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Fiction Spawning of Bob - 2nd Book of Great War Trilogy - Scourge of the Empire
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Don't tell me that you were being one of the A**ho**es on the train this morning. Don't sink to their level!
Btw, this being a family forum - no translations please.
Btw, this being a family forum - no translations please.
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I'm still going, really.
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19 Reunion
Emperor Magnus sat with his legs dangling over the Nuln city dock and took advantage of a moment of quiet to gather his thoughts. By default, his younger brother became his sounding board.
"I must disband the Imperial Inquisition, Bullenscheisse. Whether the prohibition on magic stands or not, the Inquisition will oppose allegiance with the elves, knowing them to be magic users. They barely tolerate dwarfs, and they have been our staunchest allies since Sigmar’s time."
"You said the dwarfs had disappeared. What makes you think we can rely on them now?”
“Because they have never failed to uphold the alliance. It is the Inquisition that concerns me.”
“Then sit on your throne and make a decree. They are under Imperial authority after all."
"While they can sap the will of the people, they wield too much power. I haven't the time to root them out properly, and if I do a poor job, they will merely wait in the shadows. As soon as I lead the army north, a silver pfennig says the Inquisition will exploit the power vacuum and declare me a heretic."
"I've lost track of its true owner, but it occurs to me that I have never seen this silver pfennig you refer to."
"If we survive the battle to come, let us settle accounts then."
"If we survive, brother, you will be a pauper. Anyway, your speech against the Inquisition was well received. You should take the same tack again."
Magnus shook his head. "In every town and village of the Empire? The Red cloaks in Nuln overreached themselves. What they proposed to do to the religious orders was so extreme that folk could be shaken from their uncertainty. But the dissolution of the entire Inquisition will require a memorable demonstration of their lack of religious and civil legitimacy. If we can show their impotence, the people will see that the gods are against them, and they no longer protect the Empire. Then they will crumble from within. After all, their chief weapon is fear."
"Isn't it surprise and fear?"
"Then their two main weapons are surprise and fear."
"And ruthless efficiency-"
"Bullenscheisse, I believe you get the gist. No need to repeat the entire sketch."
"Sorry."
The Emperor found a piece of shattered masonry and tossed it into the river. As the ripples spread, he considered how a single event could come to have broad reaching consequences. He returned to the here-and-now.
"You say there is nothing to be salvaged?"
Bullenscheisse grimaced. "You saw the ruins of the academy for yourself. Ten generations of worth of artillery science gone in one night."
"We saved the best artillerymen of the Empire in the Reikwald. They preserve much of that knowledge. They just need cannon to put it into practice."
Bullenscheisse's scowl deepened. "The cultists destroyed the armoury and gun forges. We have powder and shot by the wagon load, but there are no artillery pieces to be had in Nuln."
Magnus threw another stone into the river. "And some idiot ordered the cannon of the Nuln State Army to be destroyed two days ago. Now the Empire marches to war with no artillery."
"With respect, laddy," called a gruff voice from behind the pair. "The Empire did never have real cannon anyway. Only pop guns."
Magnus' face crinkled as tried to place the familiar voice and aroma. "Inebric the Trader?" he said as he turned.
It was indeed a dwarf, but not the drunken merchant he knew. This was a drunken slayer.
The dwarf's head was shaven, but for a narrow strip which ran from brow to nape. Both the blade of hair and the dwarf's beard had been coloured a flaming orange by the application of some greasy paste. The same concoction made the hair stand like a Grekian helmet-crest, and allowed the beard to be shaped into alarming points.
Aside from a pair of unadorned hose, the dwarf wore no armour, nor boots, nor indeed other clothing. His only decoration was an intricate tracery of blue tattoo ink which covered his face, arms and torso.
The slayer oath was there to be taken by dwarfs who had broken an oath, or otherwise fallen irretrievably below the expectations of the dwarf community. Magnus had previously understood that the only metal a slayer was allowed to carry was that which composed his axe. This slayer proved that some exceptions applied by slurping noisily from a large and battered tankard.
The only path to redemption and acceptance for a slayer was to die a worthy death in battle. Slayers were therefore the first to throw themselves headlong into combat, and they would never, ever yield a single step while a drop of ale still ran in their veins.
After the dwarf had wiped some of the suds from his greasy moustache he spoke again. "Nay, Captain Mahrlecht. No more will you find Inebric the Trader. You see before you Inebric the Slayer." He eased himself down beside the brothers.
"My friend, what has befallen?" Magnus was distressed that his old travelling companion had fallen so low. The subject must have been a painful one for the stoic dwarf, judging by the length and depth of the draught he took before replying.
"I’ll not burden you with a long tale of misfortune. Just know that it involved a lass and a misunderstanding. Now, why the look of gloom on your own face and that of the beardling?"
"This is my brother, Bullenscheisse."
"An embarrassment maybe, but no reason for woe."
"I've been named Emperor."
Alco raised his tankard. "Up yours, then. Your… Uppityness." He drank a noisy toast.
"We are at war."
"At war? The Sons of Grungni have nary been out of war for ten thousand years. Your war can’t be worse than ours."
"We've no cannon," lamented Bullenscheisse.
"Are you deaf, laddy? I'll show you a real cannon from Karak Hirn that isn’t like those shoddy brass paperweights you've been playing with."
Magnus would not be gainsaid. "Our nation is divided. Elements are close to mutiny. I fear the Empire is ungovernable."
"Aye? Compare your lot with mine, yonder." Inebric jerked his thumb back over his shoulder. A dozen dwarf slayers stood twitching as they waited for a fight to start. Any fight would do. The only one among them who did otherwise was slamming his forehead repeatedly against a stone wall. Discipline and cohesion were not words which sprang to mind.
As Magnus turned back towards the river, he saw a silver ship slide into view. "We've, umm, made a kind of alliance thingy with the High Elves."
Inebric choked and coughed into his beer. Magnus worried what would happen if the slayer accidently spilt some.
"Are you daft? Didn’t you know we dwarfs are at war with them?"
"You defeated them and they fled the Old World four thousand years ago," Bullenscheisse protested. "How can you still be at war?"
"They didn’t say the magic word." After this, the dwarf refused to speak. He glowered so that only the narrowest slits of his eyes could be seen between his bushy orange brows and his beard. As the vessel scraped along the quayside he growled nasty sounding words in the Khazalid tongue.
The depth of the dwarf's passion was seemingly matched by one of the passengers aboard ship. Brother Jakob took one look at the fuming slayer and flung himself over the far rail.
Magnus leapt to his feet. "What in Sigmar's name is Brother Jakob doing?"
Mahtis peered over the gunwale. "Dog paddle," he declared.
The elf was yet more surprised when the dwarfs lined up at the gangway to board ship with their one non-axe possession. It was a substantial cask of ale.
Teclis moved to forestall a diplomatic incident. "Good Sirs-"
"That's good Slayers, silky-face."
"Good Slayers, then. Are you sure we are bound your way?"
"If your pointy-ear tub is bound for battle, there's naught here that will stay behind. And given that we are at war with you on account of an unappeased grudge, opportunity may come to bury the hatchet."
Magnus stepped between the parties. "Mage Teclis, this slayer band is travelling our way. I know that there is bad air between your races, but it must be dispelled sooner or later if our alliance is to defeat Chaos. As a gesture of goodwill to the dwarfs and a boon to myself, will you grant them passage on your brother's boat? That might forestall the burying of the hatchet."
"Isn't burying the hatchet a good thing?"
"Not in this case."
After the new passengers settled their ale cask under the forecastle, the ship turned smartly across the river. It did not even pause as a bedraggled Brother of Purity was fished out of midstream with a gaff hook.
Emperor Magnus sat with his legs dangling over the Nuln city dock and took advantage of a moment of quiet to gather his thoughts. By default, his younger brother became his sounding board.
"I must disband the Imperial Inquisition, Bullenscheisse. Whether the prohibition on magic stands or not, the Inquisition will oppose allegiance with the elves, knowing them to be magic users. They barely tolerate dwarfs, and they have been our staunchest allies since Sigmar’s time."
"You said the dwarfs had disappeared. What makes you think we can rely on them now?”
“Because they have never failed to uphold the alliance. It is the Inquisition that concerns me.”
“Then sit on your throne and make a decree. They are under Imperial authority after all."
"While they can sap the will of the people, they wield too much power. I haven't the time to root them out properly, and if I do a poor job, they will merely wait in the shadows. As soon as I lead the army north, a silver pfennig says the Inquisition will exploit the power vacuum and declare me a heretic."
"I've lost track of its true owner, but it occurs to me that I have never seen this silver pfennig you refer to."
"If we survive the battle to come, let us settle accounts then."
"If we survive, brother, you will be a pauper. Anyway, your speech against the Inquisition was well received. You should take the same tack again."
Magnus shook his head. "In every town and village of the Empire? The Red cloaks in Nuln overreached themselves. What they proposed to do to the religious orders was so extreme that folk could be shaken from their uncertainty. But the dissolution of the entire Inquisition will require a memorable demonstration of their lack of religious and civil legitimacy. If we can show their impotence, the people will see that the gods are against them, and they no longer protect the Empire. Then they will crumble from within. After all, their chief weapon is fear."
"Isn't it surprise and fear?"
"Then their two main weapons are surprise and fear."
"And ruthless efficiency-"
"Bullenscheisse, I believe you get the gist. No need to repeat the entire sketch."
"Sorry."
The Emperor found a piece of shattered masonry and tossed it into the river. As the ripples spread, he considered how a single event could come to have broad reaching consequences. He returned to the here-and-now.
"You say there is nothing to be salvaged?"
Bullenscheisse grimaced. "You saw the ruins of the academy for yourself. Ten generations of worth of artillery science gone in one night."
"We saved the best artillerymen of the Empire in the Reikwald. They preserve much of that knowledge. They just need cannon to put it into practice."
Bullenscheisse's scowl deepened. "The cultists destroyed the armoury and gun forges. We have powder and shot by the wagon load, but there are no artillery pieces to be had in Nuln."
Magnus threw another stone into the river. "And some idiot ordered the cannon of the Nuln State Army to be destroyed two days ago. Now the Empire marches to war with no artillery."
"With respect, laddy," called a gruff voice from behind the pair. "The Empire did never have real cannon anyway. Only pop guns."
Magnus' face crinkled as tried to place the familiar voice and aroma. "Inebric the Trader?" he said as he turned.
It was indeed a dwarf, but not the drunken merchant he knew. This was a drunken slayer.
The dwarf's head was shaven, but for a narrow strip which ran from brow to nape. Both the blade of hair and the dwarf's beard had been coloured a flaming orange by the application of some greasy paste. The same concoction made the hair stand like a Grekian helmet-crest, and allowed the beard to be shaped into alarming points.
Aside from a pair of unadorned hose, the dwarf wore no armour, nor boots, nor indeed other clothing. His only decoration was an intricate tracery of blue tattoo ink which covered his face, arms and torso.
The slayer oath was there to be taken by dwarfs who had broken an oath, or otherwise fallen irretrievably below the expectations of the dwarf community. Magnus had previously understood that the only metal a slayer was allowed to carry was that which composed his axe. This slayer proved that some exceptions applied by slurping noisily from a large and battered tankard.
The only path to redemption and acceptance for a slayer was to die a worthy death in battle. Slayers were therefore the first to throw themselves headlong into combat, and they would never, ever yield a single step while a drop of ale still ran in their veins.
After the dwarf had wiped some of the suds from his greasy moustache he spoke again. "Nay, Captain Mahrlecht. No more will you find Inebric the Trader. You see before you Inebric the Slayer." He eased himself down beside the brothers.
"My friend, what has befallen?" Magnus was distressed that his old travelling companion had fallen so low. The subject must have been a painful one for the stoic dwarf, judging by the length and depth of the draught he took before replying.
"I’ll not burden you with a long tale of misfortune. Just know that it involved a lass and a misunderstanding. Now, why the look of gloom on your own face and that of the beardling?"
"This is my brother, Bullenscheisse."
"An embarrassment maybe, but no reason for woe."
"I've been named Emperor."
Alco raised his tankard. "Up yours, then. Your… Uppityness." He drank a noisy toast.
"We are at war."
"At war? The Sons of Grungni have nary been out of war for ten thousand years. Your war can’t be worse than ours."
"We've no cannon," lamented Bullenscheisse.
"Are you deaf, laddy? I'll show you a real cannon from Karak Hirn that isn’t like those shoddy brass paperweights you've been playing with."
Magnus would not be gainsaid. "Our nation is divided. Elements are close to mutiny. I fear the Empire is ungovernable."
"Aye? Compare your lot with mine, yonder." Inebric jerked his thumb back over his shoulder. A dozen dwarf slayers stood twitching as they waited for a fight to start. Any fight would do. The only one among them who did otherwise was slamming his forehead repeatedly against a stone wall. Discipline and cohesion were not words which sprang to mind.
As Magnus turned back towards the river, he saw a silver ship slide into view. "We've, umm, made a kind of alliance thingy with the High Elves."
Inebric choked and coughed into his beer. Magnus worried what would happen if the slayer accidently spilt some.
"Are you daft? Didn’t you know we dwarfs are at war with them?"
"You defeated them and they fled the Old World four thousand years ago," Bullenscheisse protested. "How can you still be at war?"
"They didn’t say the magic word." After this, the dwarf refused to speak. He glowered so that only the narrowest slits of his eyes could be seen between his bushy orange brows and his beard. As the vessel scraped along the quayside he growled nasty sounding words in the Khazalid tongue.
The depth of the dwarf's passion was seemingly matched by one of the passengers aboard ship. Brother Jakob took one look at the fuming slayer and flung himself over the far rail.
Magnus leapt to his feet. "What in Sigmar's name is Brother Jakob doing?"
Mahtis peered over the gunwale. "Dog paddle," he declared.
------------
Teclis was surprised to see Magnus and his brother in the company of dwarfs. Teclis himself bore no emnity toward the surly midgets, but he knew that others of his kin chafed at the elf’s defeat so long ago, particularly Arch Mage Yrtle who was a veteran of that war.
The elf was yet more surprised when the dwarfs lined up at the gangway to board ship with their one non-axe possession. It was a substantial cask of ale.
Teclis moved to forestall a diplomatic incident. "Good Sirs-"
"That's good Slayers, silky-face."
"Good Slayers, then. Are you sure we are bound your way?"
"If your pointy-ear tub is bound for battle, there's naught here that will stay behind. And given that we are at war with you on account of an unappeased grudge, opportunity may come to bury the hatchet."
Magnus stepped between the parties. "Mage Teclis, this slayer band is travelling our way. I know that there is bad air between your races, but it must be dispelled sooner or later if our alliance is to defeat Chaos. As a gesture of goodwill to the dwarfs and a boon to myself, will you grant them passage on your brother's boat? That might forestall the burying of the hatchet."
"Isn't burying the hatchet a good thing?"
