm to the people of Farvas again! It is true that we, the brave people of these Borderlands, have been tested; but we have emerged stronger! We move forward as one people, as citizens of Farvas! Citizens of the Sunset Empire! We will prevail!” He concluded, and the applause grew deafening, especially to his enhanced Vampiric hearing.

The barrage on Titus’s hearing only grew worse as the military band below the platform took their cue and launched into a lively rendition of Farvas’s national anthem. The Lannis vampire turned triumphantly and returned to his seat next to Jacques.

De la Grey glanced at him, the other Vampire impulsively adjusting his white finery as Lannis sat, before he leaned in and muttered; “A fine speech, Hector.” His tone almost turning into mockery as he whispered his false adopted name.

“It seems to have gone down well, wouldn’t you agree Lord Montespan?”

“Here and in Medina I expect.” Jacques smirked. “Now that our rule in Farford is secure, I suggest you summon the others.”

“You don’t want the pleasure?” Titus asked, raising a curious brow before giving a cursory wave to the braying crowd.

“Oh, working through others is more my style.” Jacques smiled knowingly. His very presence on the stage was a move in another game that Titus Lannis had hardly the slightest awareness of.

When word reached Carvania that respected members of Amelia Van Der Barr’s government had relocated to neighboring Farvas. Questions would be raised about whether they had fled or been exiled and those questions would lead to a good deal of agitation among the Counts. Agitation that would lead to resistance and to war...

[Greater Latica]

State Arsenal No.1, Wissenstierre 4E-152

James Paris Lee’s footsteps echoed in the cavernous workshop. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, cobwebs spanning across the spars overhead. Rats and spiders shrank back into the darkness as the bright harsh light shone in through the doorway. Machine tools stood dormant, various tools, parts and mechanisms were strewn about the work place, almost as if the workers had just vanished. Molten steel had been left to cool in the tremendous cast vats that lined the centre of the room, and parts bins sat full of weapons parts. The official line was that it had been mothballed, a more appropriate term would be abandoned.

“I never thought I’d see the day that this place would ever open its doors again.” He mused to the assorted engineers following behind Lee in the swirls of dust disturbed by his coat, “There has always been talk of opening it up again ever since it closed, but they never came to fruition. If you were to read any history textbook it would tell you that the most important victories were won in the streets of Ancelstierre, where General Cain engaged the Dark Prince himself in single combat and emerged victorious. Nothing could be further from the truth. What stands here before you is the most important battlefield of the war. Every sword, every spear, every musket, every bullet was forged in this arsenal, without which the siege wouldn’t have lasted 50 days, let alone 50 years. Here is the birth place of our industrial revolution that spurred us on to victory and our golden age!” he spun around stirring up yet more dust.

“If it was that important why did it close? Why was it just abandoned?” one of the engineers asked, trying to stifle a cough.

“We won.” Lee replied matter-of-factly, shrugging, “Once the Vampires were driven from the gates and forced back into hiding, and the war had ended, we had no need for such a massive expensive complex. By the time the war ended everything had been working at full capacity for nearly 70 years, it was worn out, tired, and far too expensive to recondition. I’m not sure they ever fully paid off the cost to build this place. Arsenals 2 and 3 in Ludendorff and Nulnstierre were more than adequate for the needs of the new Empire, and so one day State Arsenal Number one closed its doors for the last time. At least until now. Once we recondition the machine tools, turf out the rodents, and the jigs and schematics arrive from Nuln we can restore this place to its former glory.”

“And how long is that going to take Sir?”

“Shush, you’re ruining the moment.” Lee snapped back, who was gazing around the room, like a small boy in a sweet shop, “Just think of what we could do here, with this amount of space and tooling? Once were up and running, the military’s order will be child’s play.”

Lee rolled up his sleeves, “Shall we get started then? Someone find a broom.”

[Cheye]

Hilltop, Blackrock - 4E-152

In the ‘Throne Room’ of Hilltop the worst of Minern sat feasting at the leisure of the Warchief. Among them were the leaders of all the major gangs and a few minor ones who had caught Gavish’s interest in addition to a few wealthy merchants and other notable figures of the fort.

At the head of the horseshoe shaped table Gavish sat on his wooden throne, which wore with pride markings of the former chiefs who had held it. It’s seat was decorated with the long lush white fur of a mammoth, a mammoth whose tusks came together to hold up the flag of the Sons of the Borag behind him. Most staggering however were the bones of the dragon which seemed to emerge from the shadows ready to leap and snarl at any who defied the warchief. Held in place by thick cast iron shackles that wore ornamental spikes one could be mistaken for wondering if the binding served as much to keep it in position as it did to restrain the beast should it decide to come alive. For those eating around the table the hollow eyes on it’s skull and sharp teeth seemed to watch for fear and doubt allowing Gavish underneath to eat seemingly without any fear or concern.

Lady Amelia sat to the right of Gavish beside Maryvonne while Gavish’s lieutenants sat to his left, with criminals of various levels of notoriety clustered nearby, watching over the proceedings in the way guards and courtiers might were this a city more civilised.

While Amelia was dressed in her usual black palette, her dress, acquired in Medina before the journey, was form-fitting and low cut, perhaps in an effort to show confidence, though next to this band of psychopaths and imposing figure of Reave on his awesome throne, such a gesture was barely noticable. Maryvonne wore her travelling dress, clearly not feeling the gathering was worth dressing up for, though her make-up and carefully groomed hair made her look as elegant as ever. Between them, the pair looked completely out of place among the assorted cut-throats and bandits that Reave had gathered to turn to their advantage, and still feeling weary after their intense hangovers, it was fair to say that they both felt it too.

As the feast began to come to a close one figure in the corner finally addressed Gavish from across the table. Unlike the others he two was dressed well in Franchean finery with an elaborate hat and while modifications had been made with knives occasionally protruding out from under his outer coat and a dueling sword to his side, he wouldn’t have been out of place among Franchean nobility. Indeed Amelia had noticed him quickly in the crowd of leaders but while Gavish had identified him as Louis de Chaudier the leader of the Revanchists, she had learned little more about him, not daring to approach directly given the dangerous reputations of the assorted criminals.

“I’m delighted you’re back Gavish, but would you be so kind as to introduce your guest, I doubt our colleagues realise who we are in the company of.” De Chaudier’s voice echoed his appearance with a strong Franchean accent and a sense of self-righteous authority that only an aristocrat could hold.

“Fuck off Chaudier, she’s under my protection” Gavish growled back with a stern gaze.

The noble simply chuckled before leaning into the table and speaking louder to address the entire gathering. “May I present Golgotha’s latest leash wearing whore Amelia Van Der Barr and her bitch lover Maryvonne Courvoisier whose cunt has seen more fire than most in her profession. We all know you’ve gotten soft since joining this fucking Empire Gavish but are we really consorting with our food now?”

The few conversations still going quickly drew quiet as he spoke, eyes darted between de Chaudier and Gavish with a few glancing to Amelia as she tried to hide her uneasy shock at such a lewd remark.

“Gotten soft.” Gavish repeated slowly as he stood from his throne, casually mounting and climbing over the table in front of him, moving around its shape to infront of where de Chaudier sat “Is that what you think? That i’ve gotten soft?” de Chaudier didn’t look away instead staring into Gavish’s eyes firmly. “Is that what you all think?” the Warchief announced turning to the assembled scum almost mockingly before turning back to de Chaudier. “Say it again to my face.” He demanded.

“You’ve gone soft.” de Chaudier said half standing with his arms planted firmly on the table and his face not far from Gavish’s own.

The Warchief smiled for a moment before he started laughing, the other leaders soon joining in as the tension began to slowly dissipate. As Amelia had finally begun to relax Gavish grabbed de Chaudier’s hair and smashed his face into the table with his full strength. The half-orc wasted no time in releasing his hair and turning back to go to his seat however; “Fucking soft?!” he muttered as he turned.

A moment of stunned silence resumed as de Chaudier lifted his face up and grabbed a knife from his modified undercoat, swiftly thrusting it into Gavish’s exposed back.

Gavish turned, not even bothering to remove the knife, instead he picked up a rusty fork from the table and stabbed it right into de Chaudier’s stomach, taking advantage of the man’s sudden shock to headbutt him over. “Sit down and shut the fuck up” Gavish ordered, finally removing the knife and throwing it into the fire at the heart of the gathering and climbing back over the table to sit in his throne.

“Now does anyone else want a try for Hilltop?” He said gripping the base of his greataxe which sat resting on his thrones side. There was silence save for de Chaudier’s pained groaning. “Then who’s got me a present, Crook? You better fucking have something for me?”

A figure sitting about halfway down the opposite side to de Chaudier spoke. He had an uneasy sense about him looking dirty in dishevelled clothes, Amelia had noticed him tearing into a strange cut of unsavoury looking meat without any cutlery or manners, not that either had been in any real abundance. As he spoke she caught a glimpse of his razor sharp teeth in the firelight.

“We paid our tribute, why would I have shit for you?” He said almost snarling.

“You paid it late” The Warchief replied cracking his knuckles together “You’re lucky I let your vermin pay it at all”

Crook looked cautiously to the others before answering “Well there is something you might like, not that we have much use for it, not enough meat on the bones...” he gestured to some similarly dressed men behind him who had largely been in the shadows and they left the hall, returning after a few moments with a young woman a year or so younger than Amelia with beautiful ginger hair.

“Captured this bitch in the Drak Wood with her family trying to head north, was gonna sell her at the slave market but you can take her, mouth might be good for something given how shit her singing was.”

Gavish gestured for her to come closer and after she hesitated two raiders pushed her towards the fire revealing her horrified expression. “She’s decent with a bit of training might be able to make some coin of her, you’re forgiven.” he said almost uncaringly as if his interest in the woman’s life was secondary to the symbolism of her being given.

Amelia and Maryvonne exchanged glances, everything inside Amelia telling her to try and do something about the abhorrent way with which these criminals were talking about using the young Carvanian woman. Maryvonne shook her head slightly, knowing what she was thinking. The mission came first, and if it went well, it had the potential to stop more innocent Carvanians from ending up in that young woman’s place. Pain her though it might, Amelia knew there was more to be gained by staying silent.

“Now onto the proper business.” Gavish barked as the prisoner was led back out. “We’ve done well these last few years, finally ending al the fucking street fights and pointless skirmishes... At least almost all.” He sent a fiery glance over at a tall hairy man in wolfskin in the corner before continuing. “The Sunset bitch gives us some easy coin but we all know the Rock can’t be ruled. At least not by ponces in the ‘city of fucking gold’ but to resist the bastards of Medina we need guns! Good ones!”

Glances were exchanged between the assembled group of misfits as he paused. “These two pawns are going to get their shithole country to fight against the spanners but if we’re raiding them, they can only half commit. So we’re going to stop raiding them.”

“Bollocks!” shouted one of the leaders, this time a woman with bleached silver hair and scars from what looked like daggers marking the boundaries of her face almost as if someone had tried to cut it off.

Gavish ignored her remark as he continued “Instead we’re going to wait for the spanners to be stupid and spread out all their heavy stuff! Rifles, walkers, all their fancy new equipment. Then we’re going to fucking steal it and train ourselves to use the shit. We’ll focus our raids on the brown-noser Counts sucking up to the spanners, that’ll rile up a proper revolt and then when we’ve got their guns we can fuck off back to the Rock and prepare for war.”

Grumbles of agreement sounded from around the table until a giant of a man leaned forward, his long black hair and beard looking weathered and rugged, a look reflected by the white mammoth fur armour he was wearing. “And after we get the guns and the revolt is in full swing?”

“Then they’ll pay their dues.” Gavish replied smiling and flashing Amelia a fiendish glare as he scratched his chin and the base of one of his large teeth which protruded from his mouth exposing his orcish ancestry.

Amelia struggled to continue looking at the scum. Raids had been launched from Blackrock into Carvania all her life, all her father’s life for that matter, it was just another danger the people of Carvania were used to dealing with. Now her new friends in the Sunset Empire were helping her to direct that danger against the Golgothans who had come for her and her brother’s birthright, and the self-interested Counts who were welcoming them. It was a move in the game alright, but one that wouldn’t be without consequences.

Maryvonne smiled at Gavish and the other criminals as small-talk resumed, she leant across to Amelia and muttered; “Cheer up, Drakwold will feel like a walk in a Val Lyonesse park compared to this… The Counts are going to love you.”

Amelia nodded, more to reassure herself than to acknowledge the Countess, though a small part of her couldn’t help but wonder why they didn’t already.

De Chaudier’s words echoed in her mind for the rest of the day.

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High Peak, Garniem - 4E-152

Godfrey’s study had been largely unchanged since his death with neither Jarl Galbridge nor Greymane taking residence during their time as regents. When Volker had finally entered a few days after being elected documents sat on his desk out of date and requiring royal assent, assent he was happy to now give.

The room was smaller than most outside Garniem with the houses often being more modest than the outer world and while it had an elegant carpet and ornate desk and chair these was a far sight from the Graffs’ luxurious furnishings during the height of the Ascendency.

Still, it was more comfortable than anywhere Volker had stayed on the long road that had led them from the Bloody Peak, and the responsibilities of his new position gave him a day-to-day sense of duty and purpose that had been somewhat absent in all the time he had wondered Carvania and the East after the Ascendancy’s fall.

Volker glanced across the room at Cormac, who had been perusing some ancient documents on the bookshelf as Volker read the latest missive that had been brought to his attention.

“Good… Galbridge says everything is on track with the evacuation.” Volker exhaled, placing the missive back on the desk, with a nod to himself. “Anyway… I wanted to ask you something.” His eyes flashed in the direction of the Everwatcher.

Cormac placed the two thousand year old scroll he had been perusing back on the shelf approaching the new King “I am at your service” he said in a tone that made it difficult to be sure if he meant it.

“I’m travelling to the Eastern Kingdoms soon for a gathering of my kind, it will be a useful opportunity to assess the lay of the land as our people head out into the world.” Volker paused, eyeing Cormac for any hint of a reaction before continuing; “I wondered if you had any advice on who should serve as regent in my absence? It will only be for a few days, but with my election having been so recent, and so controversial, I do not want it to invite weakness.”

Cormac paused for a moment, taken back by the seriousness and honesty of the question before taking a seat opposite Volker and answering “Greymane would be the more pleasing choice for the people and he certainly doesn’t want the

crown for himself though many of the nobles, and indeed people, would wish it rested still with him.” He looked carefully at Volker before continuing; “Leof would also be an acceptable choice, though he is untested and that could threaten his own Jarldom if he is always seen away from it. After all you have him spend so long in your court; few within the territory have really seen a difference in rule given his father's regency. Then of course there is Galbridge who would be able perhaps to best focus the nations resources but with little over a month before we depart are you sure it’s wise you leave the Kingdom? Do you not possess the power or influence to delay it?”

Volker chuckled at the scathing way in which Cormac chose to word the question. “It is essential. We would do well to learn where my kind hold sway in the outside world, especially given recent developments, it is knowledge that will serve us well in the long run.” He relaxed back in the chair, pondering; “Leof should be seen more in East Acre, his role as my advisor has been of great help, but in my absence he should do what he can to earn the trust of his people. Greymane will serve the role nicely.”

“I’ll have a crow sent to him soon, will de la Grey be at your meeting?”

Volker flashed a curious smile; “You are well informed… de la Grey is almost always present at these things.”

Cormac rested back in the chair “You should be careful of him now. Your kind have often seen humans as little more than pawns but you know well that the Garnians will not take lightly to being thrown around. If they suspect your loyalties lie elsewhere they won’t question your execution….”

“Your concern is noted Cormac, I thank you for sharing it with me and will endeavour not to let the needs of Vampirekind come before the needs of the Garnian people.”

“...Not to mention you may be one of the most powerful figures at that table now except perhaps for Lancel if we assume the Martellos fall under his will.”

“No doubt my election is one of the reasons the gathering has been called at this point, there have been strict conditions imposed on our interventions in mortal politics since the days of the purges, and yet now, Vampires sit on several Eastern thrones. I imagine it’ll be a lively discussion…” Volker chuckled again.

Cormac didn’t chuckle but offered a half-hearted smile “I simply wish to ensure you don’t allow de la Grey to control you, I didn’t second your election to bring in an era of war.” He paused looking out the window as the sun began its gradual descent into the mountains. “Regardless I shan't be back in Garniem till after the evacuation, is there anything else I might assist you with until then?”

“Leoff said you were planning one of your diplomatic tours, which Empire is it this time?” Volker asked, still not used to doing politics in a world that had more than one.

“I thought I’d visit the new Emperor of Golgotha, see if I can’t help stop all this chaos before more damage is done.”

Volker nodded. “Good luck, please pass on the best wishes of Garniem’s Brannon, and remind him that the Badlands would suit many of our evacuees just fine, if he still intends to welcome them. Our people are hardy enough to thrive there, even if Nordstierre’s climate would be more agreeable to the average Garnian!”

The pair exchanged understanding smiles. It was rare to find a pair of Garnians that, between the two of them, had seen so much of the outside world. Although that would not be the case for much longer...

[Revlona]

The Southern Pass, Bas County, Rivièreroux - 4E-152

The fall of Pacifica might have alerted neighbouring Rivièreroux to the advance of the Greenskin horde, but even in a supposedly unitary country, there was only so much Rivièreroux’s defenders could do before the horde descended upon them.

Ironskar’s path west towards Harmonia had lulled Queen Ilya’s advisors into a false sense of security, and the army they had begun to amass, the army that many in Rivièreroux were hoping would save them from the rampaging path of the apparent monsters, had been told not to expect an attack until only a few days ago, presenting a logistical nightmare for its commanders.

Nightmares of a different kind plagued the soldiers themselves. There were numerous rumours and wild theories circulating as to how the Greenskins had managed to pivot north in such great numbers and in such short a time. Some of the humans believed the Greenskins had used sorcery to brainwash the Harmonians, some thought Ironskar was a shape-shifter who had appealed to them not as a beast but as a man, while others even went so far as to suggest that these Greenskins were different to those who had come from the desert before; that this horde was composed of beings that were as calculating and capable of diplomacy as they were violent and capable of carnage.

Whichever rumour the defenders of Rivièreroux chose to believe was irrelevant now however, as the sun began to rise over the horizon and the war-drums began to beat from the south...

General Oren, who had rushed to establish his HQ in an abandoned watchtower atop one of the tallest hills in the vicinity, emerged onto the tower’s battlements. From there he could see right down through the steep hilly terrain he had chosen specifically for the purpose of making his stand.

The arid plains of Pacifica were caked in a hazy morning fog that hid the scale of the Greenskin Horde’s size from the General, and from those of his men positioned on the surrounding hills who would also be looking down on them. Although, given the circumstances and the reports of the sheer size of the horde, that was probably a good thing…

Oren had three divisions of Rivièreroux’s finest spread throughout the hills surrounding the pass, while several local, more adhoc, regiments were in position on the road itself, backed up by heavy cavalry and covered by what few cannons the General had been able to source locally. Last he had heard from Delsoir, there was a plan to equip the army with more supplies from Golgotha, but the horde’s sudden arrival had ensured his men would be unlikely to ever see them.

Still, Oren’s hope was that the Greenskins would recognise the local grunts on the road as the weaker target, and funnel themselves in through the pass, so that his cannons, protected by cavalry, could open up on them in the enclosed space. If he had more time he would have sent skirmishers and light cavalry out into Pacifica to harry the flanks, but the General had to be grateful he had even managed to get this much of a defense ready, given how quickly the horde had descended. If it hadn’t been for the delay caused by the uprising Pacifican force the Greenskins had encountered as they neared the border, Oren was certain that this pass would already be behind enemy lines, and the prospect of defending Rivièreroux would have become a lot more troubling...

The horde began to emerge from the fog, from what the defenders could see, their ranks were simply never ending, the sheer size of the ‘beasts’ set many a man on edge and the officers of the less experienced groups were called in to reestablish order and to calm their men. Some of the men felt a brief flash of hope as they noticed that the Greenies were getting close to the known maximum range of the cannons, which had been stress tested the day they had set up.

Their hopes were shattered as the horde stopped abruptly short of the line.

Ironskar Ribbreka viewed the human defensive fortifications with his customary scowl. Whoever the human commander was, he knew how to set up a good defense. Though it wasn’t as well-prepared as the one they had avoided fighting in Harmonia.

Ironskar looked to one of his darker-skinned body guards,”Go tell dem boar boyz ta get their arses up ere” he said.

The sudden shift in the Greenskin lines had many a man in the defensive lines draw their weapons prematurely, more than a few shuddering in fear and amazement at the sight of what emerged from the shift in the lines.

Several hundred boars the size of warhorses came trotting out, led by the reins by greenskins who were leathered up as if to be cavalry.

The men had heard rumors of giant boars from the south, but never in their wildest nightmares could they have imagined such beasts.

Ironskar looked at the commander of the Boar Boyz, “Hit dem there in the pass hard, kill a good bit of dem then get back ere, got et?” The Boar Boyz leader nodded, then roared some Greenskin gibberish and mounted up along with his men.

They started towards the lines at a slower pace, before picking it up and going to a trot as the artillery began to fire. Several boars went down, causing cheers among the humans, but to their horror more than a few immediately stood back up, showing off the muscles where their flesh had been torn.

Finally the group broke into a charge and hit the terrified men.

Atop his vantage point, General Oren calmly turned to his adjutents and placed his hands behind his back. “The Greenskins ride boars as a form of cavalry.” He raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t we know about this?”

There was a murmur of disquiet among the officers.

“No matter.” Oren sighed. “Have the artillery commanders switch to grapeshot and adjust their fire down into the pass.”

One of the commanders piped up; “But sir! At that angle, we run the risk of hitting our own men!”

“A small sacrifice for the defence of the realm.” Oren let out, cooly turning back to the edge of the tower to watch his orders be carried out.

Truthfully giving such an order cut him deeply, but he had come to terms with the fact that something like that would be needed when he had decided to station the local levies in the pass instead of his hardened soldiers, theirs was a sacrifice Rivièreroux could afford, painful or not.

Below, the artillery crews frantically loaded grapeshot and adjusted their cannons as the boars ripped into the levies, whose line of pikes failed to topple more than a handful of boars as the charge hit.

As the fighting grew more frantic the morale of the levies did not take long to waver, but as the foremost ranks began to look for an escape, those pressed into the narrow pass behind them pushed them forward, forcing them against the tusks of the boars and the swords and axes of the Greenskins that rode them in a bloody melee.

Then the cannons fired. The roar of a synchronous volley deafening the troops at such a short range and spraying shrapnel into the fray. Boars, Greenskins, and levies alike all dropped, flesh rent with thousands of tiny cannonball fragments.

