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Erntezeit-30-2492
"Then, how goes the production of what I asked for?" I said, letting my eyes run over the blueprints spread across the table. There were so many projects they nearly covered the entire desk: designs for new cities rising in those fertile lands where once there had been nothing but swamps and marshes.
"Your new mortar is already in production, my lord. It is only a matter of time before we can begin with the foundations of the new structures," answered one of the trusted men of the dawi master of architecture, bowing his head respectfully. His hands were stained with chalk and dust, clear signs he had come straight from the works.
"Good… good. With steel and cement we can build upwards, make better use of space. But the problem remains the sewers. Has the master already instructed you how to handle waste? Being so far from the sea or a river, it's no small challenge," I said, running my fingers along the edges of the map.
"The honorable master has designed a system inspired by dawi methods of reuse, my lord. It is a network of pipes and channels leading to sedimentation chambers. There, solid waste will be separated from liquids; the first will be treated to be used as fertilizer, while the latter will be purified and then returned into the system by steam pumps. Waste will be reduced to a minimum, ensuring a continuous cycle," he explained with a proud gleam in his eyes.
"Ah… the ingenuity of the dawi. Taking them as allies was the best decision I ever made. And about Thorek? Did you give him my plan for land use and the possible damages?" I asked, turning now to one of the assistants of the master of agriculture.
"Master Thorek reported that he took your instructions into account. He consulted old texts from when the dawi still cultivated the surface and not only the deeps, and he warned that the land must be reinforced against erosion. He recommended raising lines of trees to block the winds from the north, and creating wetlands and artificial ponds to store excess water in this rainy region. That way we'll avoid floods and guarantee reserves for times of drought," answered the assistant, holding a parchment full of notes.
"Excellent. You have permission to move all the resources you need. That dawi gold our allies entrusted to us must be well spent. And we must ensure the next harvest is abundant, because this year we will not have enough income from food," I said, with a bitter smile at the memory of recent losses.
"Yes, my lord. The dawi and the Bretonnians are already working in the dry zones. They have begun digging for the wetlands and planting trees brought from the greenhouses. They will grow slowly, but as our master always repeats: what is steady is what lasts," he answered with an optimistic smile.
I was about to continue the meeting when I heard shouting in the hallway. The murmurs in the room died at once. Instinctively, I reached for my mace, resting by the table. The cries drew nearer, until the doors burst open with a crash.
"I'll say it again! The Count will see no one today!" shouted one of my guards, standing in the way of a group of elves who struggled to force their way in. Apparently my men had tried to obey the order not to disturb the elven visitors… but had done so in the worst possible manner.
"Let them through," I ordered calmly, raising a hand before the situation worsened. My guards, who had been on the verge of driving them out by force, halted at once and withdrew with discipline.
Then the hall filled with light steps and tense gazes. A group of forty elves advanced, forming a protective circle around a noble of their kind. He bore no weapon, but his bearing was noble and his face showed barely contained anger. His companions rested their hands on their sword hilts, watching every move of my men with the cold readiness of those prepared to spill blood if need be.
"And to what do I owe this displeasure, elgi…?" I asked, fixing my gaze on the elf noble, who frowned back at me.
"A mortal speaking like the beasts of the mountains… how amusing," said the elf.
"Mind your tongue, elgi! None insult our friends of the mountains—and least of all when you stand in my damned city, breaking my rules. Do you hear me, long-ears?" I shouted, raising the runic mace. The glow of its runes lit up in the elves' eyes, and the noble's stare fixed on the weapon with evident unease.
"I would not have to be here if you kept your treaties, mortal…" the elf retorted, his voice dripping with condescension that made the blood boil, though for the first time he appeared more cautious.
"And what treaties would those be, long-ears?" I asked with sarcasm, tightening the helm of my armor, the metal ringing as it locked into place.
"The treaty of friendship and trade between our people and the city of Marienburg," answered the elf, stepping forward with his brow raised high, as if he were walking into a royal hall and not my war chamber.
"Ah… and what of it?" I replied, pointing the mace at him, relishing how his guards stiffened at the gesture.
"Two of mine have vanished in your ports," the noble snarled, stabbing a long, dagger-like finger at me. "They disappeared under the watch of your dog-guards, and none of them can give an answer. Two of our kin have vanished, and we have seen no patrols searching for the slightest trace. Does your word mean nothing, mortal?"
"Well… what a tragedy. Two dead elgi," I answered with feigned pity. "Shall I arrange a state funeral as well? Or would you rather I send Sigmar's priests to sing them hymns?"
The noble's face twisted, and an angry murmur rippled through his guards.
"I want them found, mortal! How hard can it be? Two of ours have vanished, and your soldiers strut about as if nothing had happened!" shouted the elf.
"Because it is not an emergency," I replied coldly. "They are two elves, not half a city. My guards patrol, and if they have seen nothing, then there is nothing to see. Stop your whining and leave. Today I am in a good mood, so I will ignore your insolence."