"Not in this case."
After the new passengers settled their ale cask under the forecastle, the ship turned smartly across the river. It did not even pause as a bedraggled Brother of Purity was fished out of midstream with a gaff hook.
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20 Faith
It was a tense voyage back to Altdorf. Dwarfs are not natural sailors. Elves are not naturally gregarious. Even the generally buoyant disguised lizardmen removed themselves aft, mostly because Brother Jakob had threatened them with physical harm if they called too much attention to themselves.
The slayers claimed the small space under the forecastle as if it was their own sovereign territory. Their orange beards bristled whenever one of the elf sailors came forward to tend the sheets. One of the dwarfs adopted a comfortable stance and began dashing his head repeatedly against the foremast.
Teclis approached him delicately. "Your pardon, master dwarf. If it pleases you, would you stop? That is to say, it is my brother's boat-"
The dwarf paused and glared at him with bloodshot eyes.
"As I said, only if it pleases you." The elf mage retreated amidships to join Magnus, Bullenscheisse and Inebric.
"Who is that and what is his business with the mast?"
"That," explained Inebric, "is Kennic the Sober. Once he was Kennic the Lavatory Attendant. For more than a year he has sought release from his Oath of Sobriety by violence and death. Best you give him space."
Magnus changed the subject. "Mage Teclis, do you deny the miracles of Nuln? Or do you admit that the gods intervene?"
Teclis replied cautiously. "I do not deny the gods nor their power, but, can you summon a miracle when you need it most? At least magic is reliable."
The Inebric snorted into his tankard.
Teclis ignored him. "The Empire remains weak because you do not use magic for warfare."
"Magnus has a magic sword," countered Bullenscheisse.
Teclis and Inebric shook both their heads vigorously. "No, he doesn't," they chorused.
"Yes, he does. See?"
Before Magnus could stop him, Bullensheisse swept the Runefang of Reikland out of its scabbard. The blade rang musically as he held it up for Teclis to inspect.
The sword's two handed hilt and straight cross guard were decorated with gems and silver filigree. The blade was forty-two inches of bright steel. It was free of adornment apart from an intricate gold rune which twined about itself from ricasso to foible.
Teclis squinted at it. "There is no aura. It is not a magical sword."
"Yes it is," the engineer protested. "Look."
The engineer carved an eighteen inch long fillet of wood from the deck railing with barely a flick of his wrist.
"Please desist. It is my brother's boat."
Bullenscheisse found himself disarmed by iron fingers.
"May I, lad?" Inebric peered down the length of the blade then held it to his ear.
"Hark you all. This is the Runefang 'Dragon-Tooth.' But a dozen such were created by the dwarf forge-master, Alaric the Mad. For nigh six score winters he crafted them as an oath-debt to the lad Sigmar and his thains. This world will never see the like again."
He locked eyes with Teclis. "But hark, elf. This is no fickle magic sword. This is a perfect sword."
The dwarf rested the blade lightly on an intact piece of gunwale. It slowly sank through the timber like a hot rune-axe sinks through rune-butter.
The dwarf stared at Teclis until the mage emitted an involuntarily whimper. Then, with an innocent smile the slayer lifted the blade and returned the sword to Bullenscheisse.
The Imperial Engineer was fascinated. "If not by magic, then how does it cut through armour and stone?"
"Clean the wax out of your ears, lad."
The blade still rang softly with the same musical tone that it had emitted when it scraped against the silver locket of the scabbard as it was drawn.
"Now look at the edge."
The cutting edge was shivering. Bullenscheisse was about to touch it when the dwarf grabbed his hand. "A perfect edge with the Master Rune of Resonance. Fingers away, lad."
Teclis too was intrigued. "It cuts metal and stone? How is it that the scabbard is not cut also?"
Inebric beckoned him nearer until the elf's nose wrinkled at the smell of stale beer and porridge.
"Magic!" The dwarf guffawed into his face.
Teclis reeled away from the erratic slayer. When he turned back towards the men he saw nothing but amusement on their faces.
"Between your ally's breath and mighty swords the Empire should have nothing to fear. But how many such weapons do you possess?"
Magnus grimaced. "Twelve."
"Don’t forget the warhammer, Ghal Maraz," interjected Bullenscheisse.
"Not that it matters. Swords alone will not hold back the evil tide.” Teclis made a sudden resolution. “Allow me to train the Empire's mages for battle."
Magnus allowed himself a bitter smile. "Your offer is generous, but that is impossible."
"Why?"
Bullenscheisse replied for his brother. "The Empire has no mages. The Imperial Inquisition has hunted out all heretics, magic users and traitors."
"What has magic to do with treachery?" demanded Teclis.
"It hardly matters," Magnus grunted. "If there are men or women who are gifted with magic, they have either been tortured to death or they hide their power. Such is the fate of mages in the Empire of Man."
As the sun set over the silver ship, Rychek and Bullenscheisse approached Teclis. "Do you have another story for us?" the lizard child asked. Monberg was there also with his own mute appeal.
Teclis smiled and stretched his aching bones. "Why do you think I have more tales to tell?"
"You are so much older than the other elves. You must have many stories."
"I look older, do I? Would it surprise you that I am more than four thousand years younger than Arch Mage Yrtle, and two thousand years younger than Dragon-mage Finreir?"
"But you have white in your hair, and you are so thin and stooped. You've got wrinkles!" Rychek pointed to the corners of the elf's eyes.
"Then the first tale I must tell you is about the terrible Curse of Aenarion." The story teller's dark eyes seemed to grow black and menacing. "Earlier I spoke of gods. Now you shall know why I caution against interfering in their business.
"Aenarion the Defender was the first Phoenix King of all the elves, and my ancestor. When came Chaos, he threw himself onto the flaming alter of Asuryan, chief among the elven gods, as a sacrifice to bring favour to his people. Rather than burn away, Aenarion was renewed. Then he led the Asur, those you know as high elves, to victory over the Daemons.
"When the hordes returned, more numerous and powerful than before, Aenarion fought again. Word came to him that his queen and children had been slain. Filled with rage, he sought still more power from a god, this time seizing the sword from the shrine of the Bloody-handed God, Khaela-mensha-Khaine. With it he defeated the daemons again, but the sword was not meant for earthly use.
"Aenarion was cursed for his presumption. For the rest of his life he was a bitter and cruel tyrant, and the seeds of the curse in his descendants led to the Sundering of the Asur and many other calamities.
Teclis bowed his head, and the black fire in his eyes faded. "I live with that legacy, for I am of Aenarion’s line. I am cursed to grow old, to weaken, and to die."
Bullenscheisse squeezed so hard that Monberg emitted an involuntary squeak. When Teclis looked up again he discovered that his audience had grown.
"Mah! The elf has got a real curse!"
"Hush, child. It's rude to point."
Brother Elwood had a question. "When we spoke with Lord Yrtle yesterday, he mentioned 'the curse of men'. Are all men cursed by gods too?"
"He spoke figuratively. He said it was 'the curse of men to forget'. Men live for such fleeting spans that the lessons of the past are forgotten within a century or two."
"Lord Yrtle said it was the curse of elves to remember."
Teclis directed his dark eyes across the broad reach of the river. He did not reply.
"Not so different from dwarfs then." Elwood noted.
As Teclis considered a range of harsh responses, another voice replied. "Perhaps such is the way of all folk of long years."
The voice belonged to Inebric the Slayer. Teclis was not about to claim kinship with the short hairy drunkard, but he had raised an interesting point.
"My elf kin remember the days of glory which are gone forever. They would turn back the river of time to see them restored."
"And the Sons of Grungni would never forget an oath, elf lad. Or a grudge."
Brother Elwood tilted his cowled head in thought. "Both races are blessed with long years but cursed to live in the past. If men are cursed with short lives, do you see, then, what their blessing is? They live in the future."
Teclis frowned. "Futility, Yrtle would call it. No one can enjoy the future if they are dust, no matter how splendid it may be."
"Think of it thus, Mage Teclis." Magnus added his view to the discourse. "Men crave to leave a legacy, but not for themselves. It is for their kin and their children. If they didn't make the world better in their short span, then there was no purpose to it."
As Magnus spoke, a glimmer of understanding dawned in Teclis. "Wait! Do you say men risk their lives to leave a legacy for their offspring?"
"Of course."
"Would men risk their lives for a brother? What about an ally? Even for an alien?"
"You have seen it yourself." Magnus replied. "Men will lay down their lives for the hope of a future without fear."
"But how can they? What gives them confidence that their sacrifice will not be in vain?"
"Faith."
The simultaneous reply came from the lips of the Emperor, the Imperial Engineer, Wolf-priest Heimlich, and all four disguised lizardmen. Only Monberg kept his own council.
Teclis retired to his quarters astern with much to consider.
It was a tense voyage back to Altdorf. Dwarfs are not natural sailors. Elves are not naturally gregarious. Even the generally buoyant disguised lizardmen removed themselves aft, mostly because Brother Jakob had threatened them with physical harm if they called too much attention to themselves.
The slayers claimed the small space under the forecastle as if it was their own sovereign territory. Their orange beards bristled whenever one of the elf sailors came forward to tend the sheets. One of the dwarfs adopted a comfortable stance and began dashing his head repeatedly against the foremast.
Teclis approached him delicately. "Your pardon, master dwarf. If it pleases you, would you stop? That is to say, it is my brother's boat-"
The dwarf paused and glared at him with bloodshot eyes.
"As I said, only if it pleases you." The elf mage retreated amidships to join Magnus, Bullenscheisse and Inebric.
"Who is that and what is his business with the mast?"
"That," explained Inebric, "is Kennic the Sober. Once he was Kennic the Lavatory Attendant. For more than a year he has sought release from his Oath of Sobriety by violence and death. Best you give him space."
Magnus changed the subject. "Mage Teclis, do you deny the miracles of Nuln? Or do you admit that the gods intervene?"
Teclis replied cautiously. "I do not deny the gods nor their power, but, can you summon a miracle when you need it most? At least magic is reliable."
The Inebric snorted into his tankard.
Teclis ignored him. "The Empire remains weak because you do not use magic for warfare."
"Magnus has a magic sword," countered Bullenscheisse.
Teclis and Inebric shook both their heads vigorously. "No, he doesn't," they chorused.
"Yes, he does. See?"
Before Magnus could stop him, Bullensheisse swept the Runefang of Reikland out of its scabbard. The blade rang musically as he held it up for Teclis to inspect.
The sword's two handed hilt and straight cross guard were decorated with gems and silver filigree. The blade was forty-two inches of bright steel. It was free of adornment apart from an intricate gold rune which twined about itself from ricasso to foible.
Teclis squinted at it. "There is no aura. It is not a magical sword."
"Yes it is," the engineer protested. "Look."
The engineer carved an eighteen inch long fillet of wood from the deck railing with barely a flick of his wrist.
"Please desist. It is my brother's boat."
Bullenscheisse found himself disarmed by iron fingers.
"May I, lad?" Inebric peered down the length of the blade then held it to his ear.
"Hark you all. This is the Runefang 'Dragon-Tooth.' But a dozen such were created by the dwarf forge-master, Alaric the Mad. For nigh six score winters he crafted them as an oath-debt to the lad Sigmar and his thains. This world will never see the like again."
He locked eyes with Teclis. "But hark, elf. This is no fickle magic sword. This is a perfect sword."
The dwarf rested the blade lightly on an intact piece of gunwale. It slowly sank through the timber like a hot rune-axe sinks through rune-butter.
The dwarf stared at Teclis until the mage emitted an involuntarily whimper. Then, with an innocent smile the slayer lifted the blade and returned the sword to Bullenscheisse.
The Imperial Engineer was fascinated. "If not by magic, then how does it cut through armour and stone?"
"Clean the wax out of your ears, lad."
The blade still rang softly with the same musical tone that it had emitted when it scraped against the silver locket of the scabbard as it was drawn.
"Now look at the edge."
The cutting edge was shivering. Bullenscheisse was about to touch it when the dwarf grabbed his hand. "A perfect edge with the Master Rune of Resonance. Fingers away, lad."
Teclis too was intrigued. "It cuts metal and stone? How is it that the scabbard is not cut also?"
Inebric beckoned him nearer until the elf's nose wrinkled at the smell of stale beer and porridge.
"Magic!" The dwarf guffawed into his face.
Teclis reeled away from the erratic slayer. When he turned back towards the men he saw nothing but amusement on their faces.
"Between your ally's breath and mighty swords the Empire should have nothing to fear. But how many such weapons do you possess?"
Magnus grimaced. "Twelve."
"Don’t forget the warhammer, Ghal Maraz," interjected Bullenscheisse.
"Not that it matters. Swords alone will not hold back the evil tide.” Teclis made a sudden resolution. “Allow me to train the Empire's mages for battle."
Magnus allowed himself a bitter smile. "Your offer is generous, but that is impossible."
"Why?"
Bullenscheisse replied for his brother. "The Empire has no mages. The Imperial Inquisition has hunted out all heretics, magic users and traitors."
"What has magic to do with treachery?" demanded Teclis.
"It hardly matters," Magnus grunted. "If there are men or women who are gifted with magic, they have either been tortured to death or they hide their power. Such is the fate of mages in the Empire of Man."
------------
As the sun set over the silver ship, Rychek and Bullenscheisse approached Teclis. "Do you have another story for us?" the lizard child asked. Monberg was there also with his own mute appeal.
Teclis smiled and stretched his aching bones. "Why do you think I have more tales to tell?"
"You are so much older than the other elves. You must have many stories."
"I look older, do I? Would it surprise you that I am more than four thousand years younger than Arch Mage Yrtle, and two thousand years younger than Dragon-mage Finreir?"
"But you have white in your hair, and you are so thin and stooped. You've got wrinkles!" Rychek pointed to the corners of the elf's eyes.
"Then the first tale I must tell you is about the terrible Curse of Aenarion." The story teller's dark eyes seemed to grow black and menacing. "Earlier I spoke of gods. Now you shall know why I caution against interfering in their business.
"Aenarion the Defender was the first Phoenix King of all the elves, and my ancestor. When came Chaos, he threw himself onto the flaming alter of Asuryan, chief among the elven gods, as a sacrifice to bring favour to his people. Rather than burn away, Aenarion was renewed. Then he led the Asur, those you know as high elves, to victory over the Daemons.
"When the hordes returned, more numerous and powerful than before, Aenarion fought again. Word came to him that his queen and children had been slain. Filled with rage, he sought still more power from a god, this time seizing the sword from the shrine of the Bloody-handed God, Khaela-mensha-Khaine. With it he defeated the daemons again, but the sword was not meant for earthly use.
"Aenarion was cursed for his presumption. For the rest of his life he was a bitter and cruel tyrant, and the seeds of the curse in his descendants led to the Sundering of the Asur and many other calamities.
Teclis bowed his head, and the black fire in his eyes faded. "I live with that legacy, for I am of Aenarion’s line. I am cursed to grow old, to weaken, and to die."