The pained screams of the dying men and animals drifted up through the pass towards General Oren, who leant against the tower’s battlement and hid his face in his hand. As the boar cavalry began to withdraw, their sortie having succeeded in softening up the forces in the pass, Oren composed himself and looked out at the horde, wondering what their next move would be....

On his own side of the battlefield Ironskar watched the charge and ensuing massacre with no emotion.

He watched the survivors of the charge straggle back, a good third of them had been wiped out by the grapeshot and were just now returning.

Truth be told, he cared little for the Boyz, whose commander was often vocally disloyal, and was pleased to see that most of the casualties were riders, and that many of the the Boarz were returning, the Boyz were easy to replace, it was the boarz that were hard to train that were the problem.

Seeing that the humans were softened, both physically and mentally, he unsheathed his great axe and ordered the general charge.

“COMMAN BOYZ! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH” He yelled at the top of his lungs.

There was no subtlety to his new strategy, he had seen enough to know that the best course of action was simple. He took the first step forward, and led the entire horde straight towards the hills and up into the defensive lines of the humans...

[Greater Latica]

Delsoir Harbour, Desloir, Rivièreroux - 4E-152

The Alainastan commander was forced to watch powerless as the battlecruiser SMS Kaiser steamed into the harbour, the orange and white striped Golgothan flags flying from her masts.

There was a not too distant time when the elven navy dominated the seas, able to roam with total freedom, using magic to tame the winds and bend them to their will. Then the Golgothans came with their pesky steamships, and they too were no longer constrained by the wind. Now that they had begun to establish more and more coaling stations, fuel was becoming less of a limitation, extending their range and station time. Even the traditional refuge of the elven fleets in the Pyr river was being eroded, as Golgotha was able to push further and further east, chipping away at the historic dominance of the elves in the region.

The tremendous wooden polyreme warships were no match for the SMS Kaiser, and were even more outclassed by the SMS Dreadnaught and her escorts further out, which had been deployed to the river since the destruction of the bridge at Siaph.

The presence of the Golgothans, and the contempt they showed for the Alainastan blockade of Rivièreroux, in effect since the supposed attack on Rennoa, angered the Alainastan commander. Golgothan ships, some flying the Golgothan stripes and others flying the guild of seafarers ensign had been escorting trade ships and interfering in his boarding parties, in flagrant disregard of the power of the elves, reducing his mission to little more than an expensive flag waving exercise. The elves were an aging empire, and this just highlighted it to the world. It was almost humiliating.

________________

Prince Leopold’s thoughts were not quite so deep, he was driven by the curiosity of Prince Marius’ enigmatic letter, but it was clearly important if it necessitated the deployment of both of the Far East fleet’s capital ships.

Prince Leopold watched as the Warship eased into the protected area of the harbour. The Harbour itself lacked the heavy machinery and equipment needed to manoeuvre and maintain a ship of her size and complexity, while numerous merchant ships lined the harbourside docks. This meant that Prince Leopold and the shore party had to dismount onto the ship’s smaller boats to make landfall.

When they finally arrived, they found the wooden pier lined with ceremonially-armoured musicians, who struck up an upbeat rendition of the Golgothan national anthem as Leopold advanced. Prince Marius waited half-way down the pier and flashed him a smile as he approached. The two Princes greeted each other jovially, before Marius began to lead the way down the pier.

“Your message was rather cryptic, my friend, I’ve been racking my mind, what problem could you possibly have that only I can solve? It’s killing me, you have to let me know.” Leopold exclaimed

“Negotiations have stalled,” Marius replied quietly allowing the band to cover his voice so only Leopold could hear him, “Queen Ilya wants to play difficult, so I thought I’d call in the expert.”

“Surely you can handle one woman?” Leopold laughed

“Not in the way this one wants to be handled.”

Prince Leopold raised his eyebrow, “This isn’t going to be like last time, when you teased me with that sweetie Amelia on your arm?”

“Not at all, Ilya’s all yours for the taking. Hush now in case she hears us.”

The two Princes carried on walking down the pier towards the royal entourage. Prince Leopold bowed deeply, and Prince Marius introduced him.

“Your Royal Majesty, this is Prince Leopold Von Averstierre, Prince of Averstierre and its representative in the Golgothan Imperial court.”

Leopold stood, taking her hand in his and kissing it gently, “At your service.”

Queen Ilya bit back a giggle as she looked Leopold up and down. The Prince was older than Marius had led her to believe, but something about the way he carried himself and the confidence with which he took her hand suggested he had a rugged, unorthodox demeanour and Ilya seemed to like that very much.

“Prince Leopold.” Rivièreroux’s queen smiled, still eyeing him carefully. She adjusted her emerald green dress as she continued; “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, especially after the good Prince Marius gave you such a flattering recommendation.”

It was Leopold’s turn to cast his eyes over the Queen. Her slender and youthful half-elven beauty was amplified by the corset of her dress, the patterns that danced across the green fabric complimenting her eyes perfectly while her light hair hung in artful braids beneath her crown. The Prince almost seemed entranced by her beauty.

After a slightly awkward pause Leopold came around; “...I’m… sure he did. Do you mind me asking exactly what service he was recommending me for?” A knowing tone crept into his voice.

Ilya giggled openly this time. “Why… To marry me and help secure the future of Rivièreroux…” She locked eyes with him flirtatiously. “Both militarily; in terms of defensive commitments, and dynastically; as my advisors never fail to remind me that I’m currently short on heirs.”

As she mentioned her advisors Ilya tilted her head towards the large cluster of nobles and functionaries that formed the entourage behind her.

Leopold was struggling to hide his own smile. “Well your majesty, in that particular subject matter, I am sure I wouldn’t disappoint!” He flashed a smirk to Marius, before looking back to Ilya.

“Good. Well I think you’d do nicely.” She smiled, innocently enough.

[Cheye]

Pyr County, Carvania – 4E-152

Two Golgothan soldiers made their way along the muddy bank of the Pyr. It was a cloudy afternoon, but considering the rest of Carvania was gripped by a cold and snowy winter, these two soldiers were enjoying the fact that this far south, this was about as bad as the weather could get.

The garrison sent to secure Ista Upon Pyr had been met with open arms by the local Count, Morvran Var Horris and despite bringing in their own supplies so as not to impose on the Carvanian people, the Count had insisted on having the finest delicacies sent to their encampment to make them feel as welcome as possible. Morvran Var Horris was a man who saw the benefits of Golgotha’s presence in Carvania, and he wanted them to know it.

Because of this the men were in high spirits as their patrol came to a shallow inlet, and they turned to follow the muddy path back inland. Just then, one of the soldiers caught sight of something in the water and pointed it out to his comrade in arms; “What do you think it is?” He asked, and they both peered into the gloomy water.

“Looks like a body…” The second soldier replied with a sigh.

“Better fish it out.” The first stated flatly, and the pair waded into the shallow water to do exactly that.

As they approached, they could see that the thing floating nearby was indeed a corpse. The pair stood over it, looking awkwardly to one another before glancing down at it, neither really wanting to pull it up, given the evidently far-gone state of decomposition visible through the murky water.

Suddenly the corpse’s eyes flashed open through the water. Before either soldier could react, two strong wet arms flung up and violently gripped the men by their uniforms. The living corpse let out an inhuman growl as its head surfaced, before pulling them into the river with a powerful splash.

The soldiers kicked and struggled as the creature held them there. One of the condemned men drew his sword and tried to hack at the beast’s arm, only to lose it in the struggle, the weapon sinking into the depths of the Pyr.

Eventually the commotion came to a stop and an eerie silence fell upon the inlet. Two more bodies now floated there, barely visible beneath the surface of the brown water, as the Drowner retook its position close to the shore, and waited for its next overly-curious victim.

Several minutes passed before the clouds immediately above began to glow orange. A whistling noise ringing through the air as suddenly, a giant balloon, with a basket dangling beneath it, lurched out of the sky.

The canvass of the balloon was covered in flames, and they had gotten to the ropes attached to the basket, leaving it suspended by only the narrowest of threads. The lone figure in the basket raised a hand towards the fire, attempting to douse it with magic.

The damage had already been done however, and as the fire tore away at the canvass above, the balloon lost its altitude completely, sending the whole contraption tumbling from the sky into the watery inlet.

“Shit...” Talia let out as the basket tipped up, moments before she was sent flying into the water.

Fortunately her form-fitting and functional clothing wouldn’t weigh her down in the water and she began to swim towards the shore.

The wreckage of the balloon hit the water behind her with a loud blast as she reached the shallows and rose to her feet. She was covered in mud and other sewage, but knew that a quick burst of magic would sort that once she was back on dry land.

She stepped closer towards the shore. A cold and slippery hand suddenly reached through the water and locked around her ankle.

“...Fucking Drowners!...” Talia growled, struggling to stay upright as the writhing beast attempted to pull her down into the water. She knew she had to be careful as she tried to think of a way of dispatching the creature. A lightning bolt of the kind that would usually get her out of trouble, cast into water, would surely electrocute her, fire wasn’t an option, and short of channeling a great deal of energy into water magic to drain the inlet, the earthy riverbank provided her only option.

She stretched out her palm as her legs buckled, attempting to summon a large rock that was poking out of the mud further up the bank, sweat ran from her brow, along with river water and muck as the rock began to come loose and levitate through the air towards her.

As the beast finally succeeded in dragging her down, she flung her arm in its direction, sending the boulder splashing into the shallow water and crushing the Drowner’s head. The splash covered her in yet more dirty water, but the strong arms that held her legs went limp, and she was able to rise once more and make her way to shore.

“Why does everything in this country always seem so intent on snuffing out human life!?” Talia groaned to herself as she glanced back at the barely-visible body of the Drowner in the water and the two other uniformed bodies floating down-river a ways, no doubt previous victims.

She sighed, and prepared to channel her magic into drying off her clothes and cleaning her hair and skin. A sorceress of her standing at the university, the first woman ever to have been appointed as Court Wizard to the Viziers of Saiph couldn’t be seen travelling through rural Carvania covered in mud like a common peasant. As her hands grew warmer, she raised them to her hair and was about to begin the cleaning spell, when suddenly a loud commanding voice rang out; “Hands Up!”

Talia simply groaned, turning to look at the treeline inland as several soldiers emerged, all pointing rifles in her direction; “My hands are up!” She scoffed, holding them there.

She dispelled the magic emanating from her palms upon recognising that their advanced rifles and functional uniforms made the troops stand out as Golgothan. Golgothans didn’t like magic, and as familiar as she was with Carvania’s current constitutional crisis, she was pretty sure these men wouldn’t think twice about branding her as a Vampire if it meant a reward for their efforts.

“We’re lookin’ for two members of our section.” One of the men said, his accent marking him out as both foreign and from a poorer background. They still kept their rifles trained on her. “Heard a loud noise over ‘ere but upon closer inspection ‘ere we find you, covered in muck an’ talking to yourself? Who are ya’? What’s goin’ on?”

“I’m Talia Grimm. I’m travelling up to Farvas. The loud noise you heard was probably my doing…” She paused, unsure what to reveal. “...My methods of crossing the Pyr were rather... improvised, I’m sure you’ve heard about the attack on the Pyr River Crossing at Saiph?”

Another soldier eyed her skeptical; “Why didn’t you just book passage on a ship?”

“I didn’t have time.” Talia rolled her eyes irritably. “I heard about the trouble up there, wanted to get back quick and make sure my family were safe. This is the most direct route...”

“You can say that again!” The first soldier chuckled, pointing at her mud-soaked clothes. “What’d ya’ swim?”

“Very funny.” She replied coolly, stepping toward them. They kept their rifles trained on her. She sighed and added; “I think Drowners got your friends. There are bodies in the water.”

“Drowners!?” One of the other soldiers muttered.

“Drowners are made up to scare children into staying out of rivers and lakes…” Another scoffed, eyeing her suspiciously.

“Maybe in Golgotha. In Carvania, and parts of the Eastern Kingdoms, they are as real as they are… annoying.” Talia let out, placing her hands on her hips sternly as she spoke.

“Did ‘ear one of the officer’s mention somein’ about Drowners once. Could be true.” The first soldier shrugged.

“Fuck off...” The one eyeing her suspiciously spat. “...She’s hiding something.”

Talia glanced at the men, there were six of them, all low ranking infantrymen from as far as she could tell. More than one was eyeing her wet body up and down as the others spoke, and she didn’t want to begin to think about how they would start treating her if she did anything to arouse their suspicions.

“I assure you gentlemen, I am but a humble traveller.” She said, though she couldn’t hide her noble accent and as she thought about it, her words barely sounded convincing.

“We should bring her in, Prince Ferdinand’s told the officers to keep an eye out for educated young women. Think she could be ‘Melia Van Der Barr?” The first asked his comrades, slowly stepping towards her.

“Rubbish, this one’s got ashen hair. Van Der Barr’s is darker, almost raven black.” One of the others answered quietly.

“How do you know what Amelia Van Der Barr looks like?” Another queried, slinging his rifle over his shoulder casually.

“I’ve seen her painting!”

“Yeah? Rubbed one out to her painting more like it!?” The other teased, eliciting laughter from the rest of the soldiers.

“So you think I’m Carvania’s ruler?!” Talia smirked. “Well I hate to disappoint but-” The first cut her off. Walking up to her and jabbing his rifle into her side, gesturing for her to move.

“Emperor Nikolas is Carvania’s ruler now, no matter what the locals think.” He said sternly as she complied, gesturing to show she was unarmed before making her way up the muddy path to the treeline. “Look if ya’ are Van Der Barr, we get commended for bringin’ ya’ in. If ya’ ain’t, I’m sure the commander’ll let ya’ go on ya’ way.”

“Maybe he’ll even let us escort her…” One of the others leered as she walked by. “Carvania’s a dangerous place for a woman to be travelling alone.”

“Aye, I bet she’d love having us along to keep her company on those dark nights on the road.” Another chuckled.

For her part Talia ignored them, she could at least explain herself properly to someone in charge without having to worry about unwanted advances or the threat of summary execution. And, as they started up the path that would lead back to the road to Ista Upon Pyr, she hoped that would be the end of the troubles that had marred her journey from Saiph so far...

[Sarrin]

The Bog, Carvania - 4E-152

A lone river boat crept its way through the marsh, its occupants hidden by the reeds and bushes that lined the shore. As a wooden structure loomed out of the dark fog ahead, the boatman rowed towards it, bringing his vessel in before hopping off and tethering it to the side of the rickety wooden pier.

He was a Bog Runner. A workman of the ‘Bog People’, a semi-nomadic and disperate ethnic group that resided throughout Carvania’s marshlands and river tributaries, who called the swamps their home. Bog People communities had gained a well-earned reputation for dubious morals and criminal activity, but it was the Bog Runners themselves, an organisation within the community that served as messengers and couriers throughout the swamps, that were the real troublemakers, having often come into conflict with the law for smuggling arms, narcotics and other illegal goods across the country.

As the Bog Runner secured the boat and nodded down to the hooded passengers, he said something in his own language before smiling as the first passenger to join him up on the pier placed a hefty sack of sovereigns into his hands.

“This way, sir.” The passenger on the pier said calmly, extending a hand to the next, who gripped it tightly, the malformed fingers of the second passenger’s hand curling around the first’s to ensure his grip.

Once he had climbed up onto the pier, Count Ludovic Sokolov of Komovi lowered his hood, and advanced towards the wooden store-house ahead of him, without looking back to see if his entourage had followed him.

Candlelight flickered from the windows and through gaps in the shoddy wooden walls that lined the decrepit old building, suggesting that somebody was already waiting for Ludovic inside.

He lurched over to the door and turned the handle, his men rushing to catch up with him, to ensure his protection from whatever awaited inside. He didn’t wait for them, and proceeded inside with all the vigour he could muster.

Rufus Black sat calmly on a wooden chair beside a dusty old table, a Gologthan scout tied and gagged resting atop it with a soft slow trail of blood pouring from his neck which Rufus was catching in his cup, a gesture he neither stopped nor concealed as Ludovic entered.

“I hear the two of us have similar hobbies, only you’ve been able to enjoy yourself recently while I’ve not killed a spanner in some time.” He said half joking as he moved the full glass to his lips savouring the taste.

Ludovic furled his brow slightly, almost as if he were lost for words. He stepped closer to Rufus, examining the scout on the table and the ornate, and distinctly out of place, cup of blood Rufus held.

A tense silence lingered in the air, marred only by the entrance of Ludovic’s guards. One of them gasped upon seeing Rufus drinking blood so brazenly and drew his sword; “Get behind me Count!” The guard shouted, trying to put himself between Rufus and Ludovic. “If this violent creature makes a move I will end it!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Ludovic barked, stepping to the side and slapping the guard around the face with an open palm.

Rufus looked at the guard amused, he had raised a few fingers half-heartedly as the guard drew his blade but calmly waved his index as Ludovic spoke and lowered them, instead taking another sip. “Shall we have our friends leave so they don’t interrupt us? I assure you if I wanted to kill you I’d have already done it.”

Ludovic flashed Rufus a wicked smile before turning to the guard and jabbing a finger into his chest; “You have offended our visitor. Why don’t you apologise and get the fuck out?!” He barked, his voice rising in volume as he spoke.

“Yes sir, I’m sorry sir.” The guard let out quickly after stowing his blade.

Ludovic slapped him again, this time with the back of his hand. “Not to me! To him!” He gestured, almost politely, to Rufus.

“Sorry sir.” The disciplined guard whimpered, as Ludovic shoved him in the direction of the door and shoed the others out as if they were no more than moths being expelled from a window.

Rufus chuckled and made another gesture with his hand to an unseen and unknown amount of his own people to disperse before taking another sip of his chalice and standing from the chair. As he placed the chalice onto the table he took a knife from his belt and offered it to Ludovic. “I’m quite full if you’d like to kill the mule, I’ve already cut off his cock and balls so I’m fairly sure the cunt doesn’t know anything.”

Ludovic inspected the knife like he were an artist examining the hairs of a fine paint-brush. His dark eyes flickered in the candlelight as another smile crossed his face and he suddenly launched the blade down into the stomach of the scout, twisting it agonizingly once it was in, in order to do as much damage to the man’s liver and small intestine as possible. The man cried out against his gag, but was held too tightly to offer any resistance. As new blood spurted out, Rufus smirked and moved his cup to fill it once more to the top simply raising a glance to Ludovic as he remarked “Perhaps I’ve got enough room for a little more...”

Ludovic frowned as the scout’s muffled screams seemed to halt, having passed out from his wounds, he withdrew the knife and slashed the throat in a single fluid motion, before dropping it beside the man’s body and turning to Rufus; “Not used to doing a Vampire’s dirty work... but I should have known someone as well connected as the Alpha of the Grey Wolves would be a fucking blood-drinker. And it takes a lot to surprise a man like me, Black.”

“Dirty work? My dear count I meant it as a treat!” He chuckled slightly as he took his seat again and gestured to a second chair around the table “The vampirism is actually a recent change though you’d be right that many of my lieutenants have chosen to adopt it in the past, now i’m one of the ‘purebloods’ I’ve been more keen on them enjoying it’s perks.”

Ludovic shrugged, seemingly ignoring the remark as he let out; “Me? I don’t care about Vampires, fucking ancestors did quite nicely out of working with them in fact. The Spanners though?” He pointed to the dead body. “They hate Vampires… I suspect that’d be why you agreed to meet? No?”

“Golgotha has always been a problem, it’s a giant narcissistic cyst that believes the sun shines out it’s emperor’s arse, if it wasn’t for my own people the Medinians would have no doubt coerced the Archmage of the Arcane Academy to cast the Final Enactment and drop the bloody meteorite he’s always been banging on about onto them. He’s supposed to have theoretically proven he can do it. If they’re stupid enough to try and wipe us out we might even bloody end up doing it, I’m here to try and make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Ludovic nodded, as much as he had always got on with Wilhelm, sorcerers and their magics bored him for the most part, he cared far more about what Rufus meant by that last part; “Are you saying you don’t want the chance at a big old war with the spanners?”

“I’m saying that an open war is a waste of our lives and it would be far wiser to let nature take its course, or perhaps more aptly, for nature to be reminded of it’s own abilities…” As he reached the end he finished his glass of blood and smiled slightly at Ludovic’s mad expression.

“And by nature you mean the whoresons, bastards and cunts of Komovi?” Ludovic raised a brow, intrigued.

“While I’m happy to give your people all the guns, ammunition and assistance you require, I was thinking we play a far more painful game. Tell me Ludovic, what do you know of the Great Plague that birthed our third era?”

Ludovic raised his deformed hand to his forehead in thought and tilted his head slightly; “Little more than can be found in the history books…”

Rufus stood from his chair as he spoke slowly making his way towards a shelf covered by a long cloth “At its peak it infected nearly all of the known world and by its twilight had killed nearly half of those that dwelt upon it. To this day we don’t know what caused it or really what exactly spread it but we in Medina do know one thing; It can be spread by blood.”

Ludovic’s eyes narrowed and he shrugged; “And?”

“Thanks to the foresight of some of the older families and powerful magic Medina still has the plague stored in vials of blood. Vials that could easily be used to infect a Golgothan garrison, a Golgothan noble and then say, a Golgothan population. The best part however is not that the spanners best medicine would be used to fight the new plague. It’s that they would be fighting the plague’s evolving form, you see our mages stored vials from the disease every year hoping one day we would reach a level of science that could understand it.” Taking a moment to relish Rufus dramatically pulled off the cloth to reveal twelve kegs each of which stood next to a small crate.

“The kegs are already infected and have been proven to infect anyone who drinks from them. The boxes contain a further four samples each that you can use at your leisure. You possess rangers who can infect Golgothan supply lines, returning forces and even those that occupy your lands. Either spread it to settlements in Carvania so the Golgothans won’t go near it or revive the plague in their homelands so the whole of Minern blames Golgotha for it’s return!” As he finished he smiled and raised his arms as if before a triumphant bow. “This is the gift of the Grey Wolves to you, and this is why I agreed to meet you.”

Ludovic nodded slowly, eyes widening as he inspected the kegs. His candlelit face couldn’t hide the joy that Rufus’s words had elicited within him. His mad grin slowly spread across from ear to ear. “We’re going to fucking kill them all.” He muttered.

“Once the plague tears through the common folk discontent will rise, we’ll let them start clawing at each other's throats and then with the right funding and arms they’ll destroy themselves for us. We’ll take a hit to our numbers sure but it’ll be a drop in the ocean compared to the spanners.”

Ludovic scrunched his face, as if he were contemplating with great sadness the losses they would incur with this stratagem. In the candlelight it wasn’t clear if the face was serious or mock, and the doubt didn’t go away as Ludovic spoke; “It’ll be fucking tragic Black, fucking tragic…” He shrugged, then smiled once more; “...But even freedom has a price. No?”

