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Brauzeit -15-2492
"Here you have everything you might need, Count Albrecht: three master chambers, ten guest rooms, forty for servants, thirteen baths and four for the staff, two ballrooms, two libraries, deep storerooms, vast armories, three kitchens, a banquet hall, and extensive gardens."The thin man in charge of selling imperial properties recited the list with a ceremonious tone, as though presenting me with a priceless jewel.
"I… see," I answered, eyeing the massive fortified mansion near the Imperial Palace. "But it all seems a bit excessive. The only thing I truly need is a yard for my griffon… the rest is unnecessary."
The seller smiled as one humors a spoiled child. "My lord, here you have what befits a noble of your station. Space for receptions, room to host hundreds without difficulty. The servant quarters can hold up to six each, and security is assured: the Reiksguard patrols this district constantly. The hot water system works with furnaces your staff may stoke daily. Everything a count requires, you will find here."
I frowned, arms crossed. "I don't know… we are barely twenty. This is far too much. Don't you have something smaller, with a larger yard?"
The seller raised a brow, surprised."That would be outside the walls, my lord. Far from the politics of court… and its security. Your peers would look poorly on it, and you would need to double your guard."
I pressed my lips tight. "Very well… I suppose you're right. The security of the Reiksguard is not something to dismiss."
"Excellent. Then let us discuss payment. The property costs ninety thousand gold crowns. The Emperor permits the sum to be delivered after the harvest, if you so wish."
"Ninety thousand? Are the baths made of gold?" I exclaimed, eyes wide in disbelief.
"Crafted by Dwarf masters, Elector Count," he replied proudly. "The dawi builders' guild oversaw the work. All raised to perfection. Unfortunately, the previous owner failed to meet his taxes and… you know how such stories end."
"No wonder," I growled, realizing how damned costly life was near the Imperial Palace.
I sighed, resigned. "Fine. I'll pay at once. Send the gold to the Emperor and have the transfer made to my name immediately."
The man bowed, satisfied at having stripped me of a fortune, and withdrew to handle the documents.
While waiting, I played with my griffon in the garden. The beast nipped at my gromril gauntlets with its beak as I gripped its jaw and moved it up and down. It clawed at me playfully, its talons sliding harmlessly over the metal.
"Who's my wicked girl, eh? Who will be my future war machine?" I whispered, as it clamped down on my hand with its beak.
"My lord… I brought the—by Sigmar!" shouted one of my men as he entered, pulling along a huge pig on a rope. No sooner had he stepped inside than the griffon lunged like a ravenous predator. The soldier leapt back, and the beast ripped into the pig with its talons, plunging its beak into the entrails. The pig's shrieks echoed across the courtyard as blood stained the grass and walls.
"That's right… soon you'll do the same to orcs and beastmen," I murmured, watching it tear at the flesh with violence.
My men only nodded, calm at seeing the creature show no hostility toward them. It was docile with humans—as long as it had fresh meat. Its appetite was insatiable: it needed two pigs a day, though it rarely finished one. If the meat stopped moving, it lost interest quickly.
The seller returned with the documents, halting at once at the sight of the blood-soaked garden where my griffon feasted on the still-warm carcass. He tried to mask his horror as he handed me the papers with trembling hands.
I took the documents and wasted no time sending a group of my men to fetch the gold. The sum came mainly from sales stored at the train station before being transported to the treasury. Gold that, in theory, should have gone to other accounts, but which I could use perfectly well to ensure my griffon had space without being caged.
In the end, that fortified estate had what was needed to prevent the disaster that would come if my beast ever broke loose in the middle of Altdorf. It was an obscene expense, yes—but preferable to seeing the city turned into a slaughterhouse because some fool had provoked it.
The payment was made by delivering a cart full of chests brimming with gold coins to the seller, who nearly licked his lips with the smile of a man who had just plucked a noble clean. I, meanwhile, prepared for my next duty: the meeting with the Grand Theogonist. I wished to arrive early, in the prime hours of the cathedral, so the reception would be public and well-regarded.
The ceremony itself was all pomp and word. I found myself surrounded by priests of Sigmar, hundreds of white-and-gold robes, all watching the Grand Theogonist as he recited praises. I stood still, serene, while my deeds were enumerated: the defeat of a necromancer, the elimination of a greenskin tribe, the aid given to the dawi in the mountains. All adorned with passages from the Cult, telling how, in times of darkness, Sigmar always found a man to purge it. That man, of course, was me in their tale.
The climax came when they presented me with a new medallion. They claimed it was blessed by the Grand Theogonist himself, able to detect corrupt magic in any form. They placed it around my neck in solemn silence. I only smiled faintly. If the amulet did not react to me—even in the hands of the most powerful priests—that only meant my control over the winds was such that not even their finest trinkets could betray me. Ironic: they hailed me as Sigmar's champion, not knowing I myself could sense the dhar far more keenly than those baubles ever could.