Bullenscheisse squeezed so hard that Monberg emitted an involuntary squeak. When Teclis looked up again he discovered that his audience had grown.
"Mah! The elf has got a real curse!"
"Hush, child. It's rude to point."
Brother Elwood had a question. "When we spoke with Lord Yrtle yesterday, he mentioned 'the curse of men'. Are all men cursed by gods too?"
"He spoke figuratively. He said it was 'the curse of men to forget'. Men live for such fleeting spans that the lessons of the past are forgotten within a century or two."
"Lord Yrtle said it was the curse of elves to remember."
Teclis directed his dark eyes across the broad reach of the river. He did not reply.
"Not so different from dwarfs then." Elwood noted.
As Teclis considered a range of harsh responses, another voice replied. "Perhaps such is the way of all folk of long years."
The voice belonged to Inebric the Slayer. Teclis was not about to claim kinship with the short hairy drunkard, but he had raised an interesting point.
"My elf kin remember the days of glory which are gone forever. They would turn back the river of time to see them restored."
"And the Sons of Grungni would never forget an oath, elf lad. Or a grudge."
Brother Elwood tilted his cowled head in thought. "Both races are blessed with long years but cursed to live in the past. If men are cursed with short lives, do you see, then, what their blessing is? They live in the future."
Teclis frowned. "Futility, Yrtle would call it. No one can enjoy the future if they are dust, no matter how splendid it may be."
"Think of it thus, Mage Teclis." Magnus added his view to the discourse. "Men crave to leave a legacy, but not for themselves. It is for their kin and their children. If they didn't make the world better in their short span, then there was no purpose to it."
As Magnus spoke, a glimmer of understanding dawned in Teclis. "Wait! Do you say men risk their lives to leave a legacy for their offspring?"
"Of course."
"Would men risk their lives for a brother? What about an ally? Even for an alien?"
"You have seen it yourself." Magnus replied. "Men will lay down their lives for the hope of a future without fear."
"But how can they? What gives them confidence that their sacrifice will not be in vain?"
"Faith."
The simultaneous reply came from the lips of the Emperor, the Imperial Engineer, Wolf-priest Heimlich, and all four disguised lizardmen. Only Monberg kept his own council.
Teclis retired to his quarters astern with much to consider.
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21 Altdorf
The following morning, the elvish ship scraped against the grimy Altdorf quayside and disgorged its cargo of dwarfs, lizards and men.
The former group occupied a dockside tavern and settled in for a long campaign of drinking and head pounding. The men and disguised lizards returned to the Imperial Palace. Bullenscheisse disappeared within to attend to his own mysterious business, while Magnus took up position in the throne room to receive a succession of dire reports about the status of affairs in Altdorf and the wider Empire.
It was almost a relief when the residential wing of the palace unexpectedly caught fire and all had to be evacuated to the street while the flames were extinguished. There Magnus found his brother and the Tilean painter and inventor, Leonardo. Both were blackened with soot and Leonardo clutched scorched papers in his hands. It appeared they must have been near the epicentre of the blaze.
Bullenscheisse prattled gaily. "That's the problem with cannon: they are vulnerable to counter battery fire. If they were armoured and self propelled they could really dominate a battlefield. Speaking of which, did I tell you about the cannon array that Liensbrucke used to defeat the beastmen?”
Leonardo nodded his head and began jotting notes on his folio.
"Bullenscheisse, what of the fire?" Magnus called.
His brother jumped and looked guilty. "What fire and explosion?"
"You are unharmed, I hope."
"Oh yes, fine thank you." The Imperial Engineer suddenly relaxed. "But my entire morning's work was destroyed."
"Your work? What are you working on?"
"Ahh. Umm. A very preliminary and very secret project. Can't talk about it here." He nodded towards Mahtis who stood in his bonnet and apron nearby. "In the wrong ears, you know. Loose lips."
Magnus studied the kroxigor. He appeared to have neither ears nor lips.
"I wager a silver pfennig that you will be impressed by the finished product, brother. Until then..." Bullenscheisse held a finger to his lips.
"What betides on this beautiful day, your excessively nobleness." Heimlich approached with Rychek beside him. The smaller lizard was stroking the priest’s black wolf pelt He looked at Mahtis with pleading eyes.
"But Mah..."
"No. You may not have a puppy. That is final."
"What betides?" repeated Magnus glumly. "It seems that are too many troubles at home for me to even consider battles abroad."
"Troubles? What ails this Empire of Mahrlect?" Heimlich asked blandly. Magnus gave him a sharp look and tried to determine if the priest’s words were innocent, in jest, or described his own personal assessment of the state of the nation.
"Here is the nub, Heimlich. I have made an appointment for a grand army to muster in Bechafen in six weeks, but if all of the provinces send their warriors and nobility to battle there will be an intolerable power vacuum. The hidden Chaos cults and the Inquisition have shown that they are ready and willing to exploit such. We could win the Great War against Chaos and still lose the Empire to wicked men.
"Begging pardon, Emperor. Abolish the Inquisition."
Magnus shook his head. "Even amongst their excesses they have the important civic duty of rooting out heresy and cults within the Empire."
Bullenscheisse interjected, "They have failed in that duty. I'll wager a silver penning that the religious orders could do a better job."
Magnus snorted. "I'll take your wager, but what I would like, even more than the feel of your coin in my purse, is to know how the Imperial Inquisition went so far astray." Magnus looked around and spied the Imperial Herald and beckoned him.
"If he is not too badly burned, would you kindly summon the Imperial Historian?"
The historian was soon located, although he was not what the Emperor expected. Rather than a crusty old grey-beard, he was a young, enthusiastic fellow, barely graduated from the Altdorf Institute of Antiquity. He quickly revealed himself to be of the 'progressive' historian type.
"Good day, your Imperial Majesty, and good day to your noble advisors. I am Historian Nabelbauch. I knew you would eventually need my aid, but I am pleased that you perceived it so early in your reign. It is so much easier this way." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "What do you need done? An inconvenient relative expunged from the records." He inclined his head slightly toward the Imperial Engineer.
"What? No, I-"
"Well, no trouble there, then." He gave Bullenscheisse a hearty clap on the back. "Still, it's never too early to start the revisionist view, as I always say. I have actually taken the liberty of doing a bit of work on your rise to power and the early days of your reign. Tell me what you think of it so far."
The historian cleared his throat and began a recitation before Magnus could respond. "Magnus von Bildhofen, a young noble man of Nuln -good work with the name change, by the way. It will save a lot of schoolboy tomfoolery in the future- defeated an uprising of the Chaos Cult of Tzeentch in his own city with faith and prayer. The people rallied to his side and joined his crusade to cleanse the Empire of evil. The corrupt electors and other nobles joined him as they feared a righteous backlash from the population if they did not.
"In the meantime, a Chaos horde of unprecedented proportions invaded neighbouring Kislev. In secret, Magnus sent envoys to Ulthuan and the kingdoms of the dwarfs requesting aid.
"Then it would go on for a bit and end with: The chaos incursion was eventually halted and repelled by a grand alliance of dwarfs, elves and men, United by the legendary hero, Magnus the Pious of Nuln. Do you like it?"
"But we haven't won the war yet!" Magnus spluttered.
The historian lowered his voice again."Even if we don't, we can still make it sound like we did."
"This ‘Grand Alliance’. Shouldn't it mention lizards?" rumbled Mahtis.
"And how will history remember me?" demanded Bullenscheisse.
"With that name, Graf Bullenscheisse, you'll be lucky to make a footnote. Have you considered changing it to something like 'Imperial Engineer Brennand Helstorm'?"
Bullenscheisse pondered this suggestion in silence.
"What will you say about the Order of Purity?" asked Brother Jakob.
"Hmm. That will be a difficult sell. What about, 'When war threatens, bands of crazed Flagellants instinctively gravitate towards battlefields, appearing unannounced and charging headlong towards the enemy without fear or hesitation. Flagellants fight in a crazed frenzy, driven insane by the horrors the world has inficted upon them and desperate for their pain to end'."
"That is not very flattering."
"I think it makes you sound exotic. What you all need to remember is that the people who believe the histories are idiots, so you need to make it simple and exciting, like 'a grand alliance of dwarfs, elves and men, united by the legendary hero, Magnus the Pious of Nuln'. Something factual like 'a motley and distrustful rabble of untrained civilians, dwarfs and their ancestral foes, the elves, joined by a family of talking lizards and some loony fanatics, lead by the heretofore nobody named Mahrlecht the Sell-sword of Nuln' will just confuse the gullible saps you ought to be appealing to."
"That will do. I didn't summon you for creative writing lessons." Magnus huffed. "I need some information about the origins and charter of the Imperial Inquisition."
"Oh." Bauchnabel was so sorely disappointed to be dealing with established facts that he delivered the requested information in a flat monotone.
"The Imperial Inquisition was established after the black plague and the Skaven wars by Emperor Mandred of Middenheim in 1152. Its charter was to expose and destroy the forces of destruction within the Empire while the state armies were to face threats from outside. Inquisitors were originally selected from the religious orders. When Emperor Mandred was assassinated, the Inquisition responded to its failure with a massive purge of suspected chaos witches.
“It continued in its original form until 1854, when Count Vlad von Carstein the Third of Sylvania became High Inquisitor after Lector Luder Kreidebleich succumbed to a mysterious wasting disease. Von Carstein was the first High Inquisitor not to have been a cleric and he was never seen at prayers. He reformed the Inquisition under his own centralized authority and swelled its ranks by recruiting heavily from secular society. It is at this time that the Inquisition came to be known for its reliance on such diverse elements as: fear, surprise, ruthless efficiency, an almost fanatical devotion to the High Inquisitor, and nice red uniforms.
"Von Carstein considered all magic users to be enemies of the state and began scrutinizing the religious and scholarly institutions of the Empire for signs of forbidden knowledge or power. Over time the Inquisition became antipathetic towards the temples and universities.
"The current High Inquisitor is Erwin Schrodinger. Little is known about him aside from that he hails from Sylvania and that he is probably more of a dog person."
A bell tolled.
"My thanks, Historian Bauchnabel." Magnus chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. "The palace is now safe for our return. Have someone summon this High Inquisitor Schrodinger to the throne room. I've an idea which may solve our problem with the Inquisition and the secret cults in one swoop. As for the other matter, the less I know about my future history, the better."
"So, you just want me to record events as they happen? I will be the laughing stock of the Institute." Bauchnabel stomped off in the direction of the university precinct alehouse.
On returning from the street, it soon became clear that a stink of corruption came from within the throne room itself.
"There is no point denying it, Mahtis. This vile stench is your doing."
"Emperor Magnus!" Mahtis waved his minotaur arm at him threateningly. "It is the height of rudeness to make such an accusation of a lady. And, in addition, girls don't do that sort of thing." The next words were delivered in an undertone. "You'll blow my cover."
" ‘Madam’, you misapprehend me. Your trophy or weapon or whatever you keep it for, has begun to rot. It smells like a dead cat. Pray get rid of it before it becomes maggot infested. Get yourself something appropriate to your station from the Imperial Armourer."
"Come, Mahtis. I think I can assist." Bullenscheisse mollified the affronted lady. "I was walking on the Brotbackofen Strasse yestereve when I saw something which would match your ample feminine physique. It was hanging outside the guildhall. After we get it, you can inspect the next phase of my secret project."
"Thank you, Graf," Mahtis sniffed. "The company here is somewhat lacking in decorum."
“Mah?” asked Rychek. “Can I have a kitty-cat then?”
“No, you may not have a kitty,” he thundered. He dragged the infant lizard and the Imperial Engineer out of the throne room just as a half-dozen red cloaked Inquisitors strode in.
"No-one exp..."
"Finally!" exclaimed brother Jakob, who was squinting at a sundial he had dragged inside for this very purpose. "We've been expecting you."
"Really?" asked the Inquisitor who had spoken.
Another Inquisitor trailled behind the others and stared at the retreating forms of the potentially cat-loving and definitely not mainstream lizard family. When they had passed from view he caught up to his fellows. He was dressed alike to the other men, with pointed crimson hat and ecclesiastical robes. He silenced the others with a gesture and bowed liquidly towards Magnus who had risen to his feet behind the scribe's table.
"Your Imperial Majesty, how may we serve you?" the man enquired in a gentle and musical voice.
"I expect you are High Inquisitor Schrodinger."
The corners of the man's mouth tightened a little, but he did not seem to have the facial architecture for smiling. He was of above middling height but painfully gaunt. The skin which stretched so tightly over the bones of his skull seemed to be as thin as parchment and so pale that it was as if he had never been kissed by the sun.
"Your servant," he bowed again, showing a lithe grace which rivalled that of an elf.
"I wish to discuss your institution's failings. Cultists gather at will and daemons walk the streets of the Empire. What say you?"
"Your majesty these are trying times," came the smooth reply. "Within this ledger are the names and whereabouts of all suspected magic using traitors in all the Empire. They are legion." The thin man patted an enormous leather bound tome which was borne by one of his lackeys. "Who else but your Imperial Inquisition will bring them to light? Without such a firm deterrent, I assure you matters would be far worse."
Magnus' eyes lit up as he thought of another use for book of mages, but he quickly veiled his delight and continued the stern criticism. "Matters would be far worse? I cannot test that proposition, but I can test you. I have captured a number of cultists of Slaanesh. Their worthless souls are beyond redemption, but perhaps they know the identities of other cultists still at large in this city.
"I set this challenge, Inquisitor. Let your two best interrogators do their work, and I will ask the same of those of the religious orders who are at hand. Whosoever does better in exposing the cults will forthwith take over the task of witch hunting."
Schrodinger's lips tightened downwards. "As you command, your Imperial Majesty. Your dungeon or mine?"
"I assume yours to be well equipped? Excellent. In one hour then."
The Inquisitors swept from the throne room.
"Mahrlecht! Are you insane?" Wolf Priest Heimlich was appalled. "What will come of this?"
Magnus reclined in the scribe's chair and crossed his arms behind his head. "Kindly stop misusing my birthname. The worst that can come of this is that I will gain a silver pfennig from my reckless brother."
"And what kind of bastards in the religious orders do you think you will find to do this repugnant business of torture? You will find none of Ulrik's pack will brook such atrocity."
"What kind of bastards? The worst kind, friend Heimlich. Cold blooded bastards. Do you know any such?"
Heimlich felt a prickle of apprehension on the back of his neck. "Oh no. Not them. Anyone but them."
"If they cause you so much concern, think how the fallen will feel." The Emperor slapped his open hand on the small table. "Do you need to prepare yourselves, brothers?"
"I beg pardon," apologised Brother Jakob, who had been examining the sundial from all angles in an effort to identify why it was not showing accurate time. "I wasn't really paying attention. What are we doing?"
Brother Elwood gave him an update. "A repugnant atrocity. We'd better read up."