Rufus smiled as he walked towards the mad count of Komovi “The Bog Runners will provide any conventional weapons you need, my people will know your shortages before you do.” He reached into the dead scouts chest and ripped out his heart with inhuman strength; “If you need anything else just leave a pile of these on the main road to Franchea, I’ll get the message.”

As he finished he just chuckled taking a few steps back before transforming into a bat and flying up through a hole in the roof. The heart now weeping blood onto the floor as Ludovic turned his impressed gaze towards the arsenal before him, knowing in his own mad way that salvation was at hand.

Now he simply had to decide where best to deploy them...

[Cheye]

Ista Upon Pyr, Pyr County, Carvania - 4E-152

“It wouldn’t surprise me if Vadim hasn’t destroyed every road connecting Osterpyr with the rest of civilization.” Count Morvran Var Horris sighed. “That nasty attack on the Pyr River Crossing probably had his blessing as well, the man’s been addled since his wife died.” The Count spoke with a unique accent that might have sounded Franchean to the untrained ear, but it had a Teusten sharpness to it; a product of his childhood having been spent growing up on noble estates right across the breadth of northern Minern.

A Golgothan naval officer, sitting slightly down the long dining table across from Morvran, who wore a uniform decorated with the epaulettes and braids of a Commodore, nodded woefully. “Well the Count seems to think himself above the law. He has barely complied with Edmure’s order to allow our men to encamp! Nevermind the billeting issue at Fort Drak!”

“Fortunately for us, the destruction of the crossing has redirected trade out of Osterpyr. If Vadim joins Ludovic in his idealistic rebelion, it won’t starve the rest of us of trade from the south.” Morvran nodded to himself and took a long sip of wine before continuing; “In terms of shipping; Ista Upon Pyr is the closest Carvanian port to Bursa, meaning the likely cessation of trade through Saiph and Osterpyr could stand to benefit my county… immensely.”

“I am sure the Golgothan Empire would welcome that.” The Commodore nodded. “You have been a most-loyal supporter of our mission here, Count Morvran.”

“I have…” Morvran smiled faintly. “I have seen too much of the world to believe that we are well served by resisting progress just because it originates beyond our borders. Perhaps it is the internationalist in me talking, but I long for a world in which the people of Rivièreroux or Mieera are as much my kin as those of Carvania. The Golgothan political system, clunky and corrupt as it sometimes is, remains the most effective vessel for delivering us that world.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” The Golgothan nodded, taking a sip of his own wine. “Didn’t you say you grew up in the Empire?”

Morvran gave a slight shake of his head; “Before he met my mother, the Countess, my father was a cartographer from Teustengrund. He continued his work during my childhood and I accompanied him on various voyages, and stayed at the estates of various patrons in Ludendorff, and Hoch, but also Val Lyonesse, Vallia’s Stand, Bursa, and the like. And at his old home in Steinteust, of course.”

Morvran continued; “I suppose I did see a lot of the Empire growing up in such a fashion, and then when I got my commission in the Carvanian Navy, I did some training at the Royal Imperial Naval Academy.” The Count ran a hand through his long, lifeless, straight hair before placing his wine-glass down on the table and adding; “Regardless, I will continue to assist your efforts here in Carvania and will try and talk with Count Vadim on your behalf. I might have a chat with the Count of Obersgilitz too while I’m at it, I understand he’s being plied with prostitutes by those who would oppose your efforts to spread civilisation here.To think that a man’s loyalty could be bought for so little!”

The Commodore nodded obligingly and smiled in agreement; “Count Henri has complied with Count Edmure’s decrees… so far.”

Morvran nodded cooly; “So far being the operative words.”

Suddenly the doors to the dining room burst open and a group of Golgothan soldiers rather casually showed themselves in.

The officer rose from his seat, his face turning red with rage as the men failed to notice his presence, their eyes seemed to be locked, for the most part, on the curvaceous young blonde who accompanied them.

“HOW DARE YOU ENTER THIS ROOM LIKE A PACK OF WILD BEASTS!” The Commodore shrieked, rising from the table.

The men instantly pulled themselves together and stood to attention, saluting their senior officer.

“I ought to have you all flogged!” The Commodore declared.

Count Morvran sat at the table coolly, unfazed by the display, having served in the Carvanian Navy he was used to both unruly soldiers and military discipline.

“What in the name of the flame do you think you’re all doing here?” The officer asked, without acknowledging their salutes.

“Lieutenant Gerrick sent us to Commander Hemmel, who told us not to bother Captain Garel and instead bring this one, that we found on the road outside town, straight to you sir.” The first soldier explained, rather simply, with a nod towards the woman.

“And who is this one?” The Commodore asked, raising a curious brow.

“I’m Talia Orianna Grimm. Verified Sorceress of the Tower of Magisters and Court Wizard to the Viziers of Saiph, and I’m running terribly behind schedule.” The woman let out, projecting confidence.

“Behind schedule for what, exactly?” The Commodore asked, moving around the dining table towards her.

“I’m returning home to my family in Farvas... I needn’t remind you that as a member of the court of a sovereign power such as Saiph, diplomatic custom requires you to help me on my way.”

“We thought she might be a spy sir, or ‘Melia Van Der Barr in disguise.” One of the soldiers let out.

Count Morvran chuckled, sizing her up and down. “That’s not Amelia Van Der Barr, soldier.” His eyes locked on to Talia’s own. “But ‘Grimm’? That’s a bastard name in Farvas, is it not?”

Talia shifted slightly in her boots before answering; “It is.”

“So from there it wouldn’t be a leap to guess that you could be a noble’s child? How else would a female practitioner of magic end up so highly placed among the Viziers of Saiph?” Morvran seemed to be talking more to himself than to Talia or the Commodore. “Which invites the question; why the hurry? And why travel on foot in this part of the world? A noble sorceress could surely afford to hire a ship to Val Lyonesse and a carriage all the way to Farvas…”

Talia sighed, realising he had already worked out too much to get away with lying; “I believe my family were caught up in the recent Barons’ Revolt. I want to make sure they’re safe.”

“And who are your family, what makes you think they were caught up in it?” The Count pressed, his face conveying a genuine curiosity.

“My father is a senior advisor to the Chancellor of Farvas, when I heard that there had been fighting at the Borderlands Palace, that so many nobles had been killed, I had to return home to see for myself…”

“And your mother?” Morvran asked, fiddling idly with his wine glass as he carefully read her face.

“A half-elf cook in the Palace, I fear she too could have been in great danger, along with my sister. If the rumours are true they still could be…”

Morvran nodded. “I understand.” He sighed sympathetically. “My own upbringing was somewhat unorthodox and it would not have taken much for me to have found myself in a similar position.” He paused, before adding; “As for Farvas, we have heard very little. Only that the new Chancellor has applied to join the Sunset Empire to ensure continued security now that the Barons have had their titles revoked.”

Talia frowned, stroking her chin thoughtfully; “Such a move would be unprecedented in the history of the Borderlands, the Barons represented the will of the people to the government in Farford! By the flame, my father would never have allowed this!” Her voice twanged with emotion.


Count Morvran nodded, rising from the table with a smile. “I will provide you with a horse from my personal stables, and supplies to see you safely to Farvas. Travel via Tharis and avoid Komovi, the whole county is a warzone at the moment.”

“Thank you.” Talia bowed her head to the Count respectfully.

“Know that I only do this on the condition that you report back to us with news of how you find Farvas.” He exchanged glances with the Golgothan Commodore. “It would be in the interests of both Carvania and the Golgothan Empire to know as much as possible about the crisis that has unfolded within the Borderlands. If you learn anything significant, anything at all, please send word.”

Talia nodded in agreement; “I will gladly keep an eye out, my lord. It is good to know that important people still care about what happens in places like Farvas.”

“As well they should! The people of Minern must stand together in times like these, else who knows what could be lurking in the shadows, waiting to take advantage of our division? Isn’t that right Commodore?”

The Commodore nodded in agreement, finally acknowledging the salutes of the troopers and letting them stand at ease before dismissing them.

As Talia turned to follow them, Morvran muttered to himself; “Good luck to you, Talia Orianna Grimm. May you bring light where there is darkness.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Karaz-a-Karak, The Kharadron Mountains - 4E-152

The tunnels and mines that ran beneath the great dwarven capital were as vast as they were complex. Passageways ran alongside underground lakes and crossed vast chasms deep beneath the world above. Many of these passageways were home to small mining and metal-working communities that had identities of their own, using Karaz-a-Karak above as little more than a venue from which to sell their goods.

Small stone houses were carved into the walls of the passageways, often piled above one another and connected by shoddy wooden walkways, a far cry from the more ornate stonework architecture that was prevalent in the city above. This deep, the only source of light was artificial, and in so poor a community lamps and torches were a precious commodity used only sparingly and where it was absolutely essential. It was not uncommon for idle or drunken dwarves to take a wrong turn into a shadowy passage only to be never seen or heard from again. Especially so now that this underground warren had become a Vampire’s hunting ground.

Remly Rorik had done everything Desdemona and Hans Von Richter had asked of him. At first he had been skeptical of their claims that they had given him a gift by turning him into a Vampire like them, but after a few weeks learning how to master his new powers, and with only the pair of them for company, he soon understood perfectly.

When they had finally instructed him to return to Karaz-a-Karak and report in on the massacre of the Iron Legion at Karaz-Undiil, he had been nervous, almost certain that his survival would arouse suspicion resulting in his own exposure. Ultimately though the reaction of the Low King to the loss of so many legionaries had been so emotional and full of anger that nobody had questioned Remly at all.

The Low King’s advisors had openly descended into an argument over whether the situation in Karaz-Undiil was something the dwarves should seek Golgothan help with, or whether it was a matter best left to their own forces. In his mortal life, Remly had been only vaguely aware of the wider, highly charged debate currently raging in the court of the Low King as to whether the Kharadron dwarves should work with, or even integrate into the Golgothan Empire, or continue on in their tradition of relative isolationism.

There were nobles and advisors on both sides, and although the Low King himself seemed keen to work with the Gologthans moving forward, it was unclear to many outside his close circle of advisors and friends, as to how far from their isolationist roots he might be prepared to take his people.

Rather than simply dismissing him as most rulers might, the Low King had actually been keen to hear Remly’s view, curious as to whether the sole survivor of the Vampires of Karaz-Undiil had any special insight to offer.

Desdemona and Hans had told him to expect something like this, though even they would have been surprised to learn that it was the Low King himself asking. Regardless, he had done as they instructed, conveying the importance of reorganising and rebuilding the Iron Legion to the Low King, rather than immediately retaliating or applying to the Golgothans for help. As far as Remly could tell, the King, still reeling from the loss of so many of his personal guard, seemed eager to agree.

After another day in the capital, Remly received a promotion by royal decree and was given a special assignment to recruit men into the Iron Legion who would be strong and capable enough to stand up to the Vampires when the Low King was finally ready to launch the next attack on Karaz-Undiil. This mission suited Remly well, given Desdemona and Hans had also instructed him to find dwarves that they could manipulate or turn to give them an advantage in their underground war.

As Remly stalked the passageways of the mines beneath the capital, he spotted a lone miner, staggering back through the darkness in the direction of the nearby houses.

Remly smiled to himself as he pressed against the side of the tunnel and hid behind a boulder as the miner walked past. This dwarf, just like all the other dwarves of the Kharadron Mountains, had no idea how much danger he was in.

As Remly quietly crept up on the miner and launched his attack, efficiently restraining him and sinking his fangs into the dwarf’s bearded neck, a strange wave of pride washed over him. It was almost as if Desdemona were watching him, congratulating him on a successful feeding.

As Remly finally dropped the miner to the floor to bleed out, his enhanced eyesight spotted a shadow move suddenly nearby.

Remly’s eyes widened as a female voice muttered softly through the gloomy passage.

“Remly Rorik. You have done well...”

[Sarrin]

The Grand Colosseum, Bursa – 4E-152

Harold was used to the politics of elections. As one of the major houses the Godwin’s support often went a long way to deciding victors in Medina and their position held even greater weight in Bursa thanks to his ancestors founding the city-state. What he wasn’t prepared for however was the level and brutality of bloodshed that Bursans embraced.

Outside of elections gladiatorial combats were nearly daily occurrences with grand tournaments sponsored by powerful families held once a month to pit the best against one another. In elections however the fights were grand everyday with nearly every arena in the city sporting champions, beasts and deadly traps to woo the masses.

This particular tournament was being held in the Grand Colosseum that sat at the heart of the second ‘expansion’, the local name given to the huge area of the city beyond its original walls but before it’s second. The building was a testament to the cities wealth and was the largest in the city, though only by a small margin, with enough space for nearly a hundred thousand people. It’s grandeur however came not from its size but the magic integrated into the stonework making every seat in the colosseum able to enjoy a clear view of the fighting regardless of how far away they sat.

In the arena the Godwins and Arastina’s, who were still officially competing in the election, had set their finest warriors against each other for the joys of the already frothing masses. For nine days the tournament had been waged and at last the final fight was being shown between the Godwin champion, and mercenary leader of the Red Sons, Aladir Farhad and the Arastina champion, a former captain of the Tranquility, Lysanthir Elabar. While not a seat of the colosseum had been empty since the tourney started this fight had overwhelmed the grounds as citizens piled in to watch the grand finale.

As the announcer began to introduce the two champions and list their various achievements Harold looked over to Bashar who sat in the VIP box next to him. There were numerous boxes around the Colosseum but the pair had decided to share a box with the official story being that they had made a 50,000 sovereign wager on the victor that both wanted to collect as soon as the battle was over. Of course the truth was to talk again about the election strategy, an activity they had been unable to do since its start in fear of spies intercepting them.

“Next week will be a good chance for me to resign, if your man wins they’ll assume it’s the gods and if he loses then I’ll use the defeat Rivièreroux suffered at the hands of the horde to spin a case for unity.” Harold said calmly, news of the Greenskins had arrived in Bursa months before but they had assumed it was nothing more than a tiny force that could be swept aside.

With recent reports about Golgothans arriving in their neighbors however and the news of Pacifica’s fall the Greenskins had become a topic of some interest. Indeed a surge of anti-Golgothan sentiment and continental nationalism had resurged in wake of leaks about the Golgothans not coming to Bursa to lobby for their alliance. Which had surprisingly turned the notorious Arastina blunder, where his father sent a statue of Emperor Karl Franz being defiled by a pig to the Golgothan Embassy, into an electoral asset.

“If you win you’ll need to donate the winnings to the Elves in the third, the Ahmadi’s are pushing hard to turn them against you and if you don’t pacify their efforts our coalition might come across as little more than Sunset puppets.” Bashar didn’t even look away from the games as he spoke keenly watching as the hardened elf entered from the southern gate wearing his enchanted cloth armour and summoning a dove familiar that flew around the arena before exploding into a series of magical fireworks.

“Didn’t know he could summon a familiar, that’s some bloody strong magic. How’d you find him?” Harold said diverting the conversation. The Ahmadi’s had been launching a strong campaign against his family by convincing nearly all of the third expansion that a Godwin Viscount meant annexation by Sunset. The only advantage Godwin was having in the fight back was that the whole city knew the Ahmadi’s wanted closer relations with Vashara. It was this contest that the Ahmadi’s had set at the heart of their strategy, that Bursa must choose between Vashara or Medina. Carefully erasing the idea of neutrality from discussion the Ahmadi’s had muted the Arastina message for a neutral Bursa knowing that it would force the house into choosing sides and wagering comfortably they would chose the Ahmadi. A wager that quite suited Harold who knew that his next move would catch the Ahmadi’s entirely off guard.

“He had a bright future in the Tranquility until his dragon lord died and Rennoa went to shit.” Bashar glanced over at Harold meeting his eyes before continuing “In truth he arrived with the unlucky sods in Rivièreroux after the heist, some of my men found him in the desert and nursed him to health, should’ve been given to their higher ups but I pay them better. One Cantarella game later and he’s my champion”

Harold chuckled slightly before looking back at the arena as his champion entered through the north gate. Aladir walked with his usual arrogance resting a long scimitar over his elegant and beautifully patterned silk robe. He twirled as he entered summoning the loving applaud of the crowd who chanted his name as he performed his signature trick throwing the scimitar into the sky as he rubbed his fingers through his short black hair before catching the blade as if ready to charge.

“You realise the people hate Lysanthir? If he wins it won’t help the racial tensions” Harold finally remarked as the two champions began to walk in a circle opposite each other unleashing taunts for the other to strike first.

“It’s a loving hate. Everyone wants to see him die but no one can decide who they want to do it. Besides our elves got their blood and right now the tournaments satisfy any lingering hatreds. It’s the Ahmadi’s that are fueling most of what’s left.” Bashar let out a slight smile before speaking with a more comical tone “So when you come out in my favour what are they going to say ‘Don’t vote for your brother elf, listen to your master?’”

Harold smirked turning back to the fight just as Lysanthir launched the opening move, firing a bolt of frost towards Aladir. The human dodged out the way drawing a concealed knife from his gown and launching it at the elf alongside a charge to close the space. Lysanthir carefully evaded the knife and sidestepped inflaming his palm as he struck at Aladir’s back. The human grunted and feigned a strike with his blade that the elf moved to dodge before taking Aladir’s clenched fist to the face.

“Sindri will be in Delsoir soon to meet with Lord Rennè and the real rulers of Rivièreroux, he said the spanners made an offer to the Queen but the court knows well enough to delay her formal acceptance. From what I gather they’ve convinced her to have some tourney where I’ll compete.” Bashar said sighing.

“It’s the glitters, you know they never do anything easily. Spanners’ll be furious when they find out.” Harold said back twitching slightly as Aladir barely dodged a blow from Lysanthir’s blade.
“If we’re lucky they’ll just pull out.” Bashar remarked taking a sip of his wine.

“Spanner’s would be stupid too, if they got Rivièrstierre it’d give them a real doorway into the southern continent.”

Bashar looked over at Harold “Rivièrstierre.” He repeated in a flat tone before the pair burst out laughing stopping only when a string of cheers filled the colosseum as first blood was spilt.

Lysanthir backed up a few steps. Aladir’s new wound had sent the man into a fury that had nearly cut off the elf’s arm. As the rage ended the human moved again to close the space. Lysanthir launched a fireball. Aladir ducked stealing a fistful of sand and throwing it at the elf’s face. Quickly responding to the blinding Lysanthir summoned his familiar that flew straight at Aladir exploding in another burst of magical fireworks as the human moved to strike giving the elf enough time to regain distance. Lysanthir tried to launch another fireball as his vision returned feeling the toll on his energy as he launched it. Aladir struck the ball with his blade the enchantment absorbing its energy as the steel passed through it. As the scimitar began to burst with flame the crowd let another roar of excitement eager for the elf to finally meet his end.

Sensing the crowds increasingly restless desire for more blood now that it had been spilt Lysanthir took his last Arcanum potion from his belt. As he lifted it to his lips he could feel the exhaustion the magic use was beginning to way on him. While Elves could cast more than humans he had already used a lot to keep the fight interesting for the spectators, he knew this last potion should delay the exhaustion effects long enough for him to claim victory. As he put it to his lips a slither passed before one of Aladir’s knives shattered the vial casting small sahrd of glass against his hands which now dripped of the liquid metal. The elf jumped back as the human launched at him narrowly evading the blade which now burned with the fireballs absorbed magic. The human turned again and began delivering a flurry of blows knocking the elf’s to the floor as he used his depleted strength to barely hold back the strikes with his short sword. Knowing he had only a final chance the elf launched a final bolt of frost at Aladir’s stomach breaking the flurry and staggering the man letting the elf rise and deliver a final strike to the chest. Aladir grunted as the blade drew deep into his stomach and the elf moved in close looking the man in the eye.

“You fought well for an ape” Lysanthir taunted at the man. Grunting to speak Aladir replied “The Drowzi told me when I was going to die.” Lysanthir smiled before feeling the cold steel of Aladir’s final throwing knife thrust into his skull, the elf’s last breadth spent hearing the end of Aladir’s quip “Unfortunately for you it was not today.”

Cheers erupted from across the colosseum as jubilant fans roared with joy at the spectacular fight. Aladir proving himself the showman as he pulled out the elf’s blade and proceeded to decapitate the spellsword throwing his head to the lower tiers of seating where fans fought to catch it as a trophy.

“Looks like you owe me 50,000 sovereigns” Harold remarked jokingly.

“Do you want it in cash, a pair of warships or a small castle?” Bashar said laughing along.

“How about a Chancellery?” Harold responded

“Give me Bursa and it’s yours” the half-elf responded as they looked out to the colosseum of roaring fans waiting for the next fight to come out. Twelve hunters, three trolls and a pack of wolves; it was going to be a bloodbath.

[Greater Latica]

The Bog, Carvania - 4E-152

Golgotha expected a certain number of ‘attrition’ casualties during the occupation of Carvania, the hostile environment and even more hostile wildlife would inevitably result in some losses. Although tragic, these casualties were considered largely inconsequential; there were no shortage of willing volunteers in the Empire prepared to do their duty. Even despite these casualties, it was unusual to lose an entire platoon, and so the incident warranted investigation.

The Captain stood as his men formed a cordon, as best they could given the swampy waterlogged terrain. They had found some of the remnants of the lost patrol. Brutalised corpses and shattered rifles lay strewn about the site, discarded like broken toys.

“What could possibly have done this? Thirty-two men killed effortlessly?” The Captain asked to the men next to him, one wearing the leather garb of the witch hunters, another the gloves and goggles of the Alchemist’s guild and the last the furs of the trappers and furriers guild, a tremendous ogre rifle hanging from his back.

The furrier’s guildsman knelt down and examined one of the bodies, “These cuts don't look right, they're too neat and clean to be Carvania’s wildlife, no jagged rips and tears. Even before we factor in that very few would be able to kill this many men, without sustaining a single injury to itself. There's no other blood, no inhuman footprints, it's like something drifted in and just sliced them up. It's strange.”

The Captain nodded, “Look at how the bodies are lying, they're in square, they didn't know where their attacker was coming from, if they had a clear enemy they'd face them in line, not square.”

Gerhardt, the witch hunter standing silently behind them spoke, “I can’t help but feel both of you are missing the most important fact here.”

“And what would that be?” the Captain inquired.

“I only count twenty-four bodies.”

“Twenty-four,” The Captain quickly counted the bodies and paused, “There are no NCOs or Officers. Something intelligent did this, it knew how to sever their command structure, but where did it take them? And Why?”

“Now those are interesting questions, Shall we go find out?” Gerhardt replied turning to lead the way into the swamps.

Shultze sighed.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Despite their criminal nature, the bog runners were a cooperative people, for a price. The force had discovered the lone wooden building the day before, and now with boats rented from the locals, they made their cautious approach.

The building showed signs of decay, but it stood out in an area largely devoid of permanent structures, the locals often opted to reside within the relative safety of their boats. It would not have been negligent not to search it, as the only man made landmark for miles around, and almost certainly would have drawn the attention of any survivors.