The noble glared at me. "If you do nothing, I will consider our treaty ended," he said, his tone icy, heavy with threat.
I began to step forward. His guards raised their shields instinctively, closing ranks around their lord.
"If that happens," I answered in a low but firm voice, "I will have you thrown out of here myself. And I won't stop there… I'll summon my army, line up my cannons, and reduce Elftown to ashes. So tell me, long-ears… do we have a treaty, or do we not?"
The silence in the hall was heavy, broken only by the crackle of the torches and the metallic rasp of my men's gauntlets as their hands rested on their sword-hilts.
"The wrath of the Phoenix King would be terrible," the elf noble said.
"Ah… adding another powerful enemy to the list, are you? First your druchii cousins, then the dawi, and now the Empire. Do you wish to undo all the progress made by Archmage Teclis, eh, elf? The azur are in no state to seek more wars… unless you want the druchii walking your shores while you divert your strength to defend your pride," I said, staring at him unblinking.
The noble did not answer, but his lips moved in a murmur in his ancestral tongue. I didn't need to know every word to understand he was cursing me with everything he had.
"Leave now, elgi, before I consider the treaty broken by your insolence. But know this: there will be changes after this act, and the Emperor will learn of your disrespect. The Phoenix King will hear of what took place today, and why those changes came." I pointed the mace towards the door.
"And what of—" he began to shout.
"Leave, elgi! This is your final warning." My voice rang so powerfully the torches seemed to waver for a moment. Just then, more of my men entered the hall, and outside, the sound of armored steps multiplied. The disadvantage was clear. None of the elves were mages; without sorcery, their blades and their pride would not be enough.
The noble drew a long breath, spoke softly to his own, and at last they withdrew—not without looks of venom thrown in my direction. Once the hall was free, I turned to my aides, who still looked tense.
"What do we know of this disappearance of the elgi?" I asked one of my captains.
"Not much, my lord. Supposedly they vanished in the night. The night watch saw nothing; we only learned the next morning, when the elves began searching for their kin. It was near the docks. Witch hunters helped sweep the area, but found nothing."
"Nothing… eh?" I murmured, crossing my arms. My mind was already forming hypotheses. A cult of Slaanesh, perhaps—an elven soul was a feast for that god. Or maybe skaven, always in need of flesh and test subjects for their experiments.
"Very well. Sweep the area twice more. Ask if anyone saw or heard anything—even the last drunkard in the taverns." My men nodded and hurried out.
The rest of the day I gave to routine: reviewing documents, sending orders north, meeting Tilean diplomats, fixing a date with the Kislevite envoy, sealing deals with merchants. But when night fell, I chose to act alone.
With the ring that granted me absolute silence and a cloak that dulled the glint of my runic armor, I slipped through the city like a shadow. No one heard me, no one saw me. Using my magic, I began to scan the port. Everything looked normal: warehouses shut, patrols yawning, the odd staggering sailor. No hidden tunnels, no traces of the elves. No long-ear heartbeat betraying blood vessels or hearts.
Until I felt it. Something moved beneath my feet, in the sewers.
"Ah, damn… skaven. Why couldn't it be a common slaver?" I muttered, searching for the nearest entry.
I preferred to go alone: that way I could use my magic without disguising it as a miracle of Sigmar, and move faster without questions. I lifted the grate and descended. The stench was unbearable, like breathing liquid rot. The passage was ancient, the stones worn and wet, fissures dripping foul water.
"This whole cursed city will have to be demolished and rebuilt," I growled, breathing through my mouth.
I focused and pressed on, following the trail of a skaven scurrying nervously, glancing about as though hunted by his own fears. I followed for long minutes until he stopped in a deeper tunnel. There I found the breach: a fresh hole in the sewer wall, through which the vermin crawled.
I entered without hesitation. Darkness was near-total, but the minerals in the walls I could magically feel where I was walking.
As soon as I stepped through, I saw two skaven devouring a third, already dead, tearing at the flesh with shrill squeals. So engrossed were they in their feast they did not notice me.
The first only realized when his skull burst beneath my mace. The second shrieked like the damned, but had no time—one more swing crushed his head, every bone snapping.
"Ha… you can hear every bone break," I said with a crooked grin, as skaven blood ran between the stones.
I pressed on. With every step, their numbers grew. I went lower and lower, until I came upon a vast cavern beneath the city's edge. Dozens of skaven swarmed there: some mining the rock, others fighting amongst themselves, with corpses devoured on the spot.
"A good chance to test whether the ring shields me from my own magic… at least it doesn't mute my senses," I muttered.
Then I gathered my power, and the miners' picks began to twist, bending into blades that rose into the air. An instant later, the blades danced in the dark, cutting through bodies, severing limbs, slitting throats. Screeches echoed through the cavern as the rats fled in panic toward one particular tunnel.
"So that's the way…" I murmured, walking among the severed bodies.
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.
Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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