The following morning, the elvish ship scraped against the grimy Altdorf quayside and disgorged its cargo of dwarfs, lizards and men.
The former group occupied a dockside tavern and settled in for a long campaign of drinking and head pounding. The men and disguised lizards returned to the Imperial Palace. Bullenscheisse disappeared within to attend to his own mysterious business, while Magnus took up position in the throne room to receive a succession of dire reports about the status of affairs in Altdorf and the wider Empire.
It was almost a relief when the residential wing of the palace unexpectedly caught fire and all had to be evacuated to the street while the flames were extinguished. There Magnus found his brother and the Tilean painter and inventor, Leonardo. Both were blackened with soot and Leonardo clutched scorched papers in his hands. It appeared they must have been near the epicentre of the blaze.
Bullenscheisse prattled gaily. "That's the problem with cannon: they are vulnerable to counter battery fire. If they were armoured and self propelled they could really dominate a battlefield. Speaking of which, did I tell you about the cannon array that Liensbrucke used to defeat the beastmen?”
Leonardo nodded his head and began jotting notes on his folio.
"Bullenscheisse, what of the fire?" Magnus called.
His brother jumped and looked guilty. "What fire and explosion?"
"You are unharmed, I hope."
"Oh yes, fine thank you." The Imperial Engineer suddenly relaxed. "But my entire morning's work was destroyed."
"Your work? What are you working on?"
"Ahh. Umm. A very preliminary and very secret project. Can't talk about it here." He nodded towards Mahtis who stood in his bonnet and apron nearby. "In the wrong ears, you know. Loose lips."
Magnus studied the kroxigor. He appeared to have neither ears nor lips.
"I wager a silver pfennig that you will be impressed by the finished product, brother. Until then..." Bullenscheisse held a finger to his lips.
"What betides on this beautiful day, your excessively nobleness." Heimlich approached with Rychek beside him. The smaller lizard was stroking the priest’s black wolf pelt He looked at Mahtis with pleading eyes.
"But Mah..."
"No. You may not have a puppy. That is final."
"What betides?" repeated Magnus glumly. "It seems that are too many troubles at home for me to even consider battles abroad."
"Troubles? What ails this Empire of Mahrlect?" Heimlich asked blandly. Magnus gave him a sharp look and tried to determine if the priest’s words were innocent, in jest, or described his own personal assessment of the state of the nation.
"Here is the nub, Heimlich. I have made an appointment for a grand army to muster in Bechafen in six weeks, but if all of the provinces send their warriors and nobility to battle there will be an intolerable power vacuum. The hidden Chaos cults and the Inquisition have shown that they are ready and willing to exploit such. We could win the Great War against Chaos and still lose the Empire to wicked men.
"Begging pardon, Emperor. Abolish the Inquisition."
Magnus shook his head. "Even amongst their excesses they have the important civic duty of rooting out heresy and cults within the Empire."
Bullenscheisse interjected, "They have failed in that duty. I'll wager a silver penning that the religious orders could do a better job."
Magnus snorted. "I'll take your wager, but what I would like, even more than the feel of your coin in my purse, is to know how the Imperial Inquisition went so far astray." Magnus looked around and spied the Imperial Herald and beckoned him.
"If he is not too badly burned, would you kindly summon the Imperial Historian?"
The historian was soon located, although he was not what the Emperor expected. Rather than a crusty old grey-beard, he was a young, enthusiastic fellow, barely graduated from the Altdorf Institute of Antiquity. He quickly revealed himself to be of the 'progressive' historian type.
"Good day, your Imperial Majesty, and good day to your noble advisors. I am Historian Nabelbauch. I knew you would eventually need my aid, but I am pleased that you perceived it so early in your reign. It is so much easier this way." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "What do you need done? An inconvenient relative expunged from the records." He inclined his head slightly toward the Imperial Engineer.
"What? No, I-"
"Well, no trouble there, then." He gave Bullenscheisse a hearty clap on the back. "Still, it's never too early to start the revisionist view, as I always say. I have actually taken the liberty of doing a bit of work on your rise to power and the early days of your reign. Tell me what you think of it so far."
The historian cleared his throat and began a recitation before Magnus could respond. "Magnus von Bildhofen, a young noble man of Nuln -good work with the name change, by the way. It will save a lot of schoolboy tomfoolery in the future- defeated an uprising of the Chaos Cult of Tzeentch in his own city with faith and prayer. The people rallied to his side and joined his crusade to cleanse the Empire of evil. The corrupt electors and other nobles joined him as they feared a righteous backlash from the population if they did not.
"In the meantime, a Chaos horde of unprecedented proportions invaded neighbouring Kislev. In secret, Magnus sent envoys to Ulthuan and the kingdoms of the dwarfs requesting aid.
"Then it would go on for a bit and end with: The chaos incursion was eventually halted and repelled by a grand alliance of dwarfs, elves and men, United by the legendary hero, Magnus the Pious of Nuln. Do you like it?"
"But we haven't won the war yet!" Magnus spluttered.
The historian lowered his voice again."Even if we don't, we can still make it sound like we did."
"This ‘Grand Alliance’. Shouldn't it mention lizards?" rumbled Mahtis.
"And how will history remember me?" demanded Bullenscheisse.
"With that name, Graf Bullenscheisse, you'll be lucky to make a footnote. Have you considered changing it to something like 'Imperial Engineer Brennand Helstorm'?"
Bullenscheisse pondered this suggestion in silence.
"What will you say about the Order of Purity?" asked Brother Jakob.
"Hmm. That will be a difficult sell. What about, 'When war threatens, bands of crazed Flagellants instinctively gravitate towards battlefields, appearing unannounced and charging headlong towards the enemy without fear or hesitation. Flagellants fight in a crazed frenzy, driven insane by the horrors the world has inficted upon them and desperate for their pain to end'."
"That is not very flattering."
"I think it makes you sound exotic. What you all need to remember is that the people who believe the histories are idiots, so you need to make it simple and exciting, like 'a grand alliance of dwarfs, elves and men, united by the legendary hero, Magnus the Pious of Nuln'. Something factual like 'a motley and distrustful rabble of untrained civilians, dwarfs and their ancestral foes, the elves, joined by a family of talking lizards and some loony fanatics, lead by the heretofore nobody named Mahrlecht the Sell-sword of Nuln' will just confuse the gullible saps you ought to be appealing to."
"That will do. I didn't summon you for creative writing lessons." Magnus huffed. "I need some information about the origins and charter of the Imperial Inquisition."
"Oh." Bauchnabel was so sorely disappointed to be dealing with established facts that he delivered the requested information in a flat monotone.
"The Imperial Inquisition was established after the black plague and the Skaven wars by Emperor Mandred of Middenheim in 1152. Its charter was to expose and destroy the forces of destruction within the Empire while the state armies were to face threats from outside. Inquisitors were originally selected from the religious orders. When Emperor Mandred was assassinated, the Inquisition responded to its failure with a massive purge of suspected chaos witches.
“It continued in its original form until 1854, when Count Vlad von Carstein the Third of Sylvania became High Inquisitor after Lector Luder Kreidebleich succumbed to a mysterious wasting disease. Von Carstein was the first High Inquisitor not to have been a cleric and he was never seen at prayers. He reformed the Inquisition under his own centralized authority and swelled its ranks by recruiting heavily from secular society. It is at this time that the Inquisition came to be known for its reliance on such diverse elements as: fear, surprise, ruthless efficiency, an almost fanatical devotion to the High Inquisitor, and nice red uniforms.
"Von Carstein considered all magic users to be enemies of the state and began scrutinizing the religious and scholarly institutions of the Empire for signs of forbidden knowledge or power. Over time the Inquisition became antipathetic towards the temples and universities.
"The current High Inquisitor is Erwin Schrodinger. Little is known about him aside from that he hails from Sylvania and that he is probably more of a dog person."
A bell tolled.
"My thanks, Historian Bauchnabel." Magnus chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. "The palace is now safe for our return. Have someone summon this High Inquisitor Schrodinger to the throne room. I've an idea which may solve our problem with the Inquisition and the secret cults in one swoop. As for the other matter, the less I know about my future history, the better."
"So, you just want me to record events as they happen? I will be the laughing stock of the Institute." Bauchnabel stomped off in the direction of the university precinct alehouse.
------------
On returning from the street, it soon became clear that a stink of corruption came from within the throne room itself.
"There is no point denying it, Mahtis. This vile stench is your doing."
"Emperor Magnus!" Mahtis waved his minotaur arm at him threateningly. "It is the height of rudeness to make such an accusation of a lady. And, in addition, girls don't do that sort of thing." The next words were delivered in an undertone. "You'll blow my cover."
" ‘Madam’, you misapprehend me. Your trophy or weapon or whatever you keep it for, has begun to rot. It smells like a dead cat. Pray get rid of it before it becomes maggot infested. Get yourself something appropriate to your station from the Imperial Armourer."
"Come, Mahtis. I think I can assist." Bullenscheisse mollified the affronted lady. "I was walking on the Brotbackofen Strasse yestereve when I saw something which would match your ample feminine physique. It was hanging outside the guildhall. After we get it, you can inspect the next phase of my secret project."
"Thank you, Graf," Mahtis sniffed. "The company here is somewhat lacking in decorum."
“Mah?” asked Rychek. “Can I have a kitty-cat then?”
“No, you may not have a kitty,” he thundered. He dragged the infant lizard and the Imperial Engineer out of the throne room just as a half-dozen red cloaked Inquisitors strode in.
"No-one exp..."
"Finally!" exclaimed brother Jakob, who was squinting at a sundial he had dragged inside for this very purpose. "We've been expecting you."
"Really?" asked the Inquisitor who had spoken.
Another Inquisitor trailled behind the others and stared at the retreating forms of the potentially cat-loving and definitely not mainstream lizard family. When they had passed from view he caught up to his fellows. He was dressed alike to the other men, with pointed crimson hat and ecclesiastical robes. He silenced the others with a gesture and bowed liquidly towards Magnus who had risen to his feet behind the scribe's table.
"Your Imperial Majesty, how may we serve you?" the man enquired in a gentle and musical voice.
"I expect you are High Inquisitor Schrodinger."
The corners of the man's mouth tightened a little, but he did not seem to have the facial architecture for smiling. He was of above middling height but painfully gaunt. The skin which stretched so tightly over the bones of his skull seemed to be as thin as parchment and so pale that it was as if he had never been kissed by the sun.
"Your servant," he bowed again, showing a lithe grace which rivalled that of an elf.
"I wish to discuss your institution's failings. Cultists gather at will and daemons walk the streets of the Empire. What say you?"
"Your majesty these are trying times," came the smooth reply. "Within this ledger are the names and whereabouts of all suspected magic using traitors in all the Empire. They are legion." The thin man patted an enormous leather bound tome which was borne by one of his lackeys. "Who else but your Imperial Inquisition will bring them to light? Without such a firm deterrent, I assure you matters would be far worse."
Magnus' eyes lit up as he thought of another use for book of mages, but he quickly veiled his delight and continued the stern criticism. "Matters would be far worse? I cannot test that proposition, but I can test you. I have captured a number of cultists of Slaanesh. Their worthless souls are beyond redemption, but perhaps they know the identities of other cultists still at large in this city.
"I set this challenge, Inquisitor. Let your two best interrogators do their work, and I will ask the same of those of the religious orders who are at hand. Whosoever does better in exposing the cults will forthwith take over the task of witch hunting."
Schrodinger's lips tightened downwards. "As you command, your Imperial Majesty. Your dungeon or mine?"
"I assume yours to be well equipped? Excellent. In one hour then."
The Inquisitors swept from the throne room.
"Mahrlecht! Are you insane?" Wolf Priest Heimlich was appalled. "What will come of this?"
Magnus reclined in the scribe's chair and crossed his arms behind his head. "Kindly stop misusing my birthname. The worst that can come of this is that I will gain a silver pfennig from my reckless brother."
"And what kind of bastards in the religious orders do you think you will find to do this repugnant business of torture? You will find none of Ulrik's pack will brook such atrocity."
"What kind of bastards? The worst kind, friend Heimlich. Cold blooded bastards. Do you know any such?"
Heimlich felt a prickle of apprehension on the back of his neck. "Oh no. Not them. Anyone but them."
"If they cause you so much concern, think how the fallen will feel." The Emperor slapped his open hand on the small table. "Do you need to prepare yourselves, brothers?"
"I beg pardon," apologised Brother Jakob, who had been examining the sundial from all angles in an effort to identify why it was not showing accurate time. "I wasn't really paying attention. What are we doing?"
Brother Elwood gave him an update. "A repugnant atrocity. We'd better read up."
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22 Library
Mahtis swished his new weapon in a broad arc causing all nearby to duck for cover. It was an outsized ironwood rolling pin. He appreciated its heft and the fact it could be used ambidextrously. Most of all he appreciated its thematic link with his flowery bonnet and apron. "Do you think we should have asked before borrowing it?" he enquired.
"No, no. I carefully checked to make sure the guildsmen were all looking the other way before we took it. Best not to trouble them," explained Bullenscheisse. "Now put it down if you wouldn't mind, there is delicate apparatus in here."
The lizard family had joined the Imperial Engineer in the palace library, which he had hastily converted into a workshop after his previous one had been destroyed in the morning's fire.
"I need just apply some minor adjustments to my third prototype, and then you can see it tested."
Bullenscheisse pulled goggles over his face and returned to enthusiastically clobbering an eighteen inch long metal tube with a large mallet. Around him were scattered other tools and instruments, both mundane and arcane.
"Where is the Tilean? Has he finished my portrait? He should add this." Mah brandished the rolling pin savagely.
"Leonardo? He didn't want to stay for my next test. Not after the... earlier incident." Bullenscheisse waved a hand absently. "I think the painting is over there."
Mahtis and Rychek were disappointed to find the unfinished 'Mona Lizard' portrait untouched beneath a pile of technical drawings.
"What are these?" asked Rychek, as he held up some of the sketches.
"Hmm? Ah. I told him about Brigadier Liensbrucke's cannon wagon. He thinks a smaller version would allow rapid volleys. Do you think that it looks like a pipe organ? The dwarfs might like that one. They enjoy loud music. The second one is meant to be a flying machine and then the next is a parachute or some other Tilean gibberish. I gave him the idea for that”
"And the bottom one?"
I gave him the idea for the mobile cannon too, but it needs work. I told him he should put a boiler in it and call it a steam tank. Now, let me unveil the Bullenscheissekriegkanon, Mark III." He gestured extravagantly at the pile of tools and other detritus on his reading table.
"Where?"
He picked up the metal tube he had recently been brutalizing. It was capped at one end with a metal cone. At the other was a short length of stiff twine.
Rychek took it from his hands and sniffed it. "What does it do?"
"Hold it steady and I shall demonstrate." Bullenscheisse lowered his goggles again and held a candle flame to the uncapped end.