Two boats crept closer to the structure, with the rest of the company watching from the opposite bank, rifles ready, a machine gun set up hidden in the reeds. There were the sounds of the wildlife, frogs, salamanders, insects and birds, every new noise put the soldiers on edge, each watching for the mysterious threat that had hunted and slaughtered their comrades, without so much as an injury.

It was only as the boats drew closer that the smell hit them. The swamp hardly smelled nice, but one stuck out more than the others. It wasn't until they disembarked the boats and entered the building that it's source became clear.

The body had clearly been left for a couple of days, putrefaction, sped on by the damp, had begun to set in, the skin starting to turn a mottled green colour.

“I think this answers our question as to where they went.” the Captain commented, pinching the bridge of his nose

“But the situation still warrants a bit more attention” Gerhardt replied, pulling a pipe and a book of matches from a pocket inside his coat, lighting it and exhaling a cloud of white smoke, “that deals with the smell, now for the next step.”

From another pocket he drew a pair of leather gloves, putting them on, he began to examine the body carefully, starting from the head and working his way down, explaining everything out loud to the other men in the room, “this was done by an experienced Vampire, the man was alive when he fed on him, alive when the messy wound to the stomach was sustained as well… The final cause of death, was this slash across the throat, which is slightly out of place.”

“How so?” Queried the Captain

“We’ve seen the raw power of this creature in the swamps, he’s selected this one, tortured him, fed on him and kept him alive throughout the whole ordeal, and then just messily stabs him in the stomach and cuts his throat? It doesn't seem right, he was not alone here.”

“Another Vampire?”

“Possibly, but I’m not sure. But one thing I can tell you is that at least one of the people who were in here was from Medina.”

“How can you possibly deduce that?!” The officer exclaimed

“He's been castrated, the entire appendage has been completely severed and detached, from the looks of it before he was killed.”

“And how exactly does that link to Medina?”

“Back home it's what you would do to an unruly dog that has served its purpose, but in Medina it's the basis of their entire culture. A man named Freud of the Surgeon’s guild wrote an interesting paper on Medinians and their obsession with that particular organ. It's fascinating, you should read it sometime.”

“I’m not sure it's something for me, but this will need reporting up the chain of command, if there’s a Vampire here they need to know about it.”

“I’m going to search the area for anything more, come along Dieter.”

“Why do I get the feeling that we’re about to go on another one of your ‘adventures’ Maximillian?” retorted Schultze, a sarcastic tone in his voice.

------------------------------------------------------------------------
Emerald Palace, Desloir, Rivièreroux - 4E-152

Since arriving in Delsoir, Queen Ilya’s advisors had kept Prince Leopold so spectacularly busy, that he had barely had time to sit and talk with his soon-to-be betrothed. Despite the mounting tension over the news of General Oren’s defeat at the Southern Pass, both Golgothan princes had been kept otherwise preoccupied with tours of the historic Emerald Palace, trips to the finest concert halls and more than a few banquets.

Lord Rennè, Ilya’s first minister and advisor on matters of foreign affairs had been the one packing the Princes’ schedules so fully. He was a stern old man, with thinning silver hair, whose mouth naturally seemed to rest in a permanent frown. Leopold might not have been in Rivièreroux long, but he could already tell that Rennè seemed to exercise far-greater levels of control over the state apparatus than Ilya did, or at least that was how he wanted it to appear.

Prince Marius, who had been in Rivièreroux for almost a month now, had also been given the Rennè treatment during his stay, and was even beginning to suspect that the Queen’s first minister was hiding something from them, though what that might be remained elusive...

“Queen Aerya renovated the upper levels of the palace shortly after the revolution in 4E-004, that was when the scenic balconies and roof-gardens, such as the one we just passed, were added.” The aging palace steward, Lord Michaleto, wheezed as he escorted the Princes on their latest tour. “You see, before we were blessed with Queen Aerya who freed us of the Ascendancy’s hold, Rivièreroux was ruled by Kalista de la Grey who rarely made use of the palace, preferring to spend her time abroad, usually among her fellow vampires amidst Vlad Van Drak’s abominable court! As a result, for much of the late 3rd Era the Emerald Palace fell into a state of complete disrepair.” He sighed emotionally, as if personally pained by the notion.

Leopold and Marius did well to hide their boredom. Marius muttered quietly; “Nobody escaped the Ascendancy lightly.”

“Indeed Prince! Indeed! Though Rivièreroux suffered particularly harshly as a result of our connection to Franchea. When King Octavian revealed himself to be a Vampire at the height of the Third Vampire War, the ruling de la Grey’s were cast out of Rivièreroux... Only to return over a century later with Van Drak’s undead legions at their disposal. Those were dark days indeed…” The old steward wheazed somberly.

As the trio advanced along the corridor, doors leading to spacious balconies off to both their left and right, the Steward continued prattling on; “Some say that we are entering similarly troubled times… That the attacks on your own Empire, the reemergence of Garniem and now the arrival of this Greenskin horde at our borders is proof the holy flame has gone dark once more…”

A muffled sobbing noise drifted on the breeze through the corridor, coming from the direction of one of the balconies. Marius and Leopold both heard it and exchanged curious glances.

“...I would say such claims are overrated. The undead host that emerged from Donastierre was an ugly thing to have to deal with to be sure, as are these Greenskins, but they are nothing compared to the horrors unleashed by the Vampires in the days of Van Drak…” The steward appeared not to notice the sobbing as he continued in his monotone voice.

As the trio reached the open doorway from which the crying could be heard, Lord Michaleto appeared to quicken his pace awkwardly. The Princes glanced through the opening to see a halberdier, in the ceremonial plate armour of the royal guard blocking access to the balcony beyond.

“We should not tarry…” Michaleto muttered.

“Why not?” Marius asked softly.

“Who is that in there?” Leopold muttered as well.

Michaleto pressed on ahead of them, eager to move them along; “It is nothing to be concerned with… Honestly, the north wing has even more historic prescience than the upper levels. Do come along my princes.”

The princes exchanged knowing glances, it was obvious from the way the steward was behaving that something was greatly amiss, and the presence of the royal guard told them the rest. With a nod to Marius, and a glance in the Michaleto’s direction, Leopold had done all he needed to, and the younger prince quickened his pace to catch up with the steward.

“Please, Lord Michaleto before we get to the north wing, you should tell me everything you can about the stonework of the upper levels. Surely it can’t all have been built as recently as 4E-004?”

“Right you are Prince!” The old steward said happily, continuing to walk on without looking back to see if Leopold was with them. Marius nodded back to him before following in Michaleto’s wake.

Leopold smiled proudly at Marius before turning to the halberdier, who raised his weapon instinctively.

“Prince Leopold of Averstierre.” He declared loudly, hoping to stir the balcony’s occupant from her sobs.

A moment passed as Leopold and the guard remained unmoving, though it was broken as the occupant composed herself and let out; “Let him through.”

As the guard stepped aside, Leopold stepped onto the balcony to find, as he had suspected, Queen Ilya, sitting on the bench looking out over Delsoir, her makeup marred by the streaks of hastily-wiped-away tears.

In her hand she clutched a letter, though between the creases caused by her tight grip and the tell-tale teardrop blemishes it seemed hard to read. The Queen did not rise to greet her visitor.

“Is everything okay?” Leopold queried, both confused and concerned, this is not the state that anybody should encounter a Queen.

Ilya hid her gaze from his, wiping her smudged face with the sleeve of her long dress, she had traded her elegant bright green gown from the other day for a more subtle dark blue one. “I… apologise for the way in which you find me Prince Leopold…” She began awkwardly, exhaling before continuing; “I’m afraid I have received some bad news...”

“Is it anything I can help with? I’m a prince, damsels in distress are our speciality.”

Ilya couldn’t help but let out a soft giggle at that. She took a moment to compose herself and said; “Distress is one word for it… How else does one describe the feeling of being trapped between a nest of vipers and a horde of charging monsters…” She exhaled sharply, scrunching up the letter in her hands. “...Poor Molèy.”

Noticing Leopold’s confusion, she rose to her feet and approached, pressing the letter into his hands.

“Molèy is… or rather was a Captain in the royal guard. He watched over my brother and I while we were still growing up…” She took a pause, turning to look out over the city below. “When we got news of the horde, he transferred to General Oren’s personal guard and was killed in the retreat from the Southern Pass.”

“I’m sorry to hear of your loss,” Prince Leopold replied, moving to embrace the bleary eyed Queen, “Don't worry, we’ll make sure he didn't give his life in vain.”

Ilya nodded, stepping slightly closer to Leopold as he gently comforted her; “That is my hope… Whether the vipers agree is another thing entirely.”

“Vipers?” Leopold inclined his head down to her.

“My advisors.” Ilya clarified, wiping her eyes once more. “It seems I am always at their mercy….”

“How so? You are the sovereign, just have them replaced, it's well within your power.”

Ilya giggled again; “Now there’s a thought….” She trailed off, her temporary smile fading as she explained; “Unfortunately it’s not as easy as that in Rivièreroux. When my grandmother took the throne after the revolution she made our family a lot of enemies, elves and humans both. There are many within these lands who only call me Queen because the good lords of state demand they do. Were those lords to be toppled, my crown would surely follow… Unless something dramatic happens to change that of course.” She glanced up at Leopold with a knowing look.

“I’m sure something dramatic can be arranged,” Leopold smiled back at her, “When the people respect you in your own right, those lords and advisors will soon start grovelling when you wield the power they no longer do. There will be plenty of people waiting in the wings to replace them, there always are.”

“I appreciate your optimism Prince Leopold, but I fear that the vipers will find a way to quash such a change…” She hesitated before continuing. “If you haven’t noticed, they’re already doing their utmost to stall our proposed union.” Ilya let out a woeful sigh. “They no doubt hope that the Greenskin horde will disappear back into the desert and that Rivièreroux will no longer have need of your Empire. Perhaps they actually want me to be the last monarch of House Binette?”

“That is not theirs to decide, the final decision always rests with you as Queen. If we need to we shall deal with them like we will deal with the Greenskins, whether they like it or not.”

Ilya shot him a disbelieving smile. “Your support is most appreciated, Leopold. Though I fear you will soon learn just how cunning this nest of vipers surrounding me can be...”

[Cheye]

Tremain Hall, Drakwold, The Drak Wood, Carvania - 4E-152



The imposing spires of Tremain Hall loomed out over Drakwold, the largest settlement of North-Eastern Carvania and county capital of the infamously inhospitable Drak Wood. Within the hall, gilded paintings depicting Carvania’s troubled and bloody history lined the dark wooden walls, and opulent carpets and chandeliers served as pertinent reminders that this hall was a lone outpost of civilisation and refinement amidst otherwise hostile surroundings.

Although the hall had lavish dining and function rooms aplenty, it was the grand staircase that led to the hall’s upper rooms that ended up serving as the focal point for tonight's extraordinary meeting. Counts from across Carvania, their most trusted bannermen and military officers from various detachments all packed the upper steps and crowded around the bannisters on the floor above, craning their neck to look down at the spectacle that was about to unfold. More still lined the foot of the staircase, glancing up at their comrades and colleagues as Carvania’s Princess-regent made her way up the bottom steps.

So eager were the Carvanian traditionalists and nationalists for leadership in this trying time, that Amelia Van Der Barr could only get to the corner-step, less than halfway up the grand staircase, before the shouts and heckles for action threatened to overtake proceedings. Countess Maryvonne and Gavish Reave flanked Amelia, though as Amelia came to a stop on the corner step, she gestured for them to backup and lean against the wall which they did, making them appear a lonely trio, caught between the pack of nobles at both ends of the staircase.
The shouting continued, the nobles having already grown irritable from discussing the political situation prior to Lady Amelia’s arrival.

“HAVE YOU COME HERE TO DECLARE WAR!?” Came a cry from Count Antonov of Ostervania, his gaunt face sneering down from the bannisters above.

Before Amelia could respond another lord at the top of the staircase, a bannerman of Octaviania in Franchea, cried out; “War is needed! Golgotha must pay for the destruction of Komovi Palace!”

There were loud mumblings of agreement. Amelia and Maryvonne exchanged nervous glances, they had hoped that by gathering the nobles most opposed to Golgothan rule and uniting them into a single power bloc, they would be able to exercise more control over Carvania’s future. If the mood of the room was anything to go by, the nobles seemed to be on the verge of forming a lynch mob and carrying Amelia out to find a tree.

“The Carvanian Army is mobilised across the length and breadth of the country, my lady!” The voice of General Pekár, one of the Carvanian Army’s more aggressive commanders, floated down from somewhere above. “We stand ready to attack whenever you give the order. With the element of surprise we could do a lot of damage.”

“I thank you General.” Amelia nodded her head as she looked up towards the crowds assembled above her. “In fact I thank all of you; Officers, Counts, Lords and Ladies of Carvania, your patriotism is most appreciated at this desperate hour.”

The mumbling nobles quietened, expecting a ‘but’. Their silence only grew more pronounced when it didn’t come, Amelia relaxing into her pre-prepared speech instead; “As you all well know, I left Carvania several months past, to lobby the Golgothan Empire to aid us in rescuing my brother Josef, the rightful Prince of Carvania, from the clutches of a Vampire. During the talks, a group of Vampires revealed themselves and offered to return Josef safe and unharmed to us. In return the creatures asked for residence within our borders and the right to feed upon willing members of the Cult of Oživených Mŕtvol, they may have also launched an attack on Castle Syliv to prevent one of their kind from being exposed, although that remains unconfirmed.” She sighed, her eyes flicking between those that looked down at her. “These are the facts, my lords, and I feel it is of great importance that you have them...”

Count Nikos of the Drak Wood who incidentally served as the de facto host of the gathering peered up at her from the foot of the stair-case. He was a frail old man, unable to actually ascend the stairs like many of his peers, instead he leant on the bannister for support; “And what did you say?!” He barked, with surprising volume for one so old.

“Before I could give an answer, Emperor Karl Franz took it upon himself to signal the witch hunters and attack the Vampires. As I understand it, this sealed not only Josef’s fate bu-” Amelia was cut off as the shouting began again.

“How dare they!?” Cried one bannerman.

“Foolishness of the highest magnitude!” A military officer spat.

“I hope the bastard rots!” Roared another.

“And now look!” Cried Count Vadim of Osterpyr. “Do you not see how they have used the whole sorry episode as an excuse to annex our lands!? Just as my bannermen said they would when we first learned of Josef’s predicament!”

Amelia struggled to restore order; “It is true that in response to the events of that late autumn night, the new Emperor Nikolas has issued an Imperial decree authorising the annexation of Carvania. It is also true however, that for the most part, Princes Ferdinand and Gustav, who are charged with overseeing the mission have not resorted to the use of force and have not occupied the institutions of state.”

“Tell that to Ludovic!” A noblewoman from Novania at the top of the stairs hissed.

“She’s right!” Count Vadim declared, banging his fist on the bannister above Amelia. “Ludovic did as any lord should and defended his lands. If the spanners try to do the same thing to me at Fort Drak I’ll do the same!”

“Ludovic took up arms in defiance of orders to the contrary from Syliv.” Count Harkon of Syliv County stepped out from the shadows near the bottom of the staircase, draped in his usual shoulder-cape that sported Syliv’s flag. “Last time I checked, Vadim, we were not a band of common warlords! We all serve the Princely Throne, and the will of the regents legitimately appointed by it!”

“EDMURE BECKER IS A TOOL!” Came a shrill cry from one of the army officers atop the staircase.

“What business does the Count of Van Frac have deciding who can and can’t defend their homeland!?” Cried one of the bannermen of the Drak Wood.

The crowd continued to bandy about less audible insults as Amelia raised her hands for calm.

“As you all seem well aware, Count Edmure of Van Frac serves in Syliv as regent as a result of my continued absence, and has taken it upon himself to arrange negotiations between your good selves and the Golgothans as to how we might resolve this crisis.”

“With them fucking off home!” Came a shout from one of Vadim’s bannermen.

“My experience dealing with the Elector Council has suggested to me that Golgotha will not back down easily in Carvania.” Amelia paused before adding; “Were the negotiations held tomorrow, our demands would simply be ignored. The threat of force would be used to bludgeon us into submission.”

There were some disbelieving and idealistic cries from the lords furthest from the stairway, but ultimately the counts and military men gathered around remained silent, for all their zeal they could not deny her point.

“Those who want to ensure our country remains independent must be prepared to fight for it. My title has only been in my family for five generations, my great-great-grandfather was given the crown at a time when the Empire deemed Carvania too inhospitable to rule, when they decreed her nobles too hostile and her people too impoverished to be worth Golgotha’s time!” Amelia’s voice grew more passionate and her face red with emotion as she spoke. “It must surely fall to you! Those who have this land in their very blood, to take up arms now that Golgotha has come to take away that which it gave!”

“What is it you ask of us, my lady?” Count Harkon looked up at her with a frown.

“I ask you to consolidate your forces into a new militia. A Carvanian resistance, one that will provide a counter balance to the Empire’s threat of force and give us the chance to negotiate with the Golgothans on even terms.”

“That sounds great, my lady, were it not for the fact that the Carvanian Army lacks the guns to arm additional troops….” General Pekár interjected from above.

“Arrangements have been made, the Carvanian Army will not give up a single rifle. I have made the necessary deals during my stay in Medina, The new Sunset Empire stands to lose greatly if Carvania’s trade routes fall into Golgothan hands.. Guns, cannonade, ammunition, uniforms and anything else this resistance could need are all ready to flow south.”

For the first time during the gathering, there was a murmur of genuine enthusiasm among the nobles. Though it was cut short suddenly by Countess Ynette of the Dead Moot, who had up until now kept quiet, she leaned over the bannister above Amelia; “I’m not sure if this is blind idealism or sheer stupidity!” The middle aged woman scoffed. “Those of us in the north cannot afford to spare our personal forces for this resistance! What of the bandit threat? Without our men the Blackrock gangs will overrun our counties! How then will you even get your supplies?”

Amelia finally looked to Gavish Reave, who still stood leaning against the wall, looking amused by the primality of the proceedings. The nobles had been so irate they hadn’t even paid the half-orc any mind, some no doubt assuming he was a bodyguard for the Princess-regent, rather than the leader of the very bandits who had so often raped and pillaged their lands.

Taking a few moments to notice her gaze he stepped closer into the light eliciting cries of outrage from the more worldly nobles that recognised him. Waiting for that recognition to spread and for the room to once more break into a louder explosion of emotional shouting mixed with genuine protestation. Gavish descended the stairs towards the old Count of the Drak Wood slowly chuckling.

“Nice to finally meet you Nikos...” He took a moment, waiting for the various counts to quiet down as they stared intently at what the half-orc was about to say “Your granddaughter's beloved squealed like a pig, when I gutted him in the fighting pit.”

Before the nobles had a chance to respond to the outrageous remark he turned to shout at them cracking his knuckles as he did; “The Rock won’t hurt you fuckers so long as you arm up to fight the spanners, instead we’re going to go and fuck up their pathetic little supply lines so you can actually get to butchering them. But let me make one thing clear; If I get word that even a single one of your fucking soldiers has stepped foot in my fort.” he paused for emphasis; “I’ll rape your entire family myself, so your next generation are as mongrel as I am.”

As the nobles gasped and shouted their outrage at the man he walked back to his corner tapping Amelia on the shoulder with his coarse hardened hands “Back to you Princess!” He said jokingly, fangs upturned in what humans might consider to be a smile.

There was a low mumbling among the gathering, several of the nobles refused to take their eyes of Gavish, while others whispered amongst themselves as to how their Princess-regent could, in good confidence, cavort with such a vile monster.

Countess Ynette broke the silence; “If there are no bandit raids, I will revoke my objection, but I’m confident that I speak for all of us when I say that I find it troubling to see Carvania’s ruler keeping such company.”

Countess Maryvonne, still stood behind Amelia, quipped back; “Are you so pure Ynette? We both know that in the past you’ve made deals with and even paid Reave’s raiders to leave your lands and focus their efforts on Wolfswood County. It’s a good thing perhaps that Count Arno was among those deemed unwelcome for tonight’s gathering?”

The two women exchanged pointed glares.

“Arno is nothing more than an agent for the highest bidder. He will throw in with Golgotha because they can afford to buy him. I hear the people of Wolfswood hate him for it.” Count Antonov commented dryly, eliciting nods of agreement from the others.

“A trip into the Wolfswood will help pay for your first arms delivery then...” Reave grunted quietly to Amelia and Maryvonne.

Amelia sighed. She knew some level of violence would come of this, but had hoped the threat of the resistance alone would be enough to secure Carvania’s negotiating position. Still, the Counts weren’t wrong about Wolfswood, and she would be quite prepared to sacrifice Count Arno to the wider objective of guaranteeing her and her brother’s birthright.

“Very well.” Amelia said with a glance to Reave, though loud enough that the assembled nobles fell silent. She turned back to them; “If we are united in this endeavour, there is but one more thing to make clear…” She paused, as the nobles all cast their eyes down at her. “It must be known that it is you, the brave counts and countesses of only the purest Carvanian blood, who are the champions of Carvania, the figureheads of this movement. I will, of course, do all I can to support you... But for the good of the negotiations, I can not be seen to lead, or even have a role in this resistance. For peace to have a chance of prevailing, it must fall to you to deliver it!”

There was another murmur of unrest. Several of the more prominent counts exchanged glances.

When nobody challenged it, Amelia pressed; “Do we have a resistance then? Will those of purest Carvanian blood stand now to defend her?!”” She asked loudly, expectantly, raising her arms dramatically.

There was a long silent pause.

The old Count Nikos was the first to speak; “....The Drak Wood is with you.” He wheezed, smiling up at her, and the bannermen of the Drak Wood let out a hearty roar in support.

Emboldened by this display, Count Antonov leaned over the bannister and shot her a smile as he spoke; “Ostervannia stands with the resistance!” Which elicited a cry of support from his own bannermen.

“As does Osterpyr!” Count Vadim roared, his bannerman stamping their feet and cheering as if to outdo the others.

“The Dead Moot will answer the call!” Countess Ynette declared proudly once their chants had died down. Her own bannermen giving a loud cheer.

“Novannia supports a free Carvania!” The old Count Arkan, who had remained silent for most of the meeting until now declared, throwing up his hand in agreement.

“As does Octaviania…” Count Olivier, who had also avoided speaking so far, said quietly. Glancing down to Amelia he added, over the roars of his bannermen; “With your blessing I will serve as the resistance’s voice in Franchea, and will lobby the other counts and countesses there to join us.”

Amelia nodded quietly, as all eyes turned to the last count present. Count Harkon of Syliv. The dark haired man glanced up the stairs at the others, hesitance etched across his face. He sighed as his eyes found Amelia’s.