The ceremony ended with a private meeting in the cathedral, with the Grand Theogonist and several arch-lectors. There, the smiles faded and the true interests came forth: temples. They wanted one in every new city of the Westerlands, witch hunter barracks in each major town, and a witch hunter general with a permanent seat in Marienburg to oversee the city.
I answered as I had before: I could accept cooperation, but not the surrender of control over my lands. The last time, during the purge in Marienburg, I had allowed them to act because the corruption was plain and the pyres necessary. But that had been exceptional. I would not permit such chaos again.
The proposal I had put before the Grand Theogonist was accepted, largely because the man was no friend of the most fanatical witch hunters. With that resolved, I was informed that the Cult would send funds to raise temples in the Westerlands, as well as detachments of newly ordained priests and witch hunters to secure the cities against the corruption of Chaos.
The meeting ended, and my next step should have been with the Emperor. Yet the audience was impossible at that moment: Kislev had once again struck at Ostermark, looting granaries newly filled after the harvest and leaving entire villages in flames. State troops had died in the defense, and the affair had become an open diplomatic dispute in Altdorf between the Kislevite envoy and the Imperial throne. Tempers ran so high that, for the moment, all other audiences were postponed.
In its place, I was invited to one of the Emperor's banquets. I thought to excuse myself, but in truth it suited me to attend: I needed to speak with the dawi, especially the ambassador of Karaz-a-Karak. Black Fire Pass was, after all, ancestral Dwarf land, and any military move there had to have their approval even before negotiations with the Elector Count of Averland.
I prepared for the occasion with the required formality. I arrived accompanied by a strong escort, a clear sign that I wished not to be disturbed or accosted with frivolities. Even so, dozens of Imperial nobles attempted to approach me, to offer congratulations, flatter my ears, and curry my favor. I ignored most with distant courtesy. My focus was fixed on the group of dawi gathered around a great cask of Bugman's ale. They laughed, drank, and jostled each other, oblivious to the light politics infesting the hall.
"Greetings, friends of the Empire," I said as I approached. The three turned, fixing their gaze upon me. Their eyes went first to my armor, then to the runic ring and my weapon.
"The umgi who aided our people," said the ambassador of Karaz-a-Karak, raising his mug. The others did likewise in recognition.
"I merely did my duty, honorable allies. But if you would permit me, I would like a few words in private on matters of importance."
"Of course," the three answered almost in unison.
I lowered my voice slightly. "I have been considering my next campaign. Next year I plan to march toward Black Fire Pass, to secure the area and cleanse it of the greenskin tribes that infest it. But before doing so, I wish to have the blessing of the dawi. I know well that those mountains are your ancestral domain."
The other two ambassadors turned their gaze toward the one who spoke directly for the High King. He stroked his beard with solemn gravity before speaking."If it is only the campaign you ask, this is easily resolved, umgi. You are a proven ally—you aided in the recovery of a mountain lost to the greenskins. We will not question your intent to cleanse that place."
"Your generosity astonishes me," I replied with a slight bow of the head. "But there is another request, one that I admit exceeds your authority here. Once the area is cleared, I intend to raise a fortress in the pass—a bastion to prevent future invasions into the Empire. I know that such a project falls squarely within your sphere of influence. That is why I wish to negotiate whatever you deem just, and not take a single step without first speaking with you."
The ambassador frowned, thoughtful. "That is more difficult. It exceeds my charge and that of my companions. It would mean ceding influence in lands that belong to our people. Such a matter must be debated, umgi, not only by us, but in the High King's council."
"Of course," I said calmly, meeting his eyes. "I understand. My intention is only to secure the Empire's southern flank. I will speak of it with the chosen of Sigmar when the chance comes, but I would be grateful if you would carry my proposal to your kings as soon as possible. This fortress would not only be a wall for the Empire, but an advantage for the trade routes of both our peoples. Securing the pass will make future campaigns to reclaim lost karaks more effective, for I can move men faster and in greater numbers to their aid. I ask not that you yield, but that we share the burden of protecting what belongs to us all." I said with a smile.
they nodded
I listened as the dawi spoke for nearly two hours about why their ale was superior to anything the umgi could produce. They left no detail unmentioned: from the purity of mountain water, to the slow fermentation in centuries-old barrels, to the selection of grains and herbs that gave body and aroma to the brew. Every explanation came with examples, anecdotes, and comparisons, as if they were teaching a sacred lesson.
And to be honest, I found it far more entertaining to hear that than to endure Imperial nobles demanding gold indirectly, cloaking their pleas in flattery. So I simply nodded and smiled, showing genuine interest in their words.
"…then, after the first fermentation, you must let the mixture rest—" the dawi ambassador was saying, gesturing passionately with his hands—
But his words were abruptly cut short.
"Elector Count," announced a knight of the Reiksguard, bowing. "Sigmar's chosen demands your presence at once."
Silence fell over the table. The dawi froze with their mugs in midair, staring at me curiously.
"If you will excuse me, honorable dawi, another day I shall be fortunate enough to hear why your ale is so much better," I said politely, taking my leave.
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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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