The string smoked, sparked and dwindled in length, eventually disappearing into the tube. A moment later, a thick white cloud whooshed from that end and the metal cone shot from the other, trailing yet more smoke as it spiralled crazily around the library.
The demented sprite eventually lodged halfway up a bookshelf and detonated with a loud report. The ancient and no doubt valuable tomes that were not blasted off the shelf began to blaze merrily.
Bullenscheisse hooted with glee, "An unqualified near partial success! Did you see it?"
Rychek tilted his soot blackened muzzle to one side. "So what does it do?"
"It smites the enemy with a storm of hellfire! "
The scorched skink looked around quizzically. "Your enemy is books?"
"Knowledge, perhaps?" Mahtis added.
"No, of course not, I-" The engineer raised his goggles and saw a good part of the natural history section on fire. "Mahrlecht! Put that out, if you don't mind! I'll just move these a little further away."
He put his drawings and most valuable tools and instruments on top of an open keg of black powder and began dragging it toward to the door.
"Good luck with that. Oh, and don't mention the test to my brother, if you don't mind. I'd prefer for it to be a... a surprise. Yes, a secret surprise. I'll send someone back with a bucket of water, shall I?" He got the barrel of powder safely out through the doorway and closed it behind him.
Mahtis swished his new weapon in a broad arc causing all nearby to duck for cover. It was an outsized ironwood rolling pin. He appreciated its heft and the fact it could be used ambidextrously. Most of all he appreciated its thematic link with his flowery bonnet and apron. "Do you think we should have asked before borrowing it?" he enquired.
"No, no. I carefully checked to make sure the guildsmen were all looking the other way before we took it. Best not to trouble them," explained Bullenscheisse. "Now put it down if you wouldn't mind, there is delicate apparatus in here."
The lizard family had joined the Imperial Engineer in the palace library, which he had hastily converted into a workshop after his previous one had been destroyed in the morning's fire.
"I need just apply some minor adjustments to my third prototype, and then you can see it tested."
Bullenscheisse pulled goggles over his face and returned to enthusiastically clobbering an eighteen inch long metal tube with a large mallet. Around him were scattered other tools and instruments, both mundane and arcane.
"Where is the Tilean? Has he finished my portrait? He should add this." Mah brandished the rolling pin savagely.
"Leonardo? He didn't want to stay for my next test. Not after the... earlier incident." Bullenscheisse waved a hand absently. "I think the painting is over there."
Mahtis and Rychek were disappointed to find the unfinished 'Mona Lizard' portrait untouched beneath a pile of technical drawings.
"What are these?" asked Rychek, as he held up some of the sketches.
"Hmm? Ah. I told him about Brigadier Liensbrucke's cannon wagon. He thinks a smaller version would allow rapid volleys. Do you think that it looks like a pipe organ? The dwarfs might like that one. They enjoy loud music. The second one is meant to be a flying machine and then the next is a parachute or some other Tilean gibberish. I gave him the idea for that”
"And the bottom one?"
I gave him the idea for the mobile cannon too, but it needs work. I told him he should put a boiler in it and call it a steam tank. Now, let me unveil the Bullenscheissekriegkanon, Mark III." He gestured extravagantly at the pile of tools and other detritus on his reading table.
"Where?"
He picked up the metal tube he had recently been brutalizing. It was capped at one end with a metal cone. At the other was a short length of stiff twine.
Rychek took it from his hands and sniffed it. "What does it do?"
"Hold it steady and I shall demonstrate." Bullenscheisse lowered his goggles again and held a candle flame to the uncapped end.
The string smoked, sparked and dwindled in length, eventually disappearing into the tube. A moment later, a thick white cloud whooshed from that end and the metal cone shot from the other, trailing yet more smoke as it spiralled crazily around the library.
The demented sprite eventually lodged halfway up a bookshelf and detonated with a loud report. The ancient and no doubt valuable tomes that were not blasted off the shelf began to blaze merrily.
Bullenscheisse hooted with glee, "An unqualified near partial success! Did you see it?"
Rychek tilted his soot blackened muzzle to one side. "So what does it do?"
"It smites the enemy with a storm of hellfire! "
The scorched skink looked around quizzically. "Your enemy is books?"
"Knowledge, perhaps?" Mahtis added.
"No, of course not, I-" The engineer raised his goggles and saw a good part of the natural history section on fire. "Mahrlecht! Put that out, if you don't mind! I'll just move these a little further away."
He put his drawings and most valuable tools and instruments on top of an open keg of black powder and began dragging it toward to the door.
"Good luck with that. Oh, and don't mention the test to my brother, if you don't mind. I'd prefer for it to be a... a surprise. Yes, a secret surprise. I'll send someone back with a bucket of water, shall I?" He got the barrel of powder safely out through the doorway and closed it behind him.
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23 Dungeon
Emperor Magnus, a singed and furtive looking Imperial Engineer, two Brothers of Purity and an escort of black clad mercenaries led a miserable line of chained and hooded cultists from the Imperial Zoo to the seat of the Imperial Inquisition in the Hellwasser district.
They were welcomed at the heavy door, for want of a better word, by the ever charming High Inquisitor Schrodinger and a group of his cronies.
"Please follow me to room 101," said Schrodinger without ceremony.
"Exactly what is in room 101?" asked Brother Jakob timidly.
"You know the answer already. Everyone knows it. The thing that is in Room 101 is the worst thing in the world. The worst thing in the world." he intoned ominously. The corners of his mouth tightened, and again it was unclear if the facial expression was a smile or not.
As the High Inquisitor led them all down a dark stairway, Brothers Jakob and Elwood had a whispered argument. "Brussel sprouts."
"No, surely it is unrequited love."
"It could be warm beer-"
"You're both wrong," hissed Bullenscheisse, "it's probably physics."
The stairs took them well below street level before they terminated at a corridor which was lined by rows of empty cells. At the end of the dungeon, the passage swelled into an antechamber which faced an unmarked oaken door.
"Welcome to room 101." The corners of the Schrodinger's mouth tightened.
The door creaked open and an Inquisitor poked his crimson hat and cheerful face out. "What are they this time, High Inquisitor Schrodinger?" he asked.
"Cultists of Slaanesh."
"Not Slaanesh. I hate Slaaneshis," a second voice from within complained.
Bullenscheisse was puzzled. "The righteous should hate all heretics. What is worse about these?"
The first interrogator looked at Bullenscheisse as if he was daft. "Cursed Slaanesh accepts all forms of sensation as offerings. Pleasant and... not pleasant. These pigs will die in agony and consider it an act of worship. We will be lucky to get anything out of them. Don't take me wrongly, we will still do our worst."
"That's right, that's right! The work is its own reward. Send them in, send them in." The unseen second torturer began whistling a happy tune as he clattered among several metal implements.
"Thank you, Inquisitors Geiger and Roentgen. I am also sending in Inquisitorial Scribe Gustav Hertz to record their confessions and the identities of their cohorts."
Another of the High Inquisitor's henchmen indicated his readiness by raising his parchment and quill. He followed the first three hooded and bound cultists inside and closed the door behind him.
Schrodinger stood with his back to the door and attempted to make polite conversation. This became progressively more difficult as the sounds of industrious and imaginative torture, and the involuntary cries of the victims, grew louder.
"I had hoped," he said during a respite, when only the jangle of chains could be heard, "to make this kind of thing unnecessary by applying a new technique."
Magnus’ jaw was clenched. He would not be drawn into conversation. There was a gurgling scream which tailed away to silence.
Bullenscheisse cringed. "A new technique?"
Schrodinger seemed glad of the opportunity to explain. "Yes, no torture required. I have a theory. Actually it is a practical application of Inquisitor Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle. If you have a suspected witch with a cat." He paused to allow some loud moaning to abate.
"Not a dog?" asked Bullenscheisse.
"No. It must be a cat."
There was another scream followed by incoherent babble.
"Yes, a suspected witch with a cat. You put the cat in a lead box with a poison which will take effect at an unknown time. After a period you will be unsure if the cat is alive or dead. This is the clever part - it will be in both states simultaneously, a situation which persists until the box is opened. At that time the cat will immediately adopt a determinate state, that is to say that it will be either alive or dead.
Bullenscheisse screwed up his face in concentration. "How does the ultimate fate of the cat tell you if the owner is a witch?"
"The ultimate state of the cat is irrelevant, but until the box is opened the cat is in an indeterminate state, you see?"
"Yes. No."
"For that period, the accused is the owner of an undead cat and must be a witch. Quod erat demonstrandum.
Schrodinger flinched back a pace as the brothers of purity unconsciously produced their flails and flogged themselves upon hearing the scholar’s tongue.
“What is wrong, High Inquisitor? Do you have an aversion to whips?”
“I have a general… dislike of religious icons.”
The door to room 101 opened and Inquisitorial Scribe Hertz stepped out with his parchment and quill.
"Aha! A result, I trust." said Schrodinger.
The scribe wiped a gobbet of blood off the paper with his sleeve and Schrodinger continued to inform his guests. "It was one of the greater reforms of Inquisitor von Carstein so long ago. The adoption of crimson robes. Along with the sun hats. So practical." He returned to the matter at hand. "What did the accused ones say, Gustav?"
"The first said," Hertz studied his notes, " ‘Aargh gargle gargle cough urgh’. The second, 'Oh oh oh, sizzle oooh.' The third one was a little more loquacious. He said, 'for thy pleasure oh Keeper of Secrets' over and over again until his tongue went into the mangle."
"Hmm. Disappointing. I suppose the third was a confession of sorts. Shall we burn him at the stake?"
"I don't think it will be strictly necessary, but I suppose it will help us reach quota for the month."
"That's the spirit, Gustav! Will Hans and Wilhelm need a hand to tidy up?"
"I believe so. And a bucket and mop. I'll send for Mavis, shall I?"
"Oh dear, I think she does the Imperial Palace on Mondays. Just ask them to sluice things off as best they can."
The scribe popped back inside.
"All done." Geiger and Roentgen stepped out soon afterwards. They looked glum.
"Sorry, High Inquisitor," Geiger held out his bloody hands, palms upwards. "What can you do with them. Bleeping Slaaneshis."
"Careful what you say, Hans..." Roentgen cautioned him, " ...or people will think you've found religion."
The interrogators strolled away, laughing about their day's exploits. The remaining cultists were ushered into the chamber of horrors.
"And these flagellants are your interrogators, your Imperial Majesty? Alea jacta est."
The brothers whipped themselves again.
"I'm sure you did that deliberately that time," protested brother Elwood.
"Get to work, brothers.” The Emperor himself closed the door behind them.
Room 101 contained just about every instrument of torture the fevered mind could imagine, and a few which surpassed that criterion. Inquisitorial Scribe Hertz sat at a little table with his quill poised over the parchment. Of the original three cultists there was no sign.
There was a grate set in the wet floor which appeared to open to a sewer channel below, but there was no way a body could fit between the bars. Not an intact body anyway. And iron hook swung hypnotically from a chain above the grate.
"Shall we begin then?" Brother Elwood pulled the bag off the head of the first cultist. His lips, ears and eyebrows were pierced with dozens of jagged pieces of metal.
"I know you," the flagellant exclaimed. "It was you who led me to the Imperial Zoo. You are the one who likes being cruel to animals. Oh, what I have in store for you, Chaos filth."
Emperor Magnus, a singed and furtive looking Imperial Engineer, two Brothers of Purity and an escort of black clad mercenaries led a miserable line of chained and hooded cultists from the Imperial Zoo to the seat of the Imperial Inquisition in the Hellwasser district.
They were welcomed at the heavy door, for want of a better word, by the ever charming High Inquisitor Schrodinger and a group of his cronies.
"Please follow me to room 101," said Schrodinger without ceremony.
"Exactly what is in room 101?" asked Brother Jakob timidly.
"You know the answer already. Everyone knows it. The thing that is in Room 101 is the worst thing in the world. The worst thing in the world." he intoned ominously. The corners of his mouth tightened, and again it was unclear if the facial expression was a smile or not.
As the High Inquisitor led them all down a dark stairway, Brothers Jakob and Elwood had a whispered argument. "Brussel sprouts."
"No, surely it is unrequited love."
"It could be warm beer-"
"You're both wrong," hissed Bullenscheisse, "it's probably physics."
The stairs took them well below street level before they terminated at a corridor which was lined by rows of empty cells. At the end of the dungeon, the passage swelled into an antechamber which faced an unmarked oaken door.
"Welcome to room 101." The corners of the Schrodinger's mouth tightened.
The door creaked open and an Inquisitor poked his crimson hat and cheerful face out. "What are they this time, High Inquisitor Schrodinger?" he asked.
"Cultists of Slaanesh."
"Not Slaanesh. I hate Slaaneshis," a second voice from within complained.
Bullenscheisse was puzzled. "The righteous should hate all heretics. What is worse about these?"
The first interrogator looked at Bullenscheisse as if he was daft. "Cursed Slaanesh accepts all forms of sensation as offerings. Pleasant and... not pleasant. These pigs will die in agony and consider it an act of worship. We will be lucky to get anything out of them. Don't take me wrongly, we will still do our worst."
"That's right, that's right! The work is its own reward. Send them in, send them in." The unseen second torturer began whistling a happy tune as he clattered among several metal implements.
"Thank you, Inquisitors Geiger and Roentgen. I am also sending in Inquisitorial Scribe Gustav Hertz to record their confessions and the identities of their cohorts."
Another of the High Inquisitor's henchmen indicated his readiness by raising his parchment and quill. He followed the first three hooded and bound cultists inside and closed the door behind him.
Schrodinger stood with his back to the door and attempted to make polite conversation. This became progressively more difficult as the sounds of industrious and imaginative torture, and the involuntary cries of the victims, grew louder.
"I had hoped," he said during a respite, when only the jangle of chains could be heard, "to make this kind of thing unnecessary by applying a new technique."
Magnus’ jaw was clenched. He would not be drawn into conversation. There was a gurgling scream which tailed away to silence.
Bullenscheisse cringed. "A new technique?"
Schrodinger seemed glad of the opportunity to explain. "Yes, no torture required. I have a theory. Actually it is a practical application of Inquisitor Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle. If you have a suspected witch with a cat." He paused to allow some loud moaning to abate.
"Not a dog?" asked Bullenscheisse.
"No. It must be a cat."
There was another scream followed by incoherent babble.
"Yes, a suspected witch with a cat. You put the cat in a lead box with a poison which will take effect at an unknown time. After a period you will be unsure if the cat is alive or dead. This is the clever part - it will be in both states simultaneously, a situation which persists until the box is opened. At that time the cat will immediately adopt a determinate state, that is to say that it will be either alive or dead.
Bullenscheisse screwed up his face in concentration. "How does the ultimate fate of the cat tell you if the owner is a witch?"
"The ultimate state of the cat is irrelevant, but until the box is opened the cat is in an indeterminate state, you see?"
"Yes. No."
"For that period, the accused is the owner of an undead cat and must be a witch. Quod erat demonstrandum.