“Syliv is, has always been, and always will be yours, my lady.” He bowed, dropping to one knee. “If this course of action is the one your heart is set upon, I will do whatever it takes to ensure you can return there. Not as prisoner, nor ‘prince’...” He scoffed, making light of the Golgothan insistence of referring to her as a subject prince of their Empire. “...But as Carvania’s one true sovereign!” He roared.

The cries of support from his bannermen were joined by the entire room. The atmosphere was electric as Amelia looked up over them all. If there were people willing to fight for Carvania’s future, then there was an argument to be made for Golgotha to withdraw, their casus belli for the occupation; that Carvania was unable to defend itself, could be proven to be untrue.

Whether the Empire would let them get that far, or whether the counts themselves could even hold such a resistance together was another thing enitrely...

[Greater Latica]

Ancelstierre, Golgotha 4E-152

It hadn't taken long for word of the discovery in Northern Carvania to make its way to the highest offices in the Empire. Emperor Nikolas had summoned his most important advisors, who now stood in a semi-circle around his cabinet office, ministers of his government, heads of guilds, and members of the electors were all present.

“Inquisitor, it was your man who made the discovery, would you care to explain all that we know about the situation?” Emperor Nikolas asked

“Without going into the gruesome details, in Northern Carvania there was an attack on our troops conducted by a Medinian Vampire, in which around thirty soldiers were killed, some were extensively tortured and mutilated before death. Whilst we have no official connection to the Sunset state, we believe that the perpetrator was trying to extract critical information, which although circumstantial, could potentially imply the attacker is working for someone much higher up.”

“As in the Sunset?”

“Possibly, or a more important Vampire.”

“Like the Lancels? We all know what they are.”

“Possibly, but not likely, we also all know that the Lancels have always been weak Quislings since the dawn of time, so I highly doubt one of them has the stones to be the next Dark Prince.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” the Foreign minister interjected, “We know Lancel doesn’t like to get his hands dirty, so we can safely work on the assumption, that there are at least two Vampires in Medina. What if he’s turned more? Using them as agents?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” the War minister responded, “I’m pretty sure we can assume that the ‘Empress’ and most of Medina’s aristocracy have all been turned into these blood sucking fiends by now.”

“Agreed,” Emperor Nikolas nodded in agreement, “That would certainly link the attack to the State.”

“Regardless,” The War minister spoke up again, “The Medinian state can still be held responsible for the actions of its citizens, they would treat us the same if the tables were turned. They should be held to account.”

Emperor Nikolas agreed once again, “The so called ‘Sunset’ Empire needs to learn its place.”

“If you wish, I shall have something drafted up for you, My Lord,” The Foreign Minister said, “We can have it to you by this afternoon.”

“And what shall we do should they chose to stand their?” The Chief Financier of the Financiers guild asked quietly.

“We shall sanction them, they’re guilty as sin, if we cut them off from the Kislev and the Pyr, we might as well cut their throats.” The Foreign minister replied.

“And if that doesn’t work?”

“Then we will have war.” The War minister stated flatly.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The final document, written on parchment, was on the Emperor’s desk, it was an ultimatum to be sent to Medina, outlining terms to which they had to adhere or face sanctions.

1.Those responsible for the attack in Carvania must be held to account for their actions, and must be apprehended and extradited to Golgotha to stand trial
2.Bring to trial all accomplices and associates that can be linked to the attack
3.Accept Golgothan representation onto the court for all trials pertaining to the aforementioned case for investigation and to ensure adequate punishment is served
4.Withdraw any and all agents, representatives and attachés currently resident in Carvania and the Golgothan Empire, secret or otherwise, and disband any organisations which they are operating under. Any agents later found will be subject to the harshest of punishments under Golgothan Law.
5.Cease sunset assistance to arms and explosives trafficking across the Borders of Carvania and the Golgothan Empire
6.Establish a principle of extraterritoriality for Golgothan citizens
7.Implement anti-defamation laws prohibiting all libel, slander and propaganda against the Golgothan state, especially those that incite hatred towards the Golgothan Empire, its territorial integrity, and mission in Carvania
8.Provide all explanations regarding all hostile references, verbal or written, about the Golgothan state expressed by Sunset officials
9.Pay appropriate (Value to be determined) reparations to the Golgothan state for the destruction of equipment and to take on the financial responsibilities to the families of the fallen
10.Intention of compliance must be delivered to the Golgothan Empire, no longer than four days from the receipt of this document
11.The Golgothan Empire must be notified immediately upon completion of each of these requirements.
12. Failure to comply with these demands will result in the imposition of stringent economic sanctions upon the Sunset.

The Emperor looked up at the emotionless faces, before folding the document, inserting it into an envelope and dripping molten red wax on to its flap, before pressing the Imperial stamp bearing the Phoenix onto the seal.

“Someone arrange for this to be delivered to the Sunset Ambassador. I have other matters I wish to attend to.” Holding out the envelope, the Foreign minister stepped forward and took it, then turned and left the room.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ministry of Communication, Ancelstierre, 4E-152

The Minister of Communication, fresh from the numerous meetings with Emperor Nikolas, carefully inspected the posters with a magnifying glass. Many of them were to be distributed across the Golgothan Empire, to boost recruitment, a particularly emotive print referenced the events of the last few days in Carvania, showing discarded rifles with the tagline, ‘You could have stopped this. Join the Imperial Army today and stop it happening again.’ Other posters were for distribution in Carvania, one showed a Golgothan soldier with an outstretched hand and a bright smile, ‘This man is a Golgothan soldier, he is here to help you.’

His ministry had been working hard as of late, encouraging Golgothans and Carvanians to join the Army, and to encourage them to accept integration. They had bought a small Carvanian manual printing press company and had begun selling newspapers with which to disseminate information to the Carvanian masses. The ones who could read at least. The minister had gone to great lengths to ensure there would be pictures for those who couldn’t. One article was highlighting the events in northern Carvania as proof that the Golgothan mission was justified, in that there were in fact Vampires present, and that they were a very real threat.

A number of agents had been encouraging rumours that heavily implied that the Former count of Komovi, was in fact a Vampire. The Minister’s task was to ensure that the truth was heard, so he wasn’t officially permitted to outright lie, massage the odd number, here and there, yes, but lie, no. But this wasn’t a lie as such, he justified it to himself, it was just an unsubstantiated rumor, and rumors spread, he was just helping it on its way.

[Sarrin]

The Moot, Bursa – 4E-152

Outside the Moot was an ancient platform that dated to Bursa’s time as an Angran settlement. While an onlooker might look at the Captain’s Stone as little more than a stone platform those who took the time to look carefully could find etched into its stonework the names and gossip of other three thousand years of history. Normally the platform served as a place for the Viscount to make proclamations but during elections it served two traditional roles. Firstly it was the point at which candidates announced their participation or withdrawal in the election. Secondly it was the location of a grand debate in the week before voting was taken where the candidates would attempt to make final strikes at each other and woo the people of Bursa.

As Godwin stepped up to the platform to the cries of the gathered crowd he knew it would be a defining point in the election. He calmed the crowd with a single smooth gesture before speaking with a calm commanding tone.

“People of Bursa from this stone I make a proclamation as we always have. A proclamation some of you will oppose but no doubt many more will rejoice in.”

Godwin paused allowing the tension of the moment fill the audience before continuing. “Golgotha sends forces to Riveroux, the Greenskins we once thought minor now find constant victories, Carvania falls yet closer to anarchy and the Angrans once more yearn for their freedom. It is safe to say the future is uncertain and while the Ahmadi would seek to divide us and make this election about choosing masters I say no!”

The crowd roared in cheer at the talk. While few among them believed Godwin didn’t seek integration into Sunset the Bursan’s were ferociously independent and any talk of preserving that appealed deeply to them. As a skilled orator Godwin played the cheers like an orchestra as he continued the nationalist cry.

“NO to petty politics! NO to division! And NO to Bursan surrender! We must remain a strong city free from occupation be it by Vashara or Sunset. It is for this reason that I am resigning from the election. The division of my loyalty between this city and Medina blurs my judgement and allows the Ahmadi to try and bind us to Vashara through fear. Bursa must stand alone for it to stand strong.”

As quick as the crowd had entered cheers they stopped with various murmurs and nods spreading through the crowd. While they were delighted by the show of loyalty to Bursa few people ever just ‘resigned’ from an election and there was no doubt that some game was to be played.

“Instead I have decided to swing my support to Bashar Arastina, the only hope for a Bursa free from foreign rule. For a Bursa free from the growing racial tension. For a Bursa free to once more rule with gold!”

As he finished cheers again called out Godwin taking a few moments to enjoy his last time on the stone before stepping off and entering the moot where Bashar was sat laying Cantarella with Elwyn Chrimas, a wealthy arms merchant who formed part of his power base.

“Ahmadi’s son was in the crowd, from the look on his face they were expecting it” Godwin remarked taking a seat by the table.

“There’s few reasons to take the stone otherwise but I wouldn’t worry, Chrimas did what you suggested” Bashar gestured to the elderly half-elf as he spoke. Elwyn had a long diagonal scar across his face from an Angran raid in his youth, a scar that seemed to stretch with the promise of reopening as he spoke.

“It was a good trade. His men were armed with the new stuff from the mages tower in Saiph, the rounds are set on fire as they propel and can cook a man’s insides if you aim it right.” He spoke with a veterans respect about the ammunition before coyly adding “Course now its blanks the show’ll be a lot more embarrassing”

“I still don’t see why this was necessary, it seems petty to sabotage their efforts” Bashar remarked as he elegantly played the Inquisitor card sealing his Canteralla victory.

“They’ll start a new attack at the show try and paint you as weak, careless and inexperienced. When their guns don’t work, the beasts are ill and my champion emerges victorious they’ll be all those things.” Godwin said with no small sense of satisfaction “You needn’t worry anyhow, with Sindri out you can just leave the game to me. Keep talking independence and the election’ll fall into our hands.”

Elwyn chuckled “Worst case we’ll just kill him, say one of his pets got loose or a match was too near the gunpowder.”

Bashar looked at Elwyn with a degree of disgust before sighing “No killing. Bursa needs to be unified after this or else my message was for nothing.”

Godwin and Elwyn nodded letting a slight silence fall before Elwyn dropped his hand “Sod it you get this round, Godwin you can play with him I’m just a stroll in the park against him”

Godwin smiled as he swapped seats with the elf and began readying his Sunset deck. The game was now afoot in Bursa and the Ahmadi’s would have to be kept behind for an Arastina victory.

[Cheye]

The Borderland Palace, Farford, Farvas - 4E-152

Since their dramatic takeover at year’s end, the vampires of the conclave had been busy. Titus Lannis had swiftly centralised power, undoing over a century of ever-increasing localism across the Borderlands, that had corroded the identity of Farvas’s citizens. More than that however, he was investing personally in transforming the very image of the state, paying handsomely for Medinian architects and artists to redesign the castles, palaces and state buildings that were all now firmly in possession of the Chancellorship.

Even within the great Borderland Palace itself, Lannis had ordered sweeping renovations. Out with the rotting woodwork and the faded tapestries. In with darker tones of the Carvanian tradition and gilded furnishings. Even the walls of the great palace halls themselves were deemed to convey weakness in their current state, and so now on this dark night that the vampires had chosen to convene on, the palace around them appeared little better than a building site. Scaffolding, tools and planks of wood lined the walls, while covered paintings stacked up in the free space, making the lavish hall of the east wing seem quite small as the numerous vampires no doubts began to gather around the great fire pit at its centre.

Titus Lannis wasn’t the only one who’d been busy. Jacques de la Grey had installed himself in the palace’s sorcerer’s tower, where the court wizard had traditionally lived before Lannis had had him executed with the other mistrustful mortal ministers who had tried to interfere with the new order. The tower too was slowly being transformed from a cobwebbed shadow of its former self, to a gleaming repository of knowledge, with Jacques’ suite at its zenith sporting the finest Franchean furniture all in red to match the blood red drapes that separated his working area from his bedroom, not that a vampire particularly needed one.

It was here that Jacques now sat reclined in a chaise longue, a copy of Emperor Nikolas’s ultimatum to the Sunset Empire scrunched in one hand, an ancient text on Vampyric bloodlines that he had brought from his estate in the other, he appeared to be reading neither, instead glancing up casually to Rebekah Waldoff who paced across the middle of the room.

“Sit down Rebekah, I assure you everything is in hand.” Jacques gestured to an arm chair across from him.

“How can you be so calm?” Rebekah frowned, ignoring the gesture. Her massive white pouf bouncing above her as she paced. “If those vampires find the Lancels in contempt, it’ll be a bloodbath.”

“Would that be so bad?” Jacques looked up at her mischievously.

“Yes!” Rebekah scoffed. “As far as they’re concerned the whole point of your plan is to give us a future, I might know more of your real intentions than they do, but their faith in you disappears either way if a feud breaks out!”

Jacques slammed the book shut suddenly, the thick wads of paper inside causing a loud bang.

“You don’t seriously think that I would go to as much effort as I have to acquire us this armpit of a country, from where we can engineer our next victory, only to allow a careless Lancel-whelp that never even sat in the Court of Van Drak to fuck it all up, do you?” Jacques asked, slowly rising to his feet.

Waldoff placed her hands on her hips in frustration. Jacques approached her sternly; “There will be no feud. There will be no motions of contempt. There will be no deviation from the present course. We will go downstairs, greet our guests from across the four corners of Minern with the respect they are due and update them on the situation as they expect us to, this... piece of paper…” Jacques sneered, scrunching the ultimatum copy up; “...is little more than a distraction.”

Rebekah nodded, deftly changing the subject as she ceased pacing; “And Lucien? I assume his mission means he won’t be here?”

“He has told you too much already then.” Jacques sighed falsely. “I will never understand the bond between you two.”

“Well?” She pressed.

“No he will not attend, and his mission will remain a secret from the others, as will the whereabouts of Hans Von Richter. Your loyalty concerning that particular matter is the main reason I have forgiven you for what happened to Karl Franz.”

“I’m glad you’ve not forgotten my loyalty, but remember, there has always been a strong connection between our bloodlines. Your blood sister Kalista was once partnered with my sire.” Waldoff purred.

“We de la Grey’s never forget our friends… Nor our enemies” Jacques mused, adjusting his white finery as he moved towards the doorway that led to the tower’s spiral staircase. “Now let us discover which members of the Lancel line fit into which category!”

As Rebekah followed she scowled; "I thought it was just a distraction?"

"It is, but it's one I can use." Jacques answered quietly, already disappearing down the staircase.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The crowd had already gathered by the time Jacques and Rebekah arrived. Despite how packed in they all were due to the renovation equipment, there was enough room for the head of each bloodline to stand close to the lit firepit, flanked by the numerous members of their lineage.

Vaas, who stood on a dias at the end of the firepit nodded through the crowd to Jacques and Rebekah as they entered from the side-passage that led up to the tower. “I suggest we begin.” The Van Drak Vampire barked, calling the muttered conversations among the Vampires to a halt.

“Allow me to start, Vaas… as the unofficial host of tonight's gathering I feel it is important to welcome our guests to our new sanctuary.” Titus Lannis stepped forward eagerly, his loud voice dispelling any lingering conversations.

“Indeed.” Jacques added loudly, still crossing through the crowd towards the centre of the gathering. “Most of you will be aware that some slight complications arose during our mission in Castle Syliv, but my plan always allowed for something like that to happen, and now here we are in a much nicer palace. One that, for the time being, we can call our own.”

There was a murmur among the gathered Vampires as Jacques pushed his way to the front, boldly declaring; “We are now the masters of this place, any pure-blooded vampire is welcome to take up residence in the Chancellor’s new castles and palaces, and the mortals are being manipulated into compliance. As for the rest of the country, the entirety of the Borderlands can now be used as a hunting ground for those who need to sate their hunger. And quite soon, I am pleased to say, it will not matter how secretive we are about it, for the country will stand under the gracious protection of the Sunset Empire.” Jacques raised his arms dramatically, his white cape falling from his shoulders loosely as he gestured to Gideon.

Gideon nodded slightly with a respectful smile to Jacques. Jacques watched him carefully for a moment, trying to ascertain if he knew about the ultimatum yet. Given the official copy was still somewhere between the borders of Golgotha and Medina, he found it doubtful, but he had assumed Lancel had agents well placed in the Imperial court like his own.

Jacques shifted his raised arm only slightly to gesture to the Sunset vampires behind Gideon, foremost among them was Empress Madeline, as he added; “Gideon’s fledgeling serves as Empress, and we are delighted to have her join us for this occasion.” His grey eyes scanned for Rufus Black as he spoke, but he failed to spot him among the Lancel pack.

Madeline gave a knowing smile to the partially degrading remark, having been warned in advance that the vampiric leaders would try and remind her of her comparative youth and inexperience in dealing with the unliving court, thankfully her time in the politics of Medina left her more capable in resisting such snobbery than most fledgeling vampires might have been in her position and she did not let it phase her.

“Empress or no, I want to know about the witch hunters? What of their Inquisitor?” The voice of Jebediah Romulin cut through the crowd, his line was scattered throughout the Northern Duchies, and he usually only sent a small contingent to the Vampiric conclave. “I understand they were tracking Waldoff and your heir after the death of the Emperor?”

“They are presently distracted.” Jacques smiled knowingly to Rebekah.

“The bleak situation in Carvania is preoccupying the Golgothans.” Vaas added, his own smile more sadistic than anything.

“Good.” Volker Graff interjected gruffly. “I for one certainly don’t need any undue attention from them.”

Jacques smirked; “Indeed, Volker why don’t you tell us all what you’ve been up to? Some of our distant cousins might not be aware that we not only have two High Chancellors and an Empress in our midst, but a King as well. Even if they are just fleeting, mortal titles they still carry a modicum of respect here.”

Volker chuckled; “Fleeting is one word for it, the Jarls only elected me for a twenty year term on account of my condition.”

“They were aware of you when they voted?!” Ava Severin gasped from across the firepit.

“They were… and are. Garnians in general are more tolerant of our condition than the rest of Minern, it is the secrecy and necromancy favoured by our kind that they despise.”

Vaas grunted; “Could have fooled me. The Greymane fucks gave Jacques and I a hard enough time in Syliv, they almost exposed us and ruined everything.”

“They almost exposed you.” Jacques corrected. “I seem to recall the plan that you so often criticise being the very thing that ultimately saved you from that fate.”

Vaas waved a dismissive hand, he had long grown tired of arguing with Jacques, especially when he knew the more strategically minded Vampire had a point.

“It was Greymane who cast the final vote.” Volker smiled, enjoying the look of surprise that crossed the faces of the Vampires who recognised the significance of the name. Even Jacques struggled to hide his disbelief.

“If memory serves, that was not the mission assigned to you at the last conclave though Volker.” The raspy voice of Sydine Avaalon cut in from the other end of the firepit. “What of Josef Van Der Barr?”

“The lad lives, though he sustained heavy injuries in the Borags and almost succumbed to infection. He is currently residing in East Acre, regaining strength.”

“You were to get rid of him?” Sydine glared.

“The mission changed.” Volker replied, glancing at Jacques.

Jacques nodded; “I advised Volker that killing the rightful claimant of Carvania’s Princely Throne at a time like this may no longer be in our interests. I believe that we may yet have opportunities to make use of him, and his sister, as our plan moves into its next stage.”

As they spoke Rufus Black entered making little effort to conceal his arrival as the main wooden doors creaked open. Avoiding the scaffolding, he pushed through the gathered thralls towards Madeline and handed her a parchment before muttering a few words. As she began reading the note she raised an eyebrow to him finally seeing the amused grin on his face. Rufus darted his eyes up giving a nod to two recently sired Grey Wolves in the room who also made their way around the crowded room to see the message.

It had been no secret to the Vampires that many of their gets served in the secretive Grey Wolf organisation, after all the skills one acquires in order to survive unlife were awfully useful for criminal endeavours as well, but to see such an open acknowledgement of their allegiances in conclave was enough to cause a low murmur among their bloodkin.

Jacques clasped his hands and smiled to himself as Gideon calmly turned to investigate the small commotion caused by Rufus’s arrival, knowing full well what was unfolding before them. As the group continued discussing among themselves, Rufus looked up to see the peering eyes of the other vampires and spoke in an almost mocking tone.

“Thousands of years old and you’re already done talking? If the conversation's this bad the post-conclave orgy must be phenomenal...” Turning back to talk to his bloodkin after winking at Jacques.

The long and awkward silence that followed was interrupted only when Sydine Avaalon sneered; “This is not the way we address one another in conclave, in the court of Van Drak a juvenile Vampire such as yourself would have been torn apart for less!”

Rufus waved his hand dismissively at the remark talking now to the Grey Wolves who had arrived beside him as Gideon remained locked in conversation with Madeline.

“Sydine is right.” Titus Lannis said solemnly, clasping his hands behind his back with a frown as he asked; “Gideon would you care to explain the meaning of this?”

Cold and calm as ever, the blond Lancel turned on his heel back to face the other vampires, his eyes flicking between them curiously. It did not take Jacques long to realise that Gideon now was trying to work out who knew what, just as Jacques had been earlier.

Gideon smiled reassuringly to Titus; “I apologise for the drama, we have just intercepted a somewhat humorous and perplexing communique from the Gologthan Empire.”

“Something you’d like to share with us?” Ava Severin asked, the malice clear from her tone.

Jacques interjected quickly, waving his hand in Rufus’s direction; “Perhaps it would sound better coming from the Alpha of the Grey Wolves himself, now that he has deigned to join us.”

As the eyes of the vampires turned back to Rufus, Jacques exchanged glances with Gideon, the Medinian Vampire knowing full well that without Jacques’ help he may have faced difficult questions from the others, chief among them how likely it was that this turn of events might lead to their exposure.

That kind of talk never ended well...

[Sarrin]

The Borderland Palace, Farford, Farvas - 4E-152

Rufus didn’t turn immediately, instead finishing his remark to the two Wolves who then moved to leave the room. As he turned and stepped forward into the center of the group he showed a wide smile taking a moment to eye up each of the vampyric leaders before looking into Jacques eyes and speaking with an entirely jovial tone.

“You’ve caught me Jacques, shall I wait in the prison for the guards to come and execute me?” He chuckled to himself for a moment before continuing addressing the entire room for a moment before returning to Jacques; “The spanners have sent us an ultimatum that shows both the total incompetence of their diplomatic service’s foreign awareness and the sorry state of their judicial system. Though if we’re playing truths then I suspect you already knew about this ultimatum didn’t you? After all your spy network must be good for something.”

Jacques shrugged, his grey eyes locked on Rufus as he decided to go straight for the jugular, he didn’t even seem to care if the other vampires failed to understand what he was asking as he cooly asked; “Was it you?”

“Ludovic technically, I wanted him to enjoy the kill. Though I shared most of them with some colleagues. I’m surprised they’ve bothered sending an ultimatum, if you can really call these poorly researched bullet points such a thing, I’ll have a Carvanian torturer plead to the crime by the end of the week and burned alive before the spanners can even talk to him. Or would you prefer to proceed using some conclave plan? After all, following the orders of this sad party is what the very great and very dead Vlad would want…” As he finished he winked at Sydine Aavalon taking a flute of blood from a Lancel get and sipping it as he returned to the centre of the assembly.

There was more muttering amongst the crowd, especially at the casual disregard shown to the Dark Prince’s name. It was Vlad’s heir who broke the quiet, irritation clear on his face; “What is it they accuse Medina of exactly?!” Vaas glared at Gideon. “I want to see it with my own eyes, show me Gideon! And have Rufus Lancel stand down, he’s embarrassing your line.”

Rufus chuckled at the remark taking the parchment from Gideon’s hands and tossing it over to Vaas; “Big words from the heir to Van Drak who struggles even to lead this conclave. I wonder, do you think if he turns enough in his grave he’ll jump up back to life?” He took a moment of pause before locking eyes with Vaas “It’s Black not Lancel.”

There were a couple of smirks and sniggers from the vampires of the crowd as Rufus made his joke about Van Drak. There were even more however, in response to his supposedly independent name. Sniggers to which Rufus did a mocking bow as if an actor after a performance.

Vaas threw back his head in laughter. “Did my sire come back and start bestowing the gift to the common bastards of Medina while I wasn’t looking?”

“He did actually, came back while you were hiding from your own kin but figured you weren’t really worth his time. At least bastards had backbones he said.” Rufus smirked.

“You dare insult the heir to Van Drak!” Vaas hissed, eyes narrowing, his inner beast almost slipping through onto his face. “Gideon, this whelp is in contempt of your own line, let alone conclave…” Vaas trailed off as his eyes instinctively began to read over the ultimatum. Smirking at the remark Rufus moved back into the mass of people to mutter something to Madeline. When Vaas finished he added; “And he’s in direct violation of the plan.”

“In defence of the fledgeling, mouthy though he may be, neither him nor his sister were aware of the plan, nor the orders to avoid feeding on Golgothan soldiers in Carvania.” Jacques interjected coolly.

“If that is so, then Gideon stands in contempt!” Vaas threw up a gnarled accusing finger towards Gideon. “It is the duty of a sire to inform those he turns of the will of the conclave.”

“It is, but we made no mention of whether or not to kill Golgothans when we were last in conclave.” Jacques sighed. “That decision was made during our brief occupation of Castle Syliv, which I told you at the time; didn’t count as we were not all present.”

“Have they actually traced it back to Lancel, or Black, or whatever the fuck it calls itself?” Volker Graff interjected.

“No, though the demands imply a belief that the Sunset Empire itself is guilty of involvement.” Gideon answered cooly, as Jacques and Vaas looked back to the other vampires present.

“Is it?” Titus Lannis asked. “Farvas cannot join the Empire if doing so will only end up exposing us.”

Sensing a moment of silence Madeline decided to speak despite Gideon warning her that doing so would be against the conclave’s usual protocol before the gathering. Now however things had so changed with Rufus’ intrusion that he was gesturing or her to answer. It was clear from the look he gave her, that he was well aware that if they didn’t do something to reassure the others; then the paranoia that often governed the relationships between post-ascendancy vampires would reappear. She almost felt a little dismay as she stepped forward and placed a hand calmly on Gideon’s back out of the sight of the others to comfort him.

“The Sunset Empire had no knowledge of this occurrence and nothing proves our involvement. When I return I’ll arrange a meeting with the border princes, we may be Golgotha’s main trading partner but their own economies would crumble if our market disappeared overnight. Not to mention their private reserves would look a lot less shiny…” She paused and looked to Gideon who gave her an assuring nod to continue, stroking her elbow for a moment before she continued; “Rufus will ensure no evidence can be traced back to us, we’ve gotten our family out of far worse situations before, Gideon and myself will help the Golgothans see the futility of their actions. Medina has faced sanctions before and brushed them off easily each time, like many before it the phoenix will rise, only to find our merchants far more cunning than it expects.”

“It is true that my own enterprises within Golgotha benefit greatly from Medinian coin.” Ava Severin mused aloud. The entrepreneur from Hochstierre would be the one to say after all. She continued; “But we all saw how they reacted to Lucien and Rebekah, what makes you think this ultimatum is not a prelude to war?”

“Because Golgotha would be stupid to want it. They’re a warlike people but they are not fools, they face a front from the Northern League to Carvania in the east, Greenskins to the south and I think we can be confident the Elves would relish a chance to reclaim some glory if Golgotha is preoccupied. I dare say they might take out Ancelstierre for us!”

Gideon chimed on after she finished with his usual distant, analytical tone; “Even if it’s only a small gesture to Golgotha, Farvas choosing to join the Sunset Empire will serve to demonstrate to the world how poorly Golgothan threats are received.”

“It would also paint a target on our backs.” Titus Lannis replied quickly.

Jacques shrugged as a couple of eyes flashed his way, looking for his usual dry wit or a comment on how joining or not might impact on the grander plan. He said nothing, he had learned all he had needed to about the Lancel line from this short interrogation, he was confident that Titus would handle the rest.

“But you must consi-” Gideon began

Lannis cut him off. The stern Vampire clasped his hands behind his back almost seemed to puff his chest out a little as he said; “It seems that some time is needed for the Sunset Empire to get its house in order.” He paused. “Of course, we cannot revoke our decision to join for it would look weak, and worse still would leave our sanctuary without the protection it needs to prosper...”

“The solution is obvious.” Jacques smiled at both Titus and Gideon, who were exchanging cold looks. “The Sunset Empire simply delays accepting the accession of Farvas until such a time that war is no longer likely. To the outside world, Farvas is joining and so the Sunset’s protection still stands, but we have enough deniability that should a war break out around us, it can simply pass our new haven by.”

There were nods of agreement among the other vampires, none able to find the obvious flaw that Jacques had deliberately inserted into the plan. Most of them had grown used to not questioning their loyalty to the conclave and its decisions, but Lancel’s line were new, and needed to learn...

In this scenario, the Lancels were required to place their loyalty to the conclave above the petty concerns of their state. Whether or not they kept their word would determine everything, and Jacques felt confident that he already knew exactly how each of them would react once they were behind closed doors…

[Revlona]

Bas County, Rivièreroux - 4E-152

Following the battle, General Oren had retreated in complete disarray. The bulk of his remaining forces falling back along the road north towards Basèville, the main city of south-central Rivièreroux, whose imposing walls had not fallen since the conquest of Vlad Van Drak and Octavian de la Grey.

The Greenskins had gone against prevailing military logic and launched an uphill charge into the ranks of Oren’s riflemen, completely bypassing his trap in the pass below. Although the riflemen firing in volleys were able to inflict a small number of casualties, the hardiness and sheer ferocity of the horde in charging up to them meant that the brave soldiers of Rivièreroux struggled to last long, with most of the fighting having been concluded by the end of the day.

Oren had used the final hours of the battle to salvage his cannons and cavalry from the pass and beat a hasty retreat north. Undoubtedly he expected to receive reinforcements at Basèville due to the city’s central location, and he hoped that somehow they would make up for his losses.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Several hours after the battle

The Crews of Boyz whose job it was to carry the dead bodies to the middle of the camps set to work.

Hauling tens of thousands of human, greenskin, and boar corpses to the center.

Finally, when all the bodies had been hauled, Ironskar Emerged from his tent and walked around the massive pile of bodies.

Seeing a body that interested him, he hauled it by it’s limp arms, and in a show of brute strength, ripped it’s arm from its body.

Holding it above his head he roared a challenge, and the horde roared their approval back at him.

Nodding his head, he then ripped a chunk of the arm from the body and swallowed it in one gulp.

Quickly he turned and strode back into his tent as the horde rushed forward o get their share.

The next morning, the horde marched on full stomachs.

[Sarrin]

Office of the Vice-Chancellor, Medina – 4E-152

“Dear Emperor Nikolas”

Carstein proclaimed stroking his recently shaved chin as he paced his office reciting to a scribe. The office was a grand room with various paintings and carvings adorning the walls and roof. The desk itself was dated from the early second era and one of the few relics the family had been able to take from Hoch before the fled.

“I regret to inform you that your demands cannot be met…” He paused “No, scratch that shite I don’t regret shit about this and they’re in no position to make demands.”

The squire was a young man from a loyal minor house who had gained his position as a favour to his father. While not the brightest man himself he was a quick transcriber and had made good progress in his magical studies at the Archive. He struck through the sentence ready to continue below knowing he would transcribe the whole letter onto fresh parchment in a more elegant handwriting later.

“From your requests it appears you have been misinformed as to the powers of the Sunset government or perhaps more concerningly the rights of our people. It is due to these that we will be unable to comply with any of them. In the Golgothan state they would no doubt be permissible but alas here our citizens are sovereign and not our lords.”

Carstein stopped and looked at a painting opposite him depicting the expansion of the Eternal Archive following his family’s takeover. He ran his thin bony fingers through the few grey hairs that still clung to his head and cleared his throat before continuing.

“With Empress Madeline unable to respond to this letter, her being currently outside the capital, as your ambassador is no doubt aware, unless he has been neglecting his duties, I can only tell you the realities of our capabilities and not whether we can respond. Given that the timetable you have proposed prevents our sovereign from responding I hope this will suffice, we assume this isn’t meant to try and legitimise a declaration of war though after we discovered some in our department were uncertain we decided to send copies of your ultimatum to a number of other sovereign states for their personal opinions on the topic. I expect that you’ll approve of this given the standards of diplomacy must be kept decent.”

Carstein paused and smiled to himself before glancing at the parchment on his desk listing the requests.

“To start with I would first like to express the Sunset Empire’s sincerest condolences for the assault on your soldiers. While your wording did seem strange we are happy to oblige by what we understand to be your meaning and will send our recently formed Sunset Inquisition into the Bog, following the local count’s approval, to help determine the cause of the attack. Given the recent hostilities over border disputes we suspect we can provide a neutral arbitrator to the investigation.

Your third request was quite confusing to us but we understand it as a request to try the suspect, who may very well be a Carvanian citizen, in a Sunset Court. As you are well aware our courts are linked only to the state by virtue of their funding and otherwise operate with complete autonomy. Many foreign states have historically used Medinian courts to resolve disputes and we would be happy, pending payment for the service, to act as arbitrators following agreement by the Carvanian Princess-regent and your Emperor.”
Pouring a decanter of wine into his glass Carstein reread the first three requests looking for any evidence or specific assumptions about his own people. Given there were none he read onwards smiling at the weakness of Golgothan diplomatic ability.

“In regards to your fourth request we would be remiss to close our embassy with Golgotha and feel it represents a souring of relations. We will however do so if it is your wish though we make no such request of you. In Medina there is an ancient saying; ‘Where there are words there can be peace.’ As such we believe that even if you wish to weaken our continental links we will endeavour to put diplomacy before any attempt to project power.

As for Carvanian operations we are however unable to acknowledge your request due to the continued sovereignty enjoyed by that state. Should Lady Amelia make such a request personally we will oblige but would otherwise feel it would be harmful to continental peace to do so, after all the founding principles of our Empire include a commitment to peace. A commitment I’m sure you agree is threatened by ceasing to converse with one another.

In regards to the remaining clauses I would advise reading ‘Asterves’ Guide to Law: Medina’, ‘Ignaci’s People, Power and Adjudication’ or the ‘Constitution of the Sunset Empire’ in order to understand our constitutional ability. While the former two are of course more Medina centric the constitution borrows much from the capitals legal structure. We will be happy to send the latter if it should be of interest though your ambassador has, according to our records, been given a copy already alongside all the other ambassadors who reside in our city. To summarise however I would inform you that the state is limited to serving as a military protector of its citizens. Unlike in Golgotha, the state is perceived by our people as a guardian and while member states may play a larger role the Empire is unable to coerce or make them act in any way besides military spending and limited legal integration in specific areas.

Among others the fields of freedom of speech, movement, mercantilism and expression are however entirely protected in the constitution, which itself cannot be easily changed, and thus we cannot fulfil your requests. There is however much confusion as to what was meant by ‘slander and propaganda’ against the Gologthan state given we have made no declarations against you. It is suspected you refer to criers in Medina though any cultural attaché would be able to tell you that they are funded by independent houses and speak as their sponsor wishes, protected by the constitution. If you are of the belief it is anti-Golgothan I would direct you to the recently composed song ‘Madeline the Whore’ which has become common among House Wulf’s squires or some of the less tasteful graffiti towards the High Chancellor your ambassador has no doubt observed in his travels.”

He chuckled slightly as he wrote the last part. While the Carsteins were loyal to the Martello-Lancels they couldn’t deny ‘Madeline the Whore’ didn’t have a certain folkish charm to its melody.

“As for the 9th and 10th Requests we would ask to see what evidence you possess that we are responsible. It m understanding, though I have not had the time to check with one of our many experts, that in Golgotha, like most of the civilised world, one is innocent until proven guilty and, as there is nothing to affiliate us, we find this reaction to be strange. I would recommend ‘Zizek’s Torture in Carvania’ to reveal that castration has been used as a means to torture captives in the past by our southern neighbour and it’s unsurprising they may deploy it again if feeling threatened.

We hope this reaches you in good time and hope you can clarify if we have misunderstood your meaning. Empress Madeline would have responded if possible but your ambassadors disorganisation in reporting her location prevented her from being able to read and respond to within your proposed timetable.

Looking forward to continued prosperity between us,

Vice Chancellor Carstein of Media, Regent of the Sunset Empire”

As the squire finished writing Carstein shook his head and looked over “The only bad thing about thus fucking Empire… you cant lace letters to the warmongers with poison without a diplomatic fucking row.”

[Greater Latica]

Ancelstierre 4E-152

Emperor Nikolas counted down the seconds on the ornate grandfather clock in front of him. Each swing of the pendulum creeping closer and closer to the Ultimatum’s deadline.

“And that's seventeen minutes past. Exactly 96 hours after they received the Ultimatum, and yet no response. It's time to tighten the thumb screws and show them who's in charge. Minister if you would be so kind as to give Admiral Spee the order, and tell the forces at the border to mobilise.”

The defence minister nodded and stepped out of the room, “as you wish your Majesty”

“We’ll probably get some half-arsed reply in the next few days,” the foreign minister commented, “we should prepare for our next steps”

Kislev River 4E-152

Admiral Spee smiled as he watched the fleet sail up the Kislev River from the Bridge of the Constellation class battleship, SMS Orion. As part of the Ultimatum the Golgothan navy had been ordered to gather a naval task force to prepare to impose a blockade of Sunset trade, both down the Kislev andalong the Pyr rivers. The Kislev task force consisted of four capital ships, one Dreadnaught, the SMS Fearnaught, and three Constellation class, the SMS Aquila, the SMS Aquarius and the flagship SMS Orion. All steaming in line, leaving a trail of steam and smoke in their wake. More than a dozen frigates sailed as escorts, and to enforce the blockade directly, under the careful steel eyed gaze of battleships.

Whilst not directly part of the task force, privateers sailing under the flag of the guild of seafarers accompanied the Imperial Navy's warships, their wooden sailing vessels dwarfed by the metal hulled steam ships. The guild of seafarers had been granted a letter of marque by the Emperor, entitling them to keep any cargo they seized in lieu of direct payment. In Admiral Spee’s eyes this made them little more than legal pirates, but he did concede that he’d rather their lives were on the line than those of his own sailors and marines, even if he didn't like their profit motive and reckless nature. Their presence was probably saving the Imperial government a fortune and still allowed the Navy to keep the vast majority of ships out at sea, so it was a necessary evil to work with them.



As the fleet approached the border with Novaford, the stipulated demarcation line for the blockade, the capital ships formed a line across the busy shipping lane, and the frigates fanned out, preparing to board the first ships. The Kislev was one of the world’s busiest shipping lines, the task force had passed scores, if not hundreds, of masted sailing ships and barges making their way up and down the great river.

Ships bearing the Sunset flag were to be prevented from travelling further, and any that tried to breach the blockade were to be boarded and if they resisted they were to be sunk. At the same time as the Ultimatum, the Golgothan Empire had sent notice to the Northern states, explaining that should they not interfere they would remain unaffected, but should they try and help the Sunset circumnavigate the blockade, they soon would feel the full force of its effect.

[Sarrin]

The Emerald Villa, Bursa – 4E-152

Standing proudly in the naval district House Arastina’s villa stood as a testament to the families wealth and power. Named for its inspiration, the Emerald Palace of Rivièreroux, the Villa was a gorgeous shining building whose balcony gave perhaps the most classically scenic view of the Bursan dockyards, much of which the Arastina’s owned.

“They’ll bring it up in the debate, say your allegiance tilts us to war” Bashar said with a sigh as he reread the documents regarding Golgotha’s recent enlargement of its naval presence.

“Maintain the line towards neutrality and we’ll be fine.” Harold said back calmly taking a sip from his half full glass of a Rivièreroux red.

“And when he says it’ll screw up our trade unless we join Golgotha?” Bashar retorted half-heartedly. He knew the sanctions wouldn’t have an effect as much as Harold or even Farhad Ahmadi but if it was portrayed they might then the commoners may turn.

“You point out that no sailor flies the Sunset flag and those few who did flew it underneath their national flag as a sign of desire for integration. From the report I’ve received from Medina the ultimatum was so poorly researched it’s led to a surge of confidence among the Anti-Golgothan movement who think that for all their tech the Gologthan’s must have no foreign service whatsoever. This stupid blockade of a landlocked nation only reinforces it” Harold sounded almost annoyed as he spoke. For two days he’d been responding to questions about the Golgothans actions, questions that he’d expect children to ask.

“Do you think they’ll turn sanctions to us as well? A lot of our shipments to Carvania are sold on to Medinians by the locals.” Bashar asked as he refilled their glasses and took a sip of his own wine.

“Blockading Bursa would destroy the ring and leave their economy without anyone to export to. For all their military bravado and dismissal of the economic guilds wishes trying to take us out would throw them into a depression that they’d doubtless be forced deeper into by their new obsession with war against Sunset and continued occupation of Carvania.” Harold paused as he took another sip of his wine looking Bashar keenly in the eyes “Besides it’d ruin their relationship with the south, nearly half the continents trade comes through this city and there isn’t another port that can replace us now the Saiph Bridge is broken.”

“They might just invade then, you’ve heard the new bard’s song about their Badlands takeover ‘I’ve got a lovely bunch of flags to place’” Bashar tapped his foot slightly to the melody as he’d spoken. Written by a travelling Franchean bard ‘I’ve got a lovely bunch of flags to place’ had quickly become common in taverns satirising the Golgothan takeover of the Badlands as simply putting some flags down. Behind the humour however a very fearful truth laid, a fear that was proved real by their subsequent occupation of Carvania.

“They’d find the city worse than the swamps. Even in the Ascendency Bursa was a nightmare and we only had the one wall. Golgothan soldiers would be murdered every night and day for just walking down the street. Besides we just sell goods to Carvania its them who sell onto Sunset. There a landlocked country for fucks sake, Golgotha’s blockade is just a propaganda effort for their armies. They’ll probably buy some old boats and hoist Sunset flags on them just so their debris can be found.”

The pair chuckled as Harold finished taking a moment to enjoy the beautiful view of the harbour that could be seen from the balcony. For the first time in the evening no Golgothan ships were in sight and it almost seemed peaceful again. “The Angran’s won’t be happy” Harold finally said breaking the silence.

“The Golgothan’s ships are ironclad what are the pirates going to do?” Bashar said back. Since their arrival the warships had brought some relief to merchants as Angran’s began reducing their daylight raids. When the privateers arrived however they proved themselves little more than thugs occasionally raiding whatever passed in light of no ‘Sunset’ flags existing. With the Golgothans perceived as protecting these pirates some of the anti-Golgothan houses in Bursa had begun to portray the Angran’s as heroes of the south fighting to keep the northern pirates at bay. While this portrayal had little effect on the wealthier of Bursa who though the two no different it was gaining presence among the commoners.

“They’ll find a way. Angran’s always have and so long as Golgotha can’t dispel that magical mist the Angran’s will find ways to destroy their ships, after all iron’s not unbreakable.”

The pair uneasily chuckled at the thought of Angran’s being the liberators against the new expansion. The future was definitely uncertain though Bursa would continue to rise.

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Rekeyan Desert, Enthrala

Even under the binding the viscous winds of the sandstorm had let a mark and the bodies of the Engraved Monk and his companions were increasingly showing signs of wear. With the Golgothan’s now blockading ships it was unlikely they’d let him return but he knew the vessel he was bound to was reaching its peak anyhow. A new host had been prepared in Mayfair when he was ready.

Enthrala was an unforgiving land ruled by the mysterious warrior monks of the Church of the Southern Flame that had broken away from the northern church during the Ascendency. With the Cathedral destroyed the Southern Flame had considered the main church dismantled and gone so far as to steal the Infernum, the holy text of the Holy Fire theologies, to protect it in their own desert temple. The location of this temple was however unknown with common mythos being that those who wish to see it must travel into the desert until sand demons claim you.

“I sense the presence” one of the Runed Monk’s said, his jaw attached only by the bandages that bound his face leaving the non-ethereal tone of his voice sloppy and convoluted.

“They are watching us again from the dunes.” Another of the monks whose left arm had been blown away in the storm responded as he gestured to a nearby sand dune with a shimmer of a dark brown coat barely visible above it.

“They have enough to attack” The Engraved Monk said gesturing for the monks to stop, his fingers having been so worn down by the sandstorm that the bone underneath lay clearly exposed. As they came to a halt and looked towards the Dune a silence fell across the desert with even the wind failing to move the sand.

“AVASH’TA” Cried a shout from the dune as twelve figures leaped over charging towards the monks. The Engraved Monk lowered his hood beginning to mutter an incantation as his fingers channelled the necessary movements. “ZEV’RA SHADAR” Another voice screeched and around the monks man-sized tornadoes of sand appeared quickly revealing another six figures who leaped out with their battle starves concealed beneath the dark black garb of the Southern Church’s Sand Guardians.

The Runed Monks stood still taking blows against them and falling peacefully to the ground without any resistance. When finally they turned to the Engraved Monk they found the sand itself leap to counter their blows with some of their strikes being parried with such force they were knocked to their feet. When the charging warriors arrived before the Engraved Monks their leader, whose dark robes held a fiery embossing depicting the flame consuming an undead being, exclaimed again in the native tongue before addressing the Engraved Monk in common.

“Avallah, kevas terrin. Who are you undead that dare trespass our lands?” His voice was harsh but not decrepit and while his eyes were concealed under his hood their piercing gaze could be clearly felt.