Schrodinger flinched back a pace as the brothers of purity unconsciously produced their flails and flogged themselves upon hearing the scholar’s tongue.
“What is wrong, High Inquisitor? Do you have an aversion to whips?”
“I have a general… dislike of religious icons.”
The door to room 101 opened and Inquisitorial Scribe Hertz stepped out with his parchment and quill.
"Aha! A result, I trust." said Schrodinger.
The scribe wiped a gobbet of blood off the paper with his sleeve and Schrodinger continued to inform his guests. "It was one of the greater reforms of Inquisitor von Carstein so long ago. The adoption of crimson robes. Along with the sun hats. So practical." He returned to the matter at hand. "What did the accused ones say, Gustav?"
"The first said," Hertz studied his notes, " ‘Aargh gargle gargle cough urgh’. The second, 'Oh oh oh, sizzle oooh.' The third one was a little more loquacious. He said, 'for thy pleasure oh Keeper of Secrets' over and over again until his tongue went into the mangle."
"Hmm. Disappointing. I suppose the third was a confession of sorts. Shall we burn him at the stake?"
"I don't think it will be strictly necessary, but I suppose it will help us reach quota for the month."
"That's the spirit, Gustav! Will Hans and Wilhelm need a hand to tidy up?"
"I believe so. And a bucket and mop. I'll send for Mavis, shall I?"
"Oh dear, I think she does the Imperial Palace on Mondays. Just ask them to sluice things off as best they can."
The scribe popped back inside.
"All done." Geiger and Roentgen stepped out soon afterwards. They looked glum.
"Sorry, High Inquisitor," Geiger held out his bloody hands, palms upwards. "What can you do with them. Bleeping Slaaneshis."
"Careful what you say, Hans..." Roentgen cautioned him, " ...or people will think you've found religion."
The interrogators strolled away, laughing about their day's exploits. The remaining cultists were ushered into the chamber of horrors.
"And these flagellants are your interrogators, your Imperial Majesty? Alea jacta est."
The brothers whipped themselves again.
"I'm sure you did that deliberately that time," protested brother Elwood.
"Get to work, brothers.” The Emperor himself closed the door behind them.
------------
Room 101 contained just about every instrument of torture the fevered mind could imagine, and a few which surpassed that criterion. Inquisitorial Scribe Hertz sat at a little table with his quill poised over the parchment. Of the original three cultists there was no sign.
There was a grate set in the wet floor which appeared to open to a sewer channel below, but there was no way a body could fit between the bars. Not an intact body anyway. And iron hook swung hypnotically from a chain above the grate.
"Shall we begin then?" Brother Elwood pulled the bag off the head of the first cultist. His lips, ears and eyebrows were pierced with dozens of jagged pieces of metal.
"I know you," the flagellant exclaimed. "It was you who led me to the Imperial Zoo. You are the one who likes being cruel to animals. Oh, what I have in store for you, Chaos filth."
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24 Torture Chamber
Bullenscheisse had been straining to hear what was happening inside Room 101, but all had been quiet. Finally he heard an anguished voice.
"No more! Please no! I beg of you, stop! ... You! You tell them! Tell them what they want to know. For pity's sake tell them and make them stop!"
"That sounds promising." The engineer went to press his ear against the door only to almost fall inside into the torture chamber as it suddenly opened. Inquisitorial scribe Gustav Hertz fled from the room wailing, and bowled Bullenscheisse over in the process.
Brother Jakob came to the door wringing his hands in obvious distress. "Do you have another scribe?" he asked apologetically. "The last one broke."
Bullenscheisse peered past him. He saw one head-bagged cultist sitting on the floor with a coil of rope on his lap, gently sobbing. Another lay twitching on a stretching rack with his face uncovered but his eyes tightly screwed shut. The third was slumped on a three legged stool with his bare head in his hands.
Brother Elwood came to the door and spoke quietly to Jakob, "That didn't work out so well. This time you be bad torturer and I'll be good torturer. Excuse us." He closed the door in Bullenscheisse’s face.
Franz Betruger had begun to doubt his world view for the first time since he was a small child. Although he had not known it at the time, his childish acts of cruelty and malice had pleased the one he had later realized was the Chaos god, Slaanesh. His soul had been given irrevocably to God of Excess before anyone in the cadre of sadists he had joined as a teen had even mentioned the name.
He learnt there that one does not rise very far in Slaanesh’s favour without enduring extremities of pleasure and pain, as well as inflicting them on others. He had become inured to any horror that the world could inflict. At least, so he had thought.
Torture.
In all his years as a petty sadist and then Cultist of Slaanesh he had rarely used the word, even when he had been up to his elbows in some hapless vagrant. He realized now that he had never truly understood what it meant. It was more than pain. It was a deep anguish of soul, a discord between what a person believes they can endure without immediately expiring, and the terrifying reality that the torturer can and will inflict the same over and over again.
Betruger wished he had been able to flee with the scribe before it was his turn.
He could see that his cohort, Adrienn Alin had already been broken to the point of catatonia. No mean feat considering the man's addiction to extreme fear. When Alin wasn't throwing people off cliffs, he was jumping off them himself in search of the ultimate thrill. Yet these cold blooded flagellant bastards had broken him in minutes without even harming a hair of his head. And there was no sign that they were finished with him yet.
Betruger felt a new emotion alongside his anguish. Having never felt it before, he didn't even know it by its usual name.
Pity.
He had an incomprehensible urge to intervene, to end Alin's suffering.
Brother Elwood went to the door and spoke quietly to Jakob, "That didn't work out so well. This time you be bad torturer and I'll be good torturer. Excuse us." He closed the door in Bullenscheisse’s face.
"Did you ask for another quill?" Elwood held up a bedraggled goose feather. "The first one is just about all tickled out."
The man on the rack ground his teeth audibly.
Brother Jakob shook his head. "Look, we've got three cultists. That's two spares. How about I try with the noose this time? If we hang one, the others might take us seriously. Although I doubt it, after your first effort."
"I’d like to see you do better." Brother Elwood took the coil of rope from the lap of the cultist who was sitting on the floor and threw it at Jakob. "It's trickier than it looks." Then Elwood turned his attention the Betruger. "Excuse me, again."
Betruger meekly stood and relinquished his stool.
"Thank you."
In the meantime brother Jakob had fashioned a noose from the rope and thrown it over a convenient rafter. He then snugged it over Alin's hooded head.
"Step up again, if you please."
Alin clambered robotically to his feet and stepped onto the stool with the flagellant's gentle assistance.
"Ahem. Cooperate or this will happen to you." Brother Jakob's dramatic threat was directed at the other two cultists.
The last cultist, whose name was Josef Pilates, lifted his head from the stretching rack and looked at the improvised gallows arrangement for a moment. Then he let his head fall back onto the frame with a thud . He started grinding his teeth again. Betruger sat down on the corner of the rack and put his head in his hands. He couldn't bear to watch.
"Umm. Die, chaos scum.”
There was a clatter as Brother Jakob kicked the stool from under Alin's feet, a thud and then the renewed sound of sobbing. Pilates teeth continued grinding.
"You didn't tie a knot at the other end," Brother Elwood observed.
"Oh. Sorry."
There were sounds to indicate that the rope had been passed over the rafter again and the stool retrieved.
"Step up again, if you please. Oh... Your poor ankle. Um. Hop up then. I'll tie this off and... there. Nice and snug... Is everybody listening? Right then. Cooperate or this will happen to you!"
There was much the same sequence of clatter, thud, sob, grind. Betruger looked up. Alin was sprawled on the cold stone flags, clutching his ankle and whimpering.
Brother Jakob was holding the cultist’s end of the rope. It was innocent of any noose.
"How did that come undone?"
"You did it wrong, idiot. That's how it came undone. Now listen carefully and do exactly as I say. The rabbit goes round the tree several times, then into his burrow-"
"No!"
"What?" both flagellants boggled.
"No." Betruger repeated. "You don't do it like that."
"Okay smarty-cultist, you tell us how it is done," sulked brother Jakob.
The cultist took his head from his hands. "Hold the rope in two hands. A little wider. Good. Now take a bight..."
Betruger put his head in his hands again. "Forget it,” he mumbled.
"Mmmm mm mm mmmm?"
"What?" asked Elwood.
Brother Jakob spat out the loop of rope. "I said, 'what did he say'?"
"He said, 'Forget it.' Let's just move onto the next one. Excuse me again. Thank you."
Betruger relinquished his seat on the rack and retrieved his stool.
Pilates lifted his head, swore softly and slammed his head back on the frame of the stretching rack.
The rack was a machine of considerable mechanical complexity, but simple intent. The capstan, when turned, rotated a serious of large wooden cogs. By means of leather straps at wrist and ankle, the victim could be stretched to the point of dislocation or even dismemberment. The agony could be extended for hours, days or weeks.
Betruger resolved that he would attempt to make sure it was as swift as possible.
"So, Chaos scum. Confess or get noticeably taller."
"Straps." Betruger didn’t even lift his head as he gave the reminder.
"Oh yes. Thank you."
After another agonising minute, Brother Jakob said, "confess," again and the capstan turned with a loud clack clack clack.
After another minute there was no hint of a confession.
"Why isn't this working?" asked Brother Jakob.
Brother Elwood twirled one hand in the air then joined Jakob on his side of the dreadful device. He twirled his hand the other way.
"That's your problem. Lefty loosey, righty tighty."
"Oh. I've always had trouble with that. Do you remember the time I flooded the great temple of Itzl when I left the faucet on in the spawning chamber?"
"Of course I remember. I got blamed for it and was given three weeks of stegadon pit duty."
Clack clack clack CLUNK!
"You kept turning it left, didn't you? Now the wheel thing is off."
Jakob picked up the heavy capstan and put it back on its spline.
CLUNK!
"It won't stay on. I think I've lost the little pin that goes in this hole. Help me to find it."
"The light is terrible down there. I'll get a flaming torch."
Betruger could stand it no more. While the flagellants were distracted in their quest for the missing cotter pin. He got up off his stool and crept to the door.
There was a gentle knock. When Bullenscheiise cautiously opened the door he was confronted by a terrifying face. The man's lips, ears and eyebrows were pierced with dozens of jagged pieces of metal.
"Have you got a new scribe yet?"
The engineer shook his head mutely.
There was a sudden exclamation from the depths of Room 101. "Now you've set it on fire!"
The cultist briefly looked back into the chamber. "Even just a quill?"
Bullensheisse shook his head again.
"Oh." The cultist locked eyes mournful eyes with him. He had such a look of agitated suffering that Bullenscheisse wanted to give him a hug.
"Put it out! Put it out! He'll get burnt!"
Without releasing Bullenscheisse from his haunted eyes, the cultist grasped one of the pieces of metal from his brow and worked it free, leaving a ragged wound. He took the metal shard and pressed it deep into the palm of his left hand until blood welled around it. He held up the metal and examined the drop of red which was caught on its point.
"Idiot!"
"You said put it out!"
"Not with our only bucket of water. I was saving that for the water torture. You are supposed to wait until they are asleep, and then put their hand in the water until they need to use the bathroom."
"Don't leave me,” the cultist pleaded to Bullenscheisse and closed the door behind him.
Only a few minutes later, two pages of close spaced red manuscript was slid under the door.
Bullenscheisse picked them up and began to read, " 'This is the true confession of Franz Betruger of Altdorf, written in my own hand and in my own blood.' Now we are getting somewhere. It goes on to say, 'it all began when I was a little boy. My elder brother got a pet, but I didn't. I suppose I was jealous but..."
"Does he identify any other cultists?" demanded Magnus.
Bullenscheisse scanned the first page front and back. Then the second. "No."
"That's not important!" Schrodinger snatched the pages and pored over them. "Does it say whether the pet was a cat?"
Bullenscheisse opened the door. "Excuse me?"
"Yes?" the two Brothers of Purity paused in their work on the rack.
"No, brothers, pray continue. You're doing fine. It is... Franz, is it? Yes, it is Franz I wanted to talk to."
Betruger came to the door. "I can confess to anything else you'd like, too," he said willingly.
"Really?" Bullenscheisse stuck his head right inside the room so no-one else could hear. "There have a been a number of unexplained blazes and… explosions at the Imperial palace in the last day.” The Engineer paused meaningfully.
Betruger blinked. "I could confess involvement if it would get me out of here sooner. Anything else?”
"Oh, yes. The names and lodgings of all of the Chaos cultists at large in the Empire. Please."
"Do you have more parchment?"
"Yes. Do you have more blood?"
"If I bleed to death, will you promise that those inept bastards won't attempt to defile my corpse?"
Bullenscheisse looked over Betruger's shoulder. "Would it distract you less if I called them out."
"If you do that for me, I will confess to starting the Great Fire of Londinum.”
"That was you?”
Bullenscheisse had been straining to hear what was happening inside Room 101, but all had been quiet. Finally he heard an anguished voice.
"No more! Please no! I beg of you, stop! ... You! You tell them! Tell them what they want to know. For pity's sake tell them and make them stop!"
"That sounds promising." The engineer went to press his ear against the door only to almost fall inside into the torture chamber as it suddenly opened. Inquisitorial scribe Gustav Hertz fled from the room wailing, and bowled Bullenscheisse over in the process.
Brother Jakob came to the door wringing his hands in obvious distress. "Do you have another scribe?" he asked apologetically. "The last one broke."
Bullenscheisse peered past him. He saw one head-bagged cultist sitting on the floor with a coil of rope on his lap, gently sobbing. Another lay twitching on a stretching rack with his face uncovered but his eyes tightly screwed shut. The third was slumped on a three legged stool with his bare head in his hands.
Brother Elwood came to the door and spoke quietly to Jakob, "That didn't work out so well. This time you be bad torturer and I'll be good torturer. Excuse us." He closed the door in Bullenscheisse’s face.
------------
Franz Betruger had begun to doubt his world view for the first time since he was a small child. Although he had not known it at the time, his childish acts of cruelty and malice had pleased the one he had later realized was the Chaos god, Slaanesh. His soul had been given irrevocably to God of Excess before anyone in the cadre of sadists he had joined as a teen had even mentioned the name.
He learnt there that one does not rise very far in Slaanesh’s favour without enduring extremities of pleasure and pain, as well as inflicting them on others. He had become inured to any horror that the world could inflict. At least, so he had thought.
Torture.
In all his years as a petty sadist and then Cultist of Slaanesh he had rarely used the word, even when he had been up to his elbows in some hapless vagrant. He realized now that he had never truly understood what it meant. It was more than pain. It was a deep anguish of soul, a discord between what a person believes they can endure without immediately expiring, and the terrifying reality that the torturer can and will inflict the same over and over again.
Betruger wished he had been able to flee with the scribe before it was his turn.