“I am the Grand Cleric of the Church of the Holy Flame and Master of the Talbot Monastery. In this form I am not undead but a flesh Golem and my companions are the same. We seek –“

“Vaspar” The man said raising his battle staff to the Engraved Monk before recalling the sand’s protection and lowering it slightly “You seem undead to me and your heresy has no place in this land. We are the successors and we will not bow.”

The Engraved Monk smiled as his eyes illuminated with the wild energy of his creation “You are the successors, on that we couldn’t agree more.” He laughed his multi-tonal ethereal laugh as the leader of the Sand Guardians moved back raising a hand to stoke his chin.

“Ah’mar casallah” he remarked as his men prodded the Runed Monks to stand “You’ll come with us. If you attempt to flee or fight we’ll strike you down.”

The Engraved Monk smiled again “Lead on Vas Rennah, Commander of the Northern Guard, your Cleric awaits.”

Vas looked back carefully about to ask how the monk knew so much before thinking better of it “We’ll move faster if you are silent, cavas.”

The Engraved Monk nodded and slowly the group descended further into the desert. The winds slowly picking up to conceal their tracks leaving them to all who are concerned another victim of its cruel sands.

[Cheye]

East Acre, Garniem - 4E-152

Sitting in a lone chair atop a small but immensely scenic natural hillock, Josef Van Der Barr looked out over the hidden countryside of Garniem with a strange mixture of accomplishment and disbelief slapped across his face. On the one hand, he was the first true outsider to step foot here in over a millenia, and perhaps more miraculously, the Garnians tolerated his presence. On the other, his arrival had been far from glamorous; he had suffered intense spinal and head injuries as a result of his encounter with the dragon, fought off sickness brought on by infection, and he had been brought along by the very vampire he had been attempting to escape from.

During their journey, Josef had not been completely unconscious, and he had learned enough to understand why Leof had accepted Volker’s reasons for accompanying him back to Garniem. That the vampire hadn’t attempted to try something during their journey had surprised Josef, who had, for the most part, been in far too weak a state to resist should he have attacked.

While Volker and Leof had gone off to High Peak, Josef had been left in the care of local healers in East Acre, and with care and attention, they had eliminated the infection-induced fevers that had left him so weak, and slowly helped him to regain control of his damaged body.

Though his recovery had been steady, his body still fought against him when he tried to stand upright or walk. The healers told him that he would be lucky to ever walk again, believing that the head injury he had sustained had severed some of the nerves connecting to his legs. Nonetheless, they were impressed with his ability to persevere and as, over the last few weeks, he had settled into a routine of intense physio-therapy, regularly forcing himself to test the boundaries of his new condition, they had begun to revise their pessimistic outlook.

After Volker, after his initial encounter with Leof, after the dragon, after the long journey here and the fabled hostility of the Garniens towards outsiders, Josef knew he was lucky to be alive. He intended to make the best of it, even if that meant struggling through pain in order to do simple things such as standing up straight or walking.

Upon Leof’s return to East Acre, the young Jarl had been pleased to see Josef having recovered well, and brought him up to speed on the dramatic political developments that had shaken Garniem to its core, including the surprise election of Volker as the new king or ‘Brannon’.

Josef had sat silent in disbelief at the notion of a country knowingly electing a vampire to rule it, especially one that not too long ago had had him locked in a dark cell, but he understood from Leof’s explanation how dire the situation had become in Garniem since the tear had opened, and that in the right circumstances such a direct threat might force them to overlook, or even covet the dark abilities of a Vampire to get them through the challenge.

After his hunt with Gerhardt and Schultze and the experience shortly thereafter, that outlook certainly wasn’t one he empathized with. He knew that Vampires were real and pertinent threat, that one had spared him for some indiscernible higher purpose, only strengthened his mistrust, and Josef had no intention of waiting around for the creature that now ruled this strange land to change its mind.

He had to come up with a way of escaping, to get back to Carvania and his family. The thought of not having seen his father or Amelia in over a year now pained him greatly, how worried they must have been, especially if Gerhardt and Schultze had made it back safe in the autumn and delivered his message.

If he was going to make it out of here, especially without the full use of his legs, he needed to contact home. Fortunately Leof had told him about a Garnian who had just returned from Carvania on a diplomatic posting… One who now incidentally served as regent while Volker was away, no doubts making contact with his own kin, just as Josef wished too.

A lone figure climbed the hillock towards Josef’s perch.

“A fine view up here, one of the few not yet marred by that damned tear!” The voice of Jarl Greymane drifted upwards.

Josef smiled, instinct forced him to try an rise from his wooden chair respectfully, but when the motion failed to reach his lower body, he grimaced and sat back. “You are the lord who spent time in Carvania?”

Greymane’s eyes narrowed as he drew closer, he noticed as Josef looked the large Garnian up and down and nodded; “We do not have lords in the same way you do, but my wife and I led a mission to Syliv, yes.”

“How is my father?” Josef let out quickly, the longing for news of home growing stronger inside of him.

Greymane’s eyes flickered sympathetically for a moment, then he hardenned himself, remembering he was talking to an outsider as he answered; “...Dead.”

___________________________________________________________

Castle Syliv, Carvania - 4E-152

Count Edmure frowned, already several months had passed since he had stepped in as Carvania’s regent and he felt absolutely no closer to securing the peaceful resolution to the crisis he had hoped for. The eastern counts had always been difficult, but now they were on the verge of open rebellion, spurred on by Ludovic’s successes conducting guerilla warfare through the winter in Komovi. The western counts were even less helpful, some vying for positions of influence in his council, others going around him to lobby the Golgothan Empire for their own machinations.

Though they might have disagreed on the fundamental question of Carvania’s future, all of them seemed to see the ongoing constitutional crisis as something to be gained from, and in their quest for allies and manpower, Golgotha had only added fuel to that fire.

Knowing that Golgotha was so keen to train and deploy Carvania’s young men overseas, several counts had set their bannermen up press-ganging those young men who might otherwise have engaged in political agitation or criminal activity, into taking the Emperor’s coin and signing up at the new recruiting stations.

While this had worked to reduce the threat of the peasantry revolting against their count’s handling of the crisis, it had provoked a political backlash of its own against the press-gangs leading to violence in certain pockets of Carvania. This in turn had led to disagreements with the commanders of the Carvanian Army, who were too concerned about the Golgothan presence to abandon their fortifications to deal with peasant brawls.

Units from Edmure’s own warhost, the great expeditionary force set up to liberate Prince Josef, had been reduced to policing the countryside towns and villages to deal with the press-gangs, irritating Edmure’s second-in-command, Count Erik, no end.

Although Prince Ferdinand had offered to have Golgothan forces step in to police the countryside, as indeed they were already encamped throughout the land, Edmure had persuaded him that Carvanian units themselves were better suited to the task, lest the presence of foreign troops lead to a more organised resistance. No that it mattered. If the Golgothan intelligence reports were correct, resistance was coming anyway, with rumours of Amelia Van Der Barr herself having played a role in bringing together the eastern troublemakers in Drakwold.

Resistance or not, Edmure knew, things could have been much worse. The Golgothans had left him in command of the state apparatus and were respecting the peace plan he had put forward. Aside from Ludovic, the counts were still too afraid to openly fight Golgotha, which meant that a tense and uneasy peace still held... and while there was peace there could be dialogue.

This was Edmure’s hope. As he sat thinking about it all however, he knew that the Golgothans would need to see progress in order to keep that option open. If they felt that he was stalling, or worse, in league with the resistance, their occupation here would quickly become a lot less benevolent.

“It’s time we establish talks between at least some of the counts and Golgotha.” Edmure finally said aloud.

He had been sat silently pondering it all for so long the two advisors who sat at nearby desks were startled to hear his voice. One of them turned; “You have a plan my lord?”

“I need you to find an excuse for a banquet and send out invitations.” Edmure nodded, more to himself than to the advisors; “It can’t be anything too formal, just a special occasion that will get the less hostile nobles sat around a table with myself and the Princes.”

“The advent of spring marks a long established Franchean holiday, perhaps we could aim for a gathering then? Given the Francheans are the most likely to attend, it would be fitting.”

“That sounds perfect.” Edmure nodded, rising to his feet. “I’ll tell the Princes. Wine will flow and perhaps we can finally make some progress towards ending the crisis.”

“We live in hope, my lord.” Came the response.

[Greater Latica]

Tepanec, The Badlands 4E-152

The small cluster of brickwork buildings looked drastically out of place in the savannah grasslands. Temporary wooden sign boards marked the layout of the new build city; City Hall, the Ministry of Indigenous affairs, a railway station and Guild of Railwaymen regional office among others. Some were little more the just concrete foundations dug into the ground or just staked out in the grass with rope, but the City hall was nearing completion with only the clock tower still clad in scaffolding. A row of six coupled dean goods steam locomotives stood next to the wooden platform that formed the current station. These were to become instrumental in the construction of the railway line linking the area back to the Empire’s heartlands. The flat grassy plains were perfect railway country, and construction had already started at both ends, track slinking its was westward from Wissenstierre and eastward from Tepanec.

Masses of labourers, Golgothan, Carvanian, Dwarvish and Elven had been enticed be the promise of jobs and land had made the harsh and unforgiving journey and set up residence nearby in a massive city of tents and temporary wooden huts. A roughshod trackway connected the tents to the vestigial railway station on which stood another pair of locomotives. One had a number pipes and tubes leading off it and vanishing into the sea of canvas, the steam off its boiler used to power numerous machines across the camp.

This new city was to have a critical role to play in the integration of the new principalities into the Golgothan Empire. It lay on the point where the borders of the three states met and was to be where the process was to be managed, especially deciding who would eventually become their new rulers. The varying cultures of the badlands made this more complex, however this was not the most immediate issue. The Great Khan, from his lair in the northern badlands had threatened to burn the villages of anyone seen to be working with the ‘interlopers’. Now the native population had become shady and uncooperative, it was harder to arrange meetings with tribal leaders and recruitment into work parties and the tribal Auxilia was down. It was from the rooms of the new city hall that it was decided that the great Khan would have to be stopped. The viceroy council had been content to let him maintain his control over the northern bank of the river, but it was an unspoken arrangement that was swiftly becoming untenable. The colonial army was to make its first move north across the river to reassure to locals that they could be trusted to protect them.

Prince Amelia’s Barracks, Syliv, Carvania

The recruits were lined up in ranks on the parade square. Some had bags containing their few worldly possessions and others had little more than the clothes they were stood up in, but every recruit had in front of them, in a small folded pile, their newly issued uniforms and boots. Perched on top was a deep blue beret with a silver coloured badge depicting a bat with its wings outstretched and CARVANIA emblazoned underneath.

The regimental sergeant major marched onto the square, the metallic sound of his hobnailed boots echoing in the silence. He looked up and down the length of the formation.

“Attention recruits!” He barked, “I will be your training regimental sergeant major, my task is to turn you into loyal Golgothan soldiers. I do not care who you are or why you are here. I do not care if you were press ganged, conscripted or you volunteered. I do not care who you were, farmers, workers or criminals. This does not matter. You stepped onto this parade square as men, you will step off it in twelve weeks time as soldiers of the1st Carvanian regiment. All that I care about is that you do you duty to Emperor and Empire. Training begins at 06:30 tomorrow morning. Dismissed”

[Sarrin]

Morskoi - 4E-152

The trading city was quiet as the gentle late winter winds wrapped the grand Dwarven walls illuminated by the full moon. Along it the guards kept watch for any signs of movement. The city had managed to avoid any danger in recent years but they knew better than to expect to be left untouched by recent events. While communications with the Borag Dwarves had offered a flicker of hope with the promise of renewed ties the talks of Tarakia’s civil war ending raised fears of an invasion by their national cousins.

In the gatehouse six guards sat around a fancy wooden table, their rifles resting along the table side, their facial hair equally as grand.

“You’re talking shit” the captain exclaimed as he threw his cards onto the table raising an eyebrow at the young man opposite him. Morskoi had sought to stay modern equipping their guards with rifles and the training to use them but the attire still reflected their distant dwarvish ancestry with steel sapphire blue pauldrons, though their gauntlets had been removed to better allow for rifle fire.

“Read ‘em and weep Captain” the younger guard replied revealing his royal flush and taking the mishmash of Medinian coins that had piled in the middle of the table. “Shouldn’t Aarvard be back now? He was only supposed to patrol half the bloody way...” he said hoping to distract his superior from the losses.

“Aye, where the hell is that bastard?” He said, looking through the open door and down the wall hoping to see a shadow in the darkness. “Gendri and Victor you go check and take a bloody torch with you.”

Two of the guards shrugged and picked up their rifles, the taller of the two, though himself standing only an inch or two above 5ft, picking up a torch from beside the door and lighting it on a lit one beside it.

“Now deal again, it’s time I make back some of my coin!” the Captain smirked as he turned back to the table.

“I think it’s easier if I take that” a soft voice exclaimed from the opposite doorway his men had left through. As they turned a tall slender figure entered lowering a rich black hood to reveal herself as a beautiful young Elven woman whose long white hair extenuated her hungry red eyes. The captain reached for his rifle as the three other guards stood up quickly fumbling for their own.

“This is restricted miss, state your identity and be gone!” the captain commanded raising his rifle to her and darting a quick look to his men to see if they’d yet done the same.

“Do you not recognise me Tarin?” she said walking calmly towards the mechanism that opened or closed the gates. The captain grunted keeping his gun trained on her “I can’t say I do though I try not to make talk with you knife ears. If you take another step it’ll be your last.”

The woman stopped and smirked raising a hand and gesturing towards the door the guards had recently left through for someone to enter. As the captain glanced over he saw two figures enter in similar garb their faces concealed by a mixture of cloth and the hoods. Two of the guards turned their guns towards the new arrivals while the third pointed it towards the door the woman had entered in fearing a new arrival.

“He’s a smart one isn’t he” the woman replied “But unfortunately it’ll be too late.”

As the Captain squeezed on the trigger gunshots erupted from the tower. A single shot rippling through the quiet city shattering the peaceful silence. After a few moments bells started ringing all around the walls and atop the royal palace, followed quickly by pyres lighting up and torches moving through the city as soldiers ran to their stations ready to fight back.

“We didn’t need to wake them...” one of the concealed men said in a muffled voice as he wiped blood from his blade using the beard hairs of one of the slain guards.

“If the fight is too easy it’ll look suspicious, casualties make the winners feel deserving and the losers think they put in a good effort. Besides the Alpha wanted this to end with the Baron leashed, not abdicating. Alerting them opens the door to a resistance.” Her voice had an eerie kindness to it speaking as if she were a housemaid to a lord.

“They’ll know you didn’t arrive with them to the safe house.” one of the men said slowly turning the wheel that opened the gate.

“When we decide to approach him with a chance to keep power it won’t matter.” She responded chuckling sheathing her blade and taking the rifle from the captain’s body.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I assume that’s the signal then.” Vladimir Stana said sighing as he kicked his horse into movement slowly trudging towards the soon to be open castle gate.

“I thought Radek said it would be quiet?” a man said wearing a sophisticated uniform evidently modelled after that of a Golgothan officer.

“He also said he was the Count, clucking doesn’t make you a rooster.” He replied still looking forward. “Alert the men, I’ll lead the cavalry then you follow in with the troops. Done right we’ll have the city by sundown.”

“And done wrong?” the man said already turning his horse and drawing his pistol ready to signal the charge.

“Then we’re dead anyway” Vladimir replied face stoic despite the fact he was half-joking as he drew his sword and charged. The moonlight glinted off his silver infused blade as he summoned the horsemen beside him, leading them into the fray. The Battle of Morskoi had begun.

Villa Lancel, Medina

Madeline exhaled as she relaxed along her chaise longue listening as Gideon read through Carstein’s report on Medinian affairs that they had missed during their trip.

“Shall we send some invitations out? I imagine we can rely on our old friends in the border principalities to stop Golgotha’s silly trade war before it becomes an annoyance instead of an inconvenience.” She spoke as if already exhausted by the issue though the pair had spoken little of it during their journey back up. They both knew what the other was thinking afterall.

“If we invite the Princes of Ostierre and Nulnstierre they should come. After all their people thrive on our trade and their own coffers have greatly enjoyed our donations.” Gideon’s tone remained neutral as he opened a desk draw to remove a leather bound tome which was inscribed simply with the words “Westward Donations”.

Madeline smiled and stood from her chair walking calmly over to Gideon and placing a hand on his shoulder massaging it slightly. Gideon looked up at her showing a slight smile before putting the book down.

“Tarakia will announce its integration within the week and Morthin’s referendum passed with a small majority. The Von Gothra’s have even developed a new gas they say will help the war effort though as I understand it one simply ends up laughing so I doubt it has any real useful application… Though it could be fun at parties....” Madeline’s voice was warm intentionally distracting from the Golgothan issue. While neither willingly called it so, both suspected the demands could become an excuse for war and that even with all the tricks Medina and the newly united Eastern Kingdoms had up their sleeves, Golgotha’s manpower and industry alone put the odds against them.

“I’m more concerned about your brother. He’s becoming a liability.” Gideon said, pausing for a moment to read Madeline’s face before finishing; “If he was anyone else we both know he’d have been removed from the game.”

Madeline’s face remained neutral as she heard Gideon’s words. She knew what he said was true even if she had tried to avoid it. He had deliberately outshone them in the Conclave and his actions in Carvania had potentially doomed the Sunset Empire to the grave. She understood the significance of the fact that Gideon now believed the other members of the conclave were already conspiring against their line, ready to cut their losses to ensure the survival of the whole if it came to it. Still she felt a need to protect her brother; after all they had always taken care of each other.

“I’ll speak to him when he returns from Bursa. He would be crippling to lose however, neutralising our best spy networks.”

Gideon took Madeline’s hand and stroked it slightly “I’ll make provisions if it should turn sour but know that we can survive this Madeline. I can protect you from the conclave but unless he falls in line, I cannot promise the same for him.”

Madeline nodded saying nothing. She had never been blind to the quiet rivalry between her brother and husband but with his actions at the conclave it was more dangerous than ever. Worst still was the underlying truth: Golgotha be damned, a fight between the pair would leave the state in total ruin..

Farvas-Carvania Border

Inquisitor Vladimir’s eyes shot open as the wagon went over a bump in the road his reflexes instantly moving his hand to the long silver enriched sword he kept on his back stopping only when he remember his place. The Itruskian Inquistion had officially been merged with that of the Sunset Empire and with it he had been made a Sunset Inquisitor. He had originally sought to return to Itrusk and petition the Boyar to push to restore the national force but on the day he was to depart he was given new orders: To investigate the Golgothan belief that the Sunset Empire was involved in the attack on their scouts in the Bog.

It was hardly his ideal mission but nothing he couldn’t handle. As bad as stories of Carvania were he was an able operative and had taken on far greater threats than those posed by a mere murder investigation.

Still he was uncertain, could vampires have infected his home? Could the old rumours about the Lancel’s be true? He had been sure they were nothing, after all how could the Boyar willingly serve such a beast but he’d met Gideon and seen none of the signs. Not that he’d be able to instinctively tell a pureblood from sight, they were stealthier and smarter than that, in equal measure.

As the wagon crossed into Novania he saw the unease on the other travellers faces. Many were refugees who had fled Komovi when the Golgothans began to arrive and now, following stories of a fledgeling resistance, had begun to return to find rebels to join, desperate to fight for their home after a cold winter spent away. As he examined their faces he saw one young boy, barely seventeen who sat opposite him with short black hair and mud scattered across his face in an effort to disguise his lack of facial hair.

“You come to fight boy?” He said sternly startling the boy as he heard a voice break the silence.

“Y…Yes sir, fight for my countrymen like the brave Komovi Rangers.” He replied his voice breaking slightly as he spoke.

“Have you ever been in a fight before?” Vladimir asked lowering his hood slightly to reveal some of his face to the boy. The boy pushed off his hood to better show his face exposing his left eye to be entirely white and a scar shaped like a hand marking the left side of his face.

“When I was leaving, killed a nest of drowners after one of them got my pa...” Vladimir nodded, the wound betrayed the sad truth of his story more than any questions could but he doubted the boy had been able to take out an entire nest on his own, more likely he’d killed what few he’d found in the shallows and thought the beasts gone.

“That’s very brave, few people can say to have faced so many creatures and lived.” He eventually said as he unhooked a silver dagger and its scabbard from his belt. “Though you’ll need a real blade if you meet more, steel can only do so much to those abominations, try this” he passed it over to the boy who quickly pulled it out, his one brown eye lighting with excitement at it.

“Th..thank you” the boy stuttered out after realising he’d been eyeing it for too long.

“I suspect the Flame has plans for you though I’d get off at the next town, Golgothans will be patrolling soon after and they’ll be suspicious of anyone travelling from the north.” As he spoke he moved down the wagon being careful to try and not wake any of the sleeping passengers. As he reached the end and lept off he heard the boys voice a final time from behind.

“May the Dark Prince guide you.”

[Cheye]

Wolfswood, Wolfswood County, Carvania - 4E-152

An imperfect sunset fell over the small city of Wolfswood, nestled in the heart of the ancient forest of the same name that covered the north-west of Carvania. The imperfection came in the form of a giant plume of smoke that cut the sinking sun in two from the direction of the Golgothan encampment to the west.

Concerned townsfolk lined the streets in the hillier sections of the city, desperate to get a look at the fire that raged outside of town, uncertainty gripping their hearts as they wondered whether this was a natural occurrence, a horrible accident or part of some unseemly plot by one of the various factions competing for control of Carvania.

The Count of Wolfswood’s men seemed to suspect the latter, as alarm bells began to sound out across the city walls and uniformed men began to run from the county hall and adjacent castle barking orders to their inferiors, intent on stopping the blaze before it spread to the city itself.

“What in flame’s name is going on down there!?” Count Arno Matille barked, his spidery fingers gripping the battlement tightly as he looked out from the roof of the county hall.

The Golgothan Brigadier who the Count had been meeting with looked equally concerned, a soldier passed him a pair of brass and leather binoculars.

“The blaze is on the western road…” The Brigadier explained calmly as he adjusted the binoculars. “...It appears there are burning trees in the road, and several more on the south side, the wooden buildings that line both sides of the road are also ablaze. Houses I believe.” He added with a sigh that contained both sadness for the occupants and relief that the inferno was sufficiently far from his encampment.

“You’ll want to get down there and see to your men?” Count Arno turned to him, his gaunt face conveying more panic than was perhaps necessary. “We can resume our discussion about my loyalty to your cause once you’ve apprehended those responsible.”

“You have cause to suspect arson, or worse?” The Brigadier remained a picture of imperial calm as he questioned the Count.