He could see that his cohort, Adrienn Alin had already been broken to the point of catatonia. No mean feat considering the man's addiction to extreme fear. When Alin wasn't throwing people off cliffs, he was jumping off them himself in search of the ultimate thrill. Yet these cold blooded flagellant bastards had broken him in minutes without even harming a hair of his head. And there was no sign that they were finished with him yet.
Betruger felt a new emotion alongside his anguish. Having never felt it before, he didn't even know it by its usual name.
Pity.
He had an incomprehensible urge to intervene, to end Alin's suffering.
------------
Brother Elwood went to the door and spoke quietly to Jakob, "That didn't work out so well. This time you be bad torturer and I'll be good torturer. Excuse us." He closed the door in Bullenscheisse’s face.
"Did you ask for another quill?" Elwood held up a bedraggled goose feather. "The first one is just about all tickled out."
The man on the rack ground his teeth audibly.
Brother Jakob shook his head. "Look, we've got three cultists. That's two spares. How about I try with the noose this time? If we hang one, the others might take us seriously. Although I doubt it, after your first effort."
"I’d like to see you do better." Brother Elwood took the coil of rope from the lap of the cultist who was sitting on the floor and threw it at Jakob. "It's trickier than it looks." Then Elwood turned his attention the Betruger. "Excuse me, again."
Betruger meekly stood and relinquished his stool.
"Thank you."
In the meantime brother Jakob had fashioned a noose from the rope and thrown it over a convenient rafter. He then snugged it over Alin's hooded head.
"Step up again, if you please."
Alin clambered robotically to his feet and stepped onto the stool with the flagellant's gentle assistance.
"Ahem. Cooperate or this will happen to you." Brother Jakob's dramatic threat was directed at the other two cultists.
The last cultist, whose name was Josef Pilates, lifted his head from the stretching rack and looked at the improvised gallows arrangement for a moment. Then he let his head fall back onto the frame with a thud . He started grinding his teeth again. Betruger sat down on the corner of the rack and put his head in his hands. He couldn't bear to watch.
"Umm. Die, chaos scum.”
There was a clatter as Brother Jakob kicked the stool from under Alin's feet, a thud and then the renewed sound of sobbing. Pilates teeth continued grinding.
"You didn't tie a knot at the other end," Brother Elwood observed.
"Oh. Sorry."
There were sounds to indicate that the rope had been passed over the rafter again and the stool retrieved.
"Step up again, if you please. Oh... Your poor ankle. Um. Hop up then. I'll tie this off and... there. Nice and snug... Is everybody listening? Right then. Cooperate or this will happen to you!"
There was much the same sequence of clatter, thud, sob, grind. Betruger looked up. Alin was sprawled on the cold stone flags, clutching his ankle and whimpering.
Brother Jakob was holding the cultist’s end of the rope. It was innocent of any noose.
"How did that come undone?"
"You did it wrong, idiot. That's how it came undone. Now listen carefully and do exactly as I say. The rabbit goes round the tree several times, then into his burrow-"
"No!"
"What?" both flagellants boggled.
"No." Betruger repeated. "You don't do it like that."
"Okay smarty-cultist, you tell us how it is done," sulked brother Jakob.
The cultist took his head from his hands. "Hold the rope in two hands. A little wider. Good. Now take a bight..."
Betruger put his head in his hands again. "Forget it,” he mumbled.
"Mmmm mm mm mmmm?"
"What?" asked Elwood.
Brother Jakob spat out the loop of rope. "I said, 'what did he say'?"
"He said, 'Forget it.' Let's just move onto the next one. Excuse me again. Thank you."
Betruger relinquished his seat on the rack and retrieved his stool.
Pilates lifted his head, swore softly and slammed his head back on the frame of the stretching rack.
The rack was a machine of considerable mechanical complexity, but simple intent. The capstan, when turned, rotated a serious of large wooden cogs. By means of leather straps at wrist and ankle, the victim could be stretched to the point of dislocation or even dismemberment. The agony could be extended for hours, days or weeks.
Betruger resolved that he would attempt to make sure it was as swift as possible.
"So, Chaos scum. Confess or get noticeably taller."
"Straps." Betruger didn’t even lift his head as he gave the reminder.
"Oh yes. Thank you."
After another agonising minute, Brother Jakob said, "confess," again and the capstan turned with a loud clack clack clack.
After another minute there was no hint of a confession.
"Why isn't this working?" asked Brother Jakob.
Brother Elwood twirled one hand in the air then joined Jakob on his side of the dreadful device. He twirled his hand the other way.
"That's your problem. Lefty loosey, righty tighty."
"Oh. I've always had trouble with that. Do you remember the time I flooded the great temple of Itzl when I left the faucet on in the spawning chamber?"
"Of course I remember. I got blamed for it and was given three weeks of stegadon pit duty."
Clack clack clack CLUNK!
"You kept turning it left, didn't you? Now the wheel thing is off."
Jakob picked up the heavy capstan and put it back on its spline.
CLUNK!
"It won't stay on. I think I've lost the little pin that goes in this hole. Help me to find it."
"The light is terrible down there. I'll get a flaming torch."
Betruger could stand it no more. While the flagellants were distracted in their quest for the missing cotter pin. He got up off his stool and crept to the door.
------------
There was a gentle knock. When Bullenscheiise cautiously opened the door he was confronted by a terrifying face. The man's lips, ears and eyebrows were pierced with dozens of jagged pieces of metal.
"Have you got a new scribe yet?"
The engineer shook his head mutely.
There was a sudden exclamation from the depths of Room 101. "Now you've set it on fire!"
The cultist briefly looked back into the chamber. "Even just a quill?"
Bullensheisse shook his head again.
"Oh." The cultist locked eyes mournful eyes with him. He had such a look of agitated suffering that Bullenscheisse wanted to give him a hug.
"Put it out! Put it out! He'll get burnt!"
Without releasing Bullenscheisse from his haunted eyes, the cultist grasped one of the pieces of metal from his brow and worked it free, leaving a ragged wound. He took the metal shard and pressed it deep into the palm of his left hand until blood welled around it. He held up the metal and examined the drop of red which was caught on its point.
"Idiot!"
"You said put it out!"
"Not with our only bucket of water. I was saving that for the water torture. You are supposed to wait until they are asleep, and then put their hand in the water until they need to use the bathroom."
"Don't leave me,” the cultist pleaded to Bullenscheisse and closed the door behind him.
------------
Only a few minutes later, two pages of close spaced red manuscript was slid under the door.
Bullenscheisse picked them up and began to read, " 'This is the true confession of Franz Betruger of Altdorf, written in my own hand and in my own blood.' Now we are getting somewhere. It goes on to say, 'it all began when I was a little boy. My elder brother got a pet, but I didn't. I suppose I was jealous but..."
"Does he identify any other cultists?" demanded Magnus.
Bullenscheisse scanned the first page front and back. Then the second. "No."
"That's not important!" Schrodinger snatched the pages and pored over them. "Does it say whether the pet was a cat?"
Bullenscheisse opened the door. "Excuse me?"
"Yes?" the two Brothers of Purity paused in their work on the rack.
"No, brothers, pray continue. You're doing fine. It is... Franz, is it? Yes, it is Franz I wanted to talk to."
Betruger came to the door. "I can confess to anything else you'd like, too," he said willingly.
"Really?" Bullenscheisse stuck his head right inside the room so no-one else could hear. "There have a been a number of unexplained blazes and… explosions at the Imperial palace in the last day.” The Engineer paused meaningfully.
Betruger blinked. "I could confess involvement if it would get me out of here sooner. Anything else?”
"Oh, yes. The names and lodgings of all of the Chaos cultists at large in the Empire. Please."
"Do you have more parchment?"
"Yes. Do you have more blood?"
"If I bleed to death, will you promise that those inept bastards won't attempt to defile my corpse?"
Bullenscheisse looked over Betruger's shoulder. "Would it distract you less if I called them out."
"If you do that for me, I will confess to starting the Great Fire of Londinum.”
"That was you?”
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Scar-Veteran
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25 Palace
High Inquisitor Schrodinger wrung his crimson hat in his long white fingers. His best had failed. When he had taken them aside to berate them, the only excuse they could come up with was, 'it was a miracle.' This was not a perspective that rested well with his world view.
"...but the Imperial Inquisition has protected the Empire of Man for one thousand, one hundred and fifty-two dark years!" he was pleading for his future in the echoing throne room.
"But no more. The darkness ends now," pronounced Emperor Magnus sternly.
"Our work is not done. Do you not see the Inquisitorial Ledger?" he indicated the heavy book again. "It bulges with the names of every suspected magic user in the Empire. Would you have them rising and using their forbidden powers?"
Magnus nodded soberly. "Secure that ledger, would you, Heimlich?"
As the burly wolf priest complied, Magnus returned his attention to the squirming torture master.
"By my decree and from this day forth, the Imperial Inquisition is to forfeit all powers, properties and privileges to which it has laid claim. Send word forth to your agents and let it be done."
"What is to become of all of us? What is to become of me?" Schrodinger fell to his knees.
Magnus stepped forward and helped the pale man to his feet.
"Why, do you not know we are at war? You can continue to protect the Empire from its enemies. You should be in the front lines of its Holy Army. The common folk will expect no less of you. Prepare yourself citizen, for the muster of the Empire is now."
As the High Inquisitor parted his thin lips to make one more appeal, the throne room doors burst open to reveal the breathless Imperial Doorward.
"Oh dear," he panted, "it seems you are going to have another impromptu meeting."
"Who is it this time?" Magnus enquired, "Is it a delegation of the Baker's Guild seeking the return of their rolling pin?"
Graf Bullenscheisse whispered something to Mahtis. He quickly hid his new weapon behind his back and tried to look nonchalant.
"Possibly, but they would be fourth in line at the least. First come the religious elders and those elf wizards-"
At this, citizen Schrodinger stiffened and swept from the throne room in a swirl of crimson robes. He brushed past the Doorward without a word. In the hallway just outside the doors he paused briefly beside by a soot blackened woman who was on her knees cleaning the floor with a bucket and sponge.
"Good day, Master Schrodinger!" she called cheerily, "I'll be in to give room 101 a spruce up on the morrow!"
"I thank you Mavis, but it seems that won't be necessary." He held out a coin. "Take the day off and go somewhere nice. Like the abattoir."
"Ooh," she exclaimed as she rose to her knees to accept the coin. "Oh thank-eesir! I'll put on something nice," she replied but he had already vanished like smoke.
The Doorward cleared his throat and continued, "Priests, elves, dwarfs, the High Military Command and possibly the Baker's Guild. Shall I admit them?"
"Would you like to try to turn them away?" asked Magnus hopefully.
The Doorward shook his head vigorously.
"Send them all in," Magnus sighed and sat down behind the clutter on his little table.
The various factions somehow managed to divide the audience chamber into hostile territories without coming to blows. When Magnus felt they had quieted enough, he stood. "There are matters of import for us to discuss this afternoon. The first is a local matter," he paused for effect. "The Imperial Inquisition is no more."
The men and women in the chamber buzzed with surprise.
One of the military commanders spoke aloud. "Who then is to protect the realm from witches and heretics?"
"Did the Inquisition do so well?" Magnus asked, then answered his own question. "No. From hence, witch hunters shall be chosen by the Grand Theogenist from amongst the Templars of Sigmar."
If the leaders of the religious orders were surprised before, many were outraged now. Wolf-priest Heimlich's powerful voice was the loudest heard.
"The Templars?" he protested, "Why not the Order of the Wolf? Or the Black Bears of Averheim, for that matter?"
Magnus laughed aloud. "The Black Bears would find a heretic only if he was at the bottom of a beer stein, or perhaps if he had wandered unwitting into a brothel." His brief smile faded. "There is a Shrine to Sigmar in every town in the Empire. Even in your City of the White Wolf, Priest Heimlich. The new witch hunters must be able to move at will, find shelter wheresoever they go, and have eyes and ears everywhere. The Templars can do this and, more importantly, they answer to both cloth and throne. I will not have them dole out terror to the innocent as their predecessors did."
The fire went out of Heimlich's eyes and he nodded acquiescence. "I cannot fault your notion, and I pray Ulrik's blessing on this venture."
The other religious leaders gradually simmered down. The room fell silent apart from the sound of Kennic the Sober's head intermittently pounding against a column.
"The other matter involves the disposition of the Empire's allies. Some of these are longstanding and sure, and others new but no less needful."
Magnus took a slow breath and then attempted to sound casual as he stated, "I would broker a truce between the Dwarfs of Karak Ankor and the Elves of Ulthuan."
Kennic's irregular beat continued. The rest of the dwarfs stood with their feet solidly planted and their hands close to their weapons. Their eyes radiated outrage from the tiny gaps between their flame-like beards and their bushy brows. They appeared to be ready to resume their ancient conflict with the elves on the spot.
Magnus wondered if anyone had ever negotiated with slayers before. He certainly knew of no precedent. The elves were scarcely less daunting. They seemed to be taller somehow, as if they had wilfully emphasized their willowy stature and beauty and its contrast with their antagonists. Arch Mage Yrtle had about him an air of deprecating arrogance. Mage Teclis had a veiled expression of unease. Finreir had eyes full of smouldering hostility, which meant that the Dragon Mage was the only one who seemed to be in his normal frame of mind.
The Emperor continued carefully, "There are none here who can make right the wrongs of the past." He held up a hand to quell the dwarfish and elvish voices that muttered their disagreement.
"We cannot change the past. But we can change history."
"That's the spirit! " a lone voice called out. It was Nabelbauch, the Imperial Historian.
"That is to say, the history of the future. Future history, if you take my meaning..." Magnus waved his hand in defeat and sat down again. "Who would speak on this matter?"
"I, Yrtle, High Mage of Eataine would speak, but I would have all know that we are not but Elves of Ulthuan. Our ancestral dominion goes far beyond those shores." His eyes flashed a challenge directly to the Emperor.
He continued, "I speak with the full delegated authority of the Phoenix King, Finubar the Seafarer. I have authority on this continent to make war or make peace. To destroy or to build. To condemn or forgive. I doubt that any of these..."
His gesture was directed towards the knot of dwarf slayers, but seemed to be directed a little lower than was absolutely necessary or polite.
"...I doubt that any of these," he repeated, "have the authority or wit to treat with me. Our short time could be better spent."
Although the men and women present murmured at the icy words, the dwarfs stood as silent as stone. They did not look towards the elves and nor did it seem they would respond.
Magnus allowed what he deemed to be an uncomfortably long interval and rose to his feet. He was disappointed that nothing had been resolved, but relieved at the same time. Anything less than a brawl in his throne room could be considered a half victory. He drew breath to speak again.
"Hold!"
The voice belonged to one of the slayers who had somehow slipped unnoticed to the side table that was always set with refreshments. He threw back a full pint from his tankard in one go and weaved over to confront the elf mage.
"Our short time, you say?"
Magnus sank down again. It seemed that disaster was not yet averted. Inebric glowered up at the elf from beneath bushy brows for a moment, then turned and spoke to the Emperor. "I've known you for a time, lad. And I know you play a fair hand and you do you're best for the best."