“You don’t!?” Arno frowned. “Between the Vampires roaming the Bog, seditionists gathering in the east and revolutionaries up in Farvas, Wolfswood stands vulnerable! It’s why I’m keen to deal with you people directly, Edmure and those poncy southerners just don’t get it.”

The Brigadier nodded, turning to give orders to his entourage.

The gaunt Count remained rooted to the spot as the Golgothans disappeared, watching out over his capital as the large fire blew towards it, entirely cutting off the Golgothan Encampment. As Arno watched the soldiers begin to battle the inferno, he began to suspect a ruse, he was a veteran of the Bordeleaux Revolt and knew a diversion when he saw one. Someone was trying to drive a very literal wedge between him and the Golgothans. But for what purpose he couldn’t tell.

As the Count turned on the spot and headed back inside, he prepared to summon his bannermen. Then the floor shook suddenly and he was knocked off his feet by a deafening explosion. Tumbling down the stone steps he cursed the flame and the Dark Prince both, but fortunately he managed to catch himself at the bottom and pulled himself back to his feet.

Diversion indeed. As the juddering sound of rifle fire and the clanging of steel filled his senses, Arno knew the county hall and castle were under attack, and whichever bastard enemy it was, they were coming for him…

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Gavish Reave and his raiders had always been merciless in battle. The well-executed attack they had launched on Wolfswood was proving to be no exception. Having the Carvanian Resistance, an organised and friendly fighting force, prepared to operate in total coordination with them, was an invaluable asset for the war chief of Blackrock.

His various gangs had always been able to raid the villages and hamlets of rural, forested northern-Carvania with ease, but the walled cities, many of them built at the height of the Vampyric Ascendancy, had remained off-limits.

No longer.

Reave and his men had arrived slowly, filtering into the town since the gathering at Drakwold, hiding amongst the population until everything was ready. The Carvanians had done the rest; chopping down the trees and starting a fire on the western road, close to the Golgothan camp, and also using sympathisers close to the errant count to smuggle gunpowder and weapons in and around the county hall and castle.

Bodies piled up amidst blown out stonework near a gaping hole in the wall that now exposed the interior corridors of the bottom level of the county hall.

The buildings proximity to the small castle at the centre of the city meant that Reave had to commit more men to the assault than he would usually take on a raid, but when word had reached the rock that a count of Carvania’s treasury was up for grabs there had been no shortage of volunteers.

The half-orc warchief now watched as Crook’s gang of cutthroats and cannibals led the charge towards the bewildered defenders, leaping, slashing and biting at the unexpecting guardsmen. As Reave and his personal guard approached the breach into the county hall, a well dressed man emerged from the rubble, raising a pistol towards the giant warchief, but before he could fire, one of Reave’s men leapt on top of him and brought down his enormous warhammer, crushing the bannerman’s head in with just a single blow.

There could be no delays. Reave was here for the Count of Wolfswood and his treasury, not to get bogged down fighting Carvania’s war for them. He grunted as he saw another of the count’s bannermen leading a contingent of guardsmen down towards the breach.

“Find the Count and flush him out!” He barked to his men. “And take anything that’s not nailed down!”

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Count Arno was already out of County Hall, he’d taken one of the secret passages that connected the building to the adjacent castle where he lived and bolted for his family’s quarters. He had been shocked to discover that the attackers had managed to get into the courtyard and the castle’s lower levels, and could make their way upstairs at any moment.

Arno knew he had two options; bunker down and wait for the Golgothans to clear their way into the city and deal with the attackers, or flee to one of the forts that dotted Wolfswood County and wait for more information. If he stayed, and the Golgothans rescued him, he knew he would be placed in debt to them. If he fled, they would think him a coward and be less likely to give him responsibilities in the new Carvania they were building.

As he rushed into the suite shared by his two daughters’ only to find four disheveled and dirty looking bandits feasting on the dismembered body of his eldest girl, he almost passed out. Blood and guts lay strewn across the floor. The sight that met him as he glanced into the adjacent room was even worse however, as the head of his youngest daughter, who had been barely a teenager, sat on the bed, cold lifeless eyes locked on him as he realised her body lay behind it, hands bound, dress ripped and torn to expose bruised and bloodied flesh.

How long had these bastards been in here? How had nobody heard the screams of his poor daughters?

The cannibals glanced up at the Count as they realized their feast had been interrupted. Though Arno had just had a realization of his own; if the castle was breached and the brigands had penetrated this deep, his family must have been betrayed. There could be no waiting for the Golgothans if he couldn’t trust anyone here. He had to leave.

He turned and bolted back down the corridor, his son Julian, who’d not been in the wing at the time of the attack but had, like his father, returned to be with his family, emerged from his suite having hastily packed a bag. Arno grabbed the boy’s arm as he ran by, pulling him along.

“Guards! Guards!” The Count cried, though it would be a miracle if anyone heard him over all the fighting going on outside.

His wife emerged from the doorway ahead that connected the family apartments with the rest of the castle. The skirt of her dress was slightly ripped and a fresh cut bled on her lip.

“Don’t go that way!” She hissed, running towards him as the door burst open and a giant beast of a man, with green-tinted skin and prominent fangs, advanced into the corridor after her.

Arno stopped suddenly, Julian crashing into him as he did so, he looked back as the four ragged cannibals, faces covered in blood advanced towards them, licking their lips psychotically and raising their serrated blades.

Arno drew his sabre, it was a ceremonial blade, a relic from his time with the cavalry in the Bordeleaux Revolt, he hadn’t actually used it in decades, but now as what was left of his family found themselves trapped between the cannibals and the massive man-beast he knew it was all he could do.

Suddenly a door to one of the guest rooms opened a little further down the corridor and one of Arno’s bannermen cried; “Through here my lord!”

The family made a beeline to the sanctuary, none of them quite able to believe their luck as the bannerman charged out and slammed into the half-orc, providing a perfect distraction for them to slip into the room.

As they filed in however, one of the cannibals grabbed hold of Julian and the teenage boy struggled to shake her off. Arno was about to slash the assailant’s arm with his sabre when another of the disgusting fiends stepped in the way and lunged for the Count as well.

Although Arno killed him with a quick counter-strike, the distraction had been long enough for the other three cannibals to pin down Julian and carry him off, screaming as he went, down the corridor.

As the half-orc finished tearing apart the brave bannermen with his axe and now lunged towards the doorway, Arno knew he had no choice but to flee. His wife cried out for her son as he slammed the door shut and bolted it, but he had already lost his daughters. He hardened his heart and swore vengeance on those responsible, before taking the open passageway the bannerman had used to get into the wing down and out through the servants quarters towards the rear stables.

Half an hour later Count Arno and his wife were in a carriage, rolling away from Wolfswood with all deliberate speed.

Neither of them could face saying anything about the ordeal they had just been through, though the Lady quietly wept for their lost children.

Cont Arno knew that once he was safe and his city restored to order, he would have to return to formalise a deal with the Golgothans. Their Empire would end the lawless chaos that had taken root in Carvania, the lawless chaos that had taken his children from him. It consoled Arno greatly to know that revenge would soon be his.

He awoke from his macabre thoughts of revenge however as the carriage began to come to a halt…

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Wilderness, East of Wolfswood, Carvania - 4E-152

Count Harkon of Syliv hadn’t wanted to oversee this operation. He knew his place was back in the capital, tending to the needs of his people during this tumultuous time, but Amelia’s insistence that the Counts calling for the Carvanian Resistance had to be the ones to lead it had meant that those who swore their loyalty at Drakwold now had to step up and become leaders outside of their own counties.

When General Pekár had suggested that a Count would be needed in Wolfswood to ensure the militiamen remained loyal to the cause and did not turn to idle banditry, there had been a wry chuckle among the others, given that banditry was exactly what they were resorting to in order to dethrone the Count of Wolfswood. Alas, none of them could be spared from the organisation and mobilisation efforts that had quietly begun in their own counties. Given Syliv was at the epicentre of Golgothan activity in Carvania, he was the only Count unable to actively play a role in preparing a resistance effort, and so it was to him that the others had looked when Pekár made his suggestion.

“They’re coming!” One of the militiamen barked nearby. Harkon nodded, and gestured for the men to take their positions behind the trees at the side of the clearing, near the road. The black uniforms that had been provided by Medina were even more functional now in the dead of night, and his men hid themselves well as they prepared their ambush…

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Count Arno was jostled from the carriage by a pair of large soldiers in a black uniform he didn’t recognise. One held a rapier to his chest as the other bound his hands behind his back. His wife received similar treatment on the other side of the carriage, four more of the black-clad soldiers pointing rifles at them from the side of the road.

Arno knew that these weren’t the petty criminals who had massacred Wolfswood earlier, these were something else entirely.

“I demand you take me to your leader!” Arno barked, trying his best to sound commanding despite the fear and trauma in his voice.

“Count’s a little preoccupied at present.” One of the soldier’s replied, almost casually.

“What Count? Who dares send men into my land, is he also behind the attack!?” Arno roared.

The soldiers exchanged glances. Their high-collared uniforms hid their mouths while the low brims of their hats obscured their eyes from view of the count, so he couldn’t work out what they were thinking, in truth they looked quite terrifying.

“You don’t need to know that…” One of the riflemen said after a long moment.

The first soldier pressed him. “Point is, you’re abdicating your countship, Count Arno - by order of the Carvanian Resistance.”

Arno spat on the man’s boots, losing his composure completely; “You insolent knave! I’ve just watched my daughters get eaten by savages in my own fucking castle! While you’re out here in the woods in these fancy uniforms playing fucking politics, bandits are raping your wives and killing our children! I ought to have each and everyone of you hung, but if you set me free, we can pretend this never happened and you can go back to whichever dumb count thinks opposing Golgotha is a smart play, and tell them you came to your fucking senses!”

There was an awkward silence. Then slowly, and one by one, the soldiers began to laugh.

“General said you might say something like that!” The first chuckled. “He also said if that were the case… We know what to do… and we do.”

The soldier behind him pushed the Count forward towards the side of the road. The others followed, bringing his wife along too. From the branch of a large and sturdy tree a little way back from the road, two nooses loomed out of the darkness.

Count Arno’s jaw dropped, to have come so far and survived so much this evening only to be hung in the woods like a common criminal. It wasn’t right. His wife passed out as she saw the second rope, attracting more laughter from the resistance soldiers who now dragged her towards it.

“You’ll all pay for this!” Count Arno barked gruffly, though he knew there was no point resisting further.

Deep down he knew he was already dead.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Count Harkon stabbed the first criminal with such force that his sword came out the other side. A gunshot from a resistance soldier’s rifle took down the second. The third stopped in her tracks and raised her dagger to the boy’s throat.

“One more step and I’ll kill him!” The vile woman barked. Her face was black with dirt and blood and her clothing looked little better than that of the average beggar.

The boy grew visibly tense, freezing on the spot. That was good. Harkon slowly lowered his sword, eyes locked with the criminals as she slowly stepped to the side.

“Go on, jus’ let us ‘ave our meat…” She hissed. A hole appeared between her eyes as the final rifle shot rang out from somewhere behind Harkon.

The Count of Syliv flung back his shoulder-cape and ran over to the boy who was so shocked as the woman slumped back behind him that he too had collapsed to the floor.

“You’re okay! We’ve got you now!” Harkon said reassuringly, helping him to his feet.

The teenage boy glanced up at the Carvanian Resistance members in their black uniforms, with their faces hidden. The men now circling the clearing, keeping their eye out for more of the criminals who were slowly peeling off from the assault on Wolfswood, having taken their fill of plunder and prisoners.

Harkon had succeeded in finding the ones he wanted to however, Reave had at least cooperated that much. As the Count smiled down at Lord, now Count, Julian of Wolfswood, the boy responded nervously; “Who are you?”

Harkon had to seed the lie carefully, lest the boy end up asking too many questions too soon. He decided simple was best as he smiled; “We’re the Carvanian Resistance, and we’re here to help...”

[Sarrin]

The Bog, Carvania – 4E-152

It hadn’t been a hard journey for Vladimir. Before departing he had made time to check the copied records of the Itruskan Inquisition that now resided in the Eternal Archive of Medina. To his fortune the government had anticipated trouble in Carvania long before it started and prioritized copies of all protocol, maps and information pertaining to the nation.

It was from these copies he’d been able to study and learn a rough geography of the northern Bog and many of the more secretive side roots through Novania. Indeed it was perhaps to his great fortune that Carvania had never been a wealthy state as despite the maps dating from the fall of the Ascendency the roots remained unchanged many long forgotten by the weary natives.
His task was clear however, while many foreigners had scoffed at the Itruskan’s for their overcomplicated protocols specialized for every national encounter or beast it did provide the group with a unique talent to infiltrate, providing they did their research. The Camp he approached was a sultry place temporarily erected on some of the more stable ground aside the swampland upon which the people’s various crafts rested. Despite this it had a great deal of character with small totems meant to ward off forest creatures and the tents they resided in were often decorated with ornate patterns and some with unusual furs.

As he walked through the camp however it was clear he was unwelcome. Initially his arrival had elicited a few stares and mutterings, after all he was a man concealed in a long cloak whose only distinguishing visible feature was the long-sword sheathed on his back and his nose protruding through the hood. As he slowly made his way inwards the mutterings and glares evolved and as he reached the fishing and courier boats a crowd had gathered in pursuit slowly matching his pace and echoing his footsteps with cracked knuckles and chuckled mutterings of wagers. Still Vladimir walked on aware of protocol and mindful of his task.

When he reached the ‘docks’ the crowd behind him numbered nearly forty and some had stopped to gather clubs or other weapons in case the fight turned out of hand. Vladimir breathed a sigh of relief as he found his target, the man he had been told about by the innkeeper he spoke to the night before, a towering man built like a minotaur hammering away as he repaired a boat’s cracked hull.

“Tijan the Boatsman?” he said sternly matching the advised tone from his readings, one of authority but also respect.

The lumbering hulk of a man dropped his hammer into the boat turning towards Vladimir. He was nearly 6”7 with short shaved black hair and rough stubble barely concealing a handful of small scars along his chin. “Oio’s osking?” Tijan spoke in a deep rough voice, his Bog accent making his words almost indiscernible as he folded his arms and cracked his neck as he spoke.

“Vladimir, I’ve heard you’re the strongest man in this part of the country and I’m here to prove you wrong.” As he spoke he knocked back his hood revealing his scruffy black hair and beard that had been carefully timed and damaged to echo his story. A story he was sure would work, as if on cue the Bogmen around them broke into laughter and Tijan smirked.

“Oiy ‘ould oi bodder wid’ a runt like yois? Feck off back teh de church lans.” He turned back towards his boat stopping mid stride as he heard Vladimir speak.

“I wager my sword against your knowledge, if I lose you make a gain and if I win you show me a place I’m looking for”

The crowd quietened down and Tijin turned back taking a few steps towards Vladimir each of which seemed to carry the risk of shattering the weak undergrowth keeping them from the swamp. He paused looking at the hilt of the blade admiring its black leather wrappings for grip and the careful circular base in the center of which sat a dark emerald. He extended a hand and gestured for Vladimir to hand the sword over to which the Inquisitor obliged drawing it for the first time before them clearly revealing the ornate silver overlay and runes carved along its shaft. As Tijin admired it more carefully he finally broke the silence that had filled the air.

“Oeres a traveler like yois foind a blade a foine a this?”

“I was an Inquisitor in Itrusk until they expelled me. Decided to keep the blade.” Speaking less authoritatively he make sure to lower the sophistication of his voice such as to make it seem his prior remarks were put on as opposed to this new demeanor.

“Oell ois moine nahw.” Tijin said, barely coherent as he chuckled and threw it into the boat before he turned back to his work.

“Then I suppose we’re fighting!” Vladimir retorted throwing off his cloak and cracking his own knuckles.

Tijin laughed again turning his head from the boat to the smaller man “Feck off ‘ome oiee mouse”.

Vladimir let a wry smile slowly cross his lips as he spoke the next line, a line that had been updated more regularly than any other aspect of the Bog people tome in the Inquisition archive “Avari khellich” he said loudly. One of the few sentences still commonly remaining of the old Bog language and one that still stood as a mocking of manhood like nothing in common.

Tijin twitched for a moment squeezing a fist into the boat and sending a small crack through the surrounding wood. “Vey oell oiee mouse, if yois oish teh die, oi shanne stop yois.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Pesri, Enthrala

The Runed Monks had been treated as well as they expected locked away in a cell in the ancient temple of Pesri from which the Southern Church was centered. Pesri was a grand structure lost in the desert to all but the few granted access. Its entrance was an elaborate and beautiful sandstone structure with carvings of myths and legends from both the church and the surrounding area and above the door a flame burned perpetually in an open mockery of the desert winds.

It was impossible to know how long they had been trapped without food or water and while the monks didn’t need it to survive the hostile conditions did little to aid their already damaged bodies with two of the monks having already lost legs and one’s hand now composing of only a thumb.

“They are comi-“ one of the monks said stopping as his jaw dropped from the rotting visage that was his face as the bandages once holding it in place finally gave in to the puss and sweat and snapping from the rot.

The Engraved Monk stood and walked towards the door calmly moving his hand to the side and pulling the sliding sandstone door open just as the Sand Guardian approached it earning less surprise as much a grunt of disapproval “The Grand Cleric will see you”.

While the entrance was grand the inside of Pesri reflected the modesty of the southern church with grand sandstone halls being left largely empty save for occasional statues and fauna that had somehow grown. Walking down a long corridor in a silence that seemed unable to echo even the loudest footstep they finally reached a door more reflective of the church’s northern counterpart. It held a grand design of various gems and rocks telling the story of a mighty worm creating the world and at the top the flame stood symbolized as a blossoming flower and casting radiant fire upon the corrupted beast.

The Sand Guardian tapped his staff on the floor and the doors opened to a well-lit room whose walls and edges were decorated by beautiful fauna. At the center a circular altar stood decorated modestly with a lectern in its center holding an ancient but instantly recognizable tome: The Infernum. The Infernum was the holy tome of the church said to contain secrets of the faith long lost to the north that could explain its apparent absence under the ascendency and plague though none of these were to be revealed as the tome was stolen by the southern church during the schism and thusly believed lost for all time. Those few pilgrims who sought to reclaim it where never heard from again, assumedly losing their lives to the desert of those beings that dwelled within.

“And so the embodiment of its decline, a corpse leading a dead church, comes before me seeking what? Unification? Forgiveness? Salvation? Or perhaps none of these and instead the political games that your new god Medina wishes us to fulfill?” A voice echoed from behind the lectern as an elderly woman slowly walked around the altar into sight. She wore beautifully embossed silk robes quite contrary of the usually modesty of the southern church and walked with the altar as a crutch. The Engraved Monk simply stepped inside and reached out to some of the nearby fauna drawing thick green wild magic from it and feeling as his nearly broken form regained some stability. Just as it felt strong enough to hold together he felt a staff strike under his legs knocking him to the floor.

“Ajeri Gethra!” the Sand Guardian shouted and again the old woman spoke “Common tongue my brother, I will allow this transgression our guest knows little of what is right and true.”
The Sand Guardian nodded and stepped back out of the room tapping his staff again and sealing the doors. As they shut the Engraved Monk pulled himself up and spoke at last “On the contrary Grand Cleric Avena, I have seen the truth with my own eyes.”

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The Bog, Carvania

It had taken moments for the people to establish a hastily fighting ring and agree on the rules. It was a fight to the death without arms, equipment or magic and both sides were to be bare chested to prevent trickery. If Tijin died the village scout was oath bound to provide Vladimir with anything he needed to achieve the ‘revenge’ he had claimed he was seeking for.

At first it had hardly seemed fair with the people wagering huge sums against Vladimir whose smaller athletic build paid little against Tijin’s almost bearlike strength. The first strike had proven this with Vladimir knocked to the ground and many expecting the fight to be already finished.

Of course this was his plan. The Tome of the Bog had been very clear in how the fight should go as defeating the Bog folk too easily would both deter them from expecting brawls with former or present Inquisitors and would fertilize resentment. Instead it was to be a fair fight won closely and by skill. Indeed in the olden days the Inquisition had occasionally sent brawlers to lose in fights to the Bog to prevent the belief they were too skilled.

So far however the fight had been a growing spectacle. Tijin struck with raw animalistic strength using such force that even clipping Vladimir had knocked him back and forcing a hasty dodge from a follow-up strike. On his own end Vladimir had landed as series of strike at Tijin’s chest carefully dodging and ducking where possible knowing that a block would run the risk of shattering his own elbow.

As he maneuvered to strike at Tijin’s hip once more Vladimir felt a small root against his toe and with little time to maneuver felt as his form weighed to the side not tripping by the grace of Tijin’s open hand clasping his neck and raising him to his eye level. Vladimir choked. The sense of blood rushing away taking him back as he reactively struggled stopping him for several seconds, before his training reasserted itself and in an elaborate action ran his legs up the giants chest and struck at his chin following on with a clumsy backflip to regain some poise on the floor as Tijin let go and took a few steps back. Around the pair Bogmen cheered more enticed by the fight than clan loyalties.

Seeing the disorientation Vladimir took the initiative charging in for another series of blows against Tijin’s chest before rolling to the side away from his counter blow. As Tijin turned Vladimir finally saw what he had been waiting for. A weakness: Tijin’s left knee bearing a bruise on its back. The inquisitor held steady giving Tijin a chance to get a charge towards him to deliver his next strike Vladimir waited till the last moment before dexterously spinning round and striking at the exposed bruise.

Tijin’s eyes bulged for a moment as he grunted in pain and dropped down, deciding the fight had gone on long enough, Vladimir climbed to mount his back and thrust his face into the swamp water before them. As quickly as Tijin’s head was submerged the course hand of a drowner thrust up to pull him under but Vladimir knew the rules. Trickery was forbidden and without thought he grabbed the hand and with all his weight threw the beast onto land beside him allowing Tijin to regain his form.

As Vladimir took a few steps around to deal with the drowner Tijin too stood up and caught his breath. The drowner shrieked at them both confused by the crowd around him and Vladimir took his chance running forward and striking the beast in the temple attempting to follow it with a strike to the chest as he felt Tijin smack into his back throwing him before the drowner.

As he shook the disorientation he saw Tijin attempting to crack the drowners head between his hands. Vladimir shook himself and stood, running towards the pair as Tijin finally crushed the beasts skull, eliciting a pained but fearsome screech from the beast. Vladimir jumped gripping the giants own and twisting with all his strength aided by momentum. As he finally heard the neck snap he dropped to the floor panting as the blood of the drowner slowly oozed over him.

Silence filled the pair until finally an accented cry came from somewhere in the audience “Oi’ll collect teh paoiments now yois ‘oresons!” Followed by a series of groans. The crowd dissipated as Vladimir lay still catching his breath, finally a figure appeared before him and offered him a hand.

“Oi’m Gregovich, now tell moi abaht dis revenge yois seek.”