He pivoted unsteadily to address the men of the Empire. "And you all know that Anvil and Hammer have been at each other's beck since the lad Sigmar himself was on yon throne." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
"But on this day, all of that shite counts for naught."
The chamber was suddenly filled with dismay at the thought that the Empire's staunchest allies would abandon them.
Inebric turned again and made a pronouncement directly to High Mage Yrtle's sternum. "I, Inebric the Slayer speak for the Sons of Grungni. I can treat with authority even to High King Alrikson of Karaz-a-Karak himself."
Yrtle bent his head sideways until his neck was almost double in order to meet the dwarf's eyes. He was not sure of the etiquette of the situation but he would be damned before he would bow or kneel in front of the slayer who thought he was a prince.
"How came you to this sway, dishonoured-one?" he scoffed.
Inebric leaned closer to increase the elf's discomfort.
"I, and all dwarfs can speak thus, on account that all dwarfs are bound by the same oaths. And all dwarfs are bound by the same grudges, graven in indelible runes in Dammaz Kron, the book of the same." He stabbed a finger into the elf's chest. "There is a debt to be paid. A debt of blood and of rue. Such debt has not been settled yet, and I doubt you or your Phoenix king have it in you to pay it."
"A debt? Owed by the Asur?" Yrtle looked set to take a fit, "Your vaunted ancestors hunted us out and hounded us into exile. You destroyed our cities and took our lands. Where lies that in your ledger?"
"Elf, lad," the dwarf replied as if to a child in need of correction. "No dwarf occupies any land you forsook. You now offend we dwarfs, accusing us of warring for greed and for conquest. The ancestors drubbed you for the highest reason alone. It was the principle of the matter."
"Are you saying you swept us away for a principle? To make a point?"
"As a dwarf's beard is his pride and dignity," replied Inebric, soberly(ish). "I’m glad you're using your pointy ears for something. Settle accounts and take your precious lands back. Dwarfs want no part of them."
"Ahem."
"What is it lad?" Inebric peered at the interrupting party, one Magnus, Emperor of Sigmar's Realm.
"I hate to mention this, but... these lands are now known as the Empire, aren't they?" Magnus waved his hand over a map that happened to be open on his little table.
The slayer shrugged and tottered back to the ale cask on the side board. Yrtle tracked him with his eyes. "It seems that there can be no easy reconciliation of our loss and your... principle. Too much has befallen for our peoples to find in each other an ally."
"About that," Inebric refreshed his parched throat and staggered back. "Best you know, although a grudge must be squared, the ancestors weren’t overly specific about the timing. For all we hold you and your kin as foes, the dark ones are foes greater yet. A tide of blood won't square that one.
"I, Inebric the Slayer of Karak Hirn say here and now that dwarf and elf can settle accounts after we cast the devil army back into hell. My word binds all dwarfs, high and low. Shall we drink to it?"
He held his charged tankard poised to seal the compact.
The Arch Mage considered long before answering. "Like your mountain holds, the workings of dwarfish minds are dark and full of secrets. Full of pitfalls. You speak of a principle to live and die by, but yet tuck it away when it suits your need. I don't doubt the fastness of your word, Master Slayer, but how can we have a compact? We are as alike as air and stone. What can be more unnatural than an alliance between of elf and dwarf? If I see a similar working example, I will reconsider."
Inebric found himself in the invidious position of needing to abstain from drinking. His deep set eyes searched the room for someone to rescue him.
Fortunately Magnus had seen a chink in the High Elf's armour of pride and logic. He seized the opportunity to prise it open. "Lord Yrtle, If you desire to see an example of camaraderie overcoming cultural differences and better judgement... Brothers, Matron Lizard and Child. Stand forth."
"Us?" asked Brother Jakob hesitantly.
"Aye. Stand forth and pull back your cowls, brothers."
The flagellants slowly complied.
There were gasps and oaths from the floor as the familiar hooded figures of the two Imperial Spiritual Advisors revealed themselves to be disguised reptilian warriors. To most folk of the Empire, lizardmen were nothing but faerie tales or distant rumours. This pair were very clearly real and immediate.
For all the surprise that the unveiling evoked, three individual's reactions were worthy of note:
Inebric the Slayer spilled his drink.
Imperial Engineer Bullenscheisse licked his lips and wordlessly stepped forward to place a silver pfennig onto his elder brother's outstretched palm.
Arch Mage Yrtle turned and shot the dumbfounded Teclis an accusing glare. "You failed to inform me that the Emperor has two Lizardmen of Lustria in his retinue?" he snarled.
"No sir, not two." Mahtis raised his flowery bonnet a fraction of an inch above his head. The consternation at seeing two saurus warriors in the throne room gave way to shock and outright horror when a fully grown kroxigor was thus revealed.
There were cries of fear, and seasoned warriors quailed. The gentle priestess of Shallyan swooned dead away and needed to be caught by a young knight. Ever the opportunist, Freya of the Sisters of Occasional Chastity quickly assessed her options and threw herself halfway across the room and into the arms of Graf Bullenscheisse. She fluttered her eyelashes at him and gasped, "comfort me!"
The young noble took one look at her, exclaimed, "Urgh!" and dropped her like a sack of tubers.
Rychek began to fuss with the large pin which held his drooping diaper almost in place. Magnus put his hand on the infant's arm to forestall the imminent striptease. "That may be enough shocks for one day," he murmured.
Then Magnus spoke loudly and firmly to the startled court. "These you see before you are staunch allies of the Empire. They have fought for the people of this realm on a number of occasions without regard for their own safety, and I value their counsel and friendship. You accepted then while they walked hidden among us, and you will continue to accept then now. As you will accept the aid of elf and dwarf. On this matter I will not be gainsaid.
"Friends, the muster is now. As one indivisible Empire and with all of our allies we will march united to purge the north of the depravity of Chaos."
Magnus' eyes caught Yrtle's, to see if they held any challenge, but the Arch Mage knew his objections had been thwarted. The Emperor drew and raised his ringing runefang and soon every man-at-arms had his weapon and voice raised also.
As the spontaneous cheers finally fell away, a whining voice rose to ascendency.
"Oi! Isn't that our rolling pin?"
Mahtis attempted to hide the bulky article behind his back again.
Magnus shook his head wearily. "There are still many loose ends to be attended to. Return to your prayers and duties. Tomorrow is, let me see... Wednesday, which makes it the...sixth day of my reign. I shall receive reports on troop readiness, supplies and logistics on the morrow. And then I am taking Thursday off. On that day the Imperial Doorward will be given orders to kill any visitors, well-wishers, supplicants, envoys and distant relations on sight. That will be all."
High Inquisitor Schrodinger wrung his crimson hat in his long white fingers. His best had failed. When he had taken them aside to berate them, the only excuse they could come up with was, 'it was a miracle.' This was not a perspective that rested well with his world view.
"...but the Imperial Inquisition has protected the Empire of Man for one thousand, one hundred and fifty-two dark years!" he was pleading for his future in the echoing throne room.
"But no more. The darkness ends now," pronounced Emperor Magnus sternly.
"Our work is not done. Do you not see the Inquisitorial Ledger?" he indicated the heavy book again. "It bulges with the names of every suspected magic user in the Empire. Would you have them rising and using their forbidden powers?"
Magnus nodded soberly. "Secure that ledger, would you, Heimlich?"
As the burly wolf priest complied, Magnus returned his attention to the squirming torture master.
"By my decree and from this day forth, the Imperial Inquisition is to forfeit all powers, properties and privileges to which it has laid claim. Send word forth to your agents and let it be done."
"What is to become of all of us? What is to become of me?" Schrodinger fell to his knees.
Magnus stepped forward and helped the pale man to his feet.
"Why, do you not know we are at war? You can continue to protect the Empire from its enemies. You should be in the front lines of its Holy Army. The common folk will expect no less of you. Prepare yourself citizen, for the muster of the Empire is now."
As the High Inquisitor parted his thin lips to make one more appeal, the throne room doors burst open to reveal the breathless Imperial Doorward.
"Oh dear," he panted, "it seems you are going to have another impromptu meeting."
"Who is it this time?" Magnus enquired, "Is it a delegation of the Baker's Guild seeking the return of their rolling pin?"
Graf Bullenscheisse whispered something to Mahtis. He quickly hid his new weapon behind his back and tried to look nonchalant.
"Possibly, but they would be fourth in line at the least. First come the religious elders and those elf wizards-"
At this, citizen Schrodinger stiffened and swept from the throne room in a swirl of crimson robes. He brushed past the Doorward without a word. In the hallway just outside the doors he paused briefly beside by a soot blackened woman who was on her knees cleaning the floor with a bucket and sponge.
"Good day, Master Schrodinger!" she called cheerily, "I'll be in to give room 101 a spruce up on the morrow!"
"I thank you Mavis, but it seems that won't be necessary." He held out a coin. "Take the day off and go somewhere nice. Like the abattoir."
"Ooh," she exclaimed as she rose to her knees to accept the coin. "Oh thank-eesir! I'll put on something nice," she replied but he had already vanished like smoke.
The Doorward cleared his throat and continued, "Priests, elves, dwarfs, the High Military Command and possibly the Baker's Guild. Shall I admit them?"
"Would you like to try to turn them away?" asked Magnus hopefully.
The Doorward shook his head vigorously.
"Send them all in," Magnus sighed and sat down behind the clutter on his little table.
------------
The various factions somehow managed to divide the audience chamber into hostile territories without coming to blows. When Magnus felt they had quieted enough, he stood. "There are matters of import for us to discuss this afternoon. The first is a local matter," he paused for effect. "The Imperial Inquisition is no more."
The men and women in the chamber buzzed with surprise.
One of the military commanders spoke aloud. "Who then is to protect the realm from witches and heretics?"
"Did the Inquisition do so well?" Magnus asked, then answered his own question. "No. From hence, witch hunters shall be chosen by the Grand Theogenist from amongst the Templars of Sigmar."
If the leaders of the religious orders were surprised before, many were outraged now. Wolf-priest Heimlich's powerful voice was the loudest heard.
"The Templars?" he protested, "Why not the Order of the Wolf? Or the Black Bears of Averheim, for that matter?"
Magnus laughed aloud. "The Black Bears would find a heretic only if he was at the bottom of a beer stein, or perhaps if he had wandered unwitting into a brothel." His brief smile faded. "There is a Shrine to Sigmar in every town in the Empire. Even in your City of the White Wolf, Priest Heimlich. The new witch hunters must be able to move at will, find shelter wheresoever they go, and have eyes and ears everywhere. The Templars can do this and, more importantly, they answer to both cloth and throne. I will not have them dole out terror to the innocent as their predecessors did."
The fire went out of Heimlich's eyes and he nodded acquiescence. "I cannot fault your notion, and I pray Ulrik's blessing on this venture."
The other religious leaders gradually simmered down. The room fell silent apart from the sound of Kennic the Sober's head intermittently pounding against a column.
"The other matter involves the disposition of the Empire's allies. Some of these are longstanding and sure, and others new but no less needful."
Magnus took a slow breath and then attempted to sound casual as he stated, "I would broker a truce between the Dwarfs of Karak Ankor and the Elves of Ulthuan."
Kennic's irregular beat continued. The rest of the dwarfs stood with their feet solidly planted and their hands close to their weapons. Their eyes radiated outrage from the tiny gaps between their flame-like beards and their bushy brows. They appeared to be ready to resume their ancient conflict with the elves on the spot.
Magnus wondered if anyone had ever negotiated with slayers before. He certainly knew of no precedent. The elves were scarcely less daunting. They seemed to be taller somehow, as if they had wilfully emphasized their willowy stature and beauty and its contrast with their antagonists. Arch Mage Yrtle had about him an air of deprecating arrogance. Mage Teclis had a veiled expression of unease. Finreir had eyes full of smouldering hostility, which meant that the Dragon Mage was the only one who seemed to be in his normal frame of mind.
The Emperor continued carefully, "There are none here who can make right the wrongs of the past." He held up a hand to quell the dwarfish and elvish voices that muttered their disagreement.
"We cannot change the past. But we can change history."
"That's the spirit! " a lone voice called out. It was Nabelbauch, the Imperial Historian.
"That is to say, the history of the future. Future history, if you take my meaning..." Magnus waved his hand in defeat and sat down again. "Who would speak on this matter?"
"I, Yrtle, High Mage of Eataine would speak, but I would have all know that we are not but Elves of Ulthuan. Our ancestral dominion goes far beyond those shores." His eyes flashed a challenge directly to the Emperor.
He continued, "I speak with the full delegated authority of the Phoenix King, Finubar the Seafarer. I have authority on this continent to make war or make peace. To destroy or to build. To condemn or forgive. I doubt that any of these..."
His gesture was directed towards the knot of dwarf slayers, but seemed to be directed a little lower than was absolutely necessary or polite.
"...I doubt that any of these," he repeated, "have the authority or wit to treat with me. Our short time could be better spent."
Although the men and women present murmured at the icy words, the dwarfs stood as silent as stone. They did not look towards the elves and nor did it seem they would respond.
Magnus allowed what he deemed to be an uncomfortably long interval and rose to his feet. He was disappointed that nothing had been resolved, but relieved at the same time. Anything less than a brawl in his throne room could be considered a half victory. He drew breath to speak again.
"Hold!"
The voice belonged to one of the slayers who had somehow slipped unnoticed to the side table that was always set with refreshments. He threw back a full pint from his tankard in one go and weaved over to confront the elf mage.
"Our short time, you say?"
Magnus sank down again. It seemed that disaster was not yet averted. Inebric glowered up at the elf from beneath bushy brows for a moment, then turned and spoke to the Emperor. "I've known you for a time, lad. And I know you play a fair hand and you do you're best for the best."
He pivoted unsteadily to address the men of the Empire. "And you all know that Anvil and Hammer have been at each other's beck since the lad Sigmar himself was on yon throne." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
"But on this day, all of that shite counts for naught."
The chamber was suddenly filled with dismay at the thought that the Empire's staunchest allies would abandon them.
Inebric turned again and made a pronouncement directly to High Mage Yrtle's sternum. "I, Inebric the Slayer speak for the Sons of Grungni. I can treat with authority even to High King Alrikson of Karaz-a-Karak himself."
Yrtle bent his head sideways until his neck was almost double in order to meet the dwarf's eyes. He was not sure of the etiquette of the situation but he would be damned before he would bow or kneel in front of the slayer who thought he was a prince.
"How came you to this sway, dishonoured-one?" he scoffed.
Inebric leaned closer to increase the elf's discomfort.
"I, and all dwarfs can speak thus, on account that all dwarfs are bound by the same oaths. And all dwarfs are bound by the same grudges, graven in indelible runes in Dammaz Kron, the book of the same." He stabbed a finger into the elf's chest. "There is a debt to be paid. A debt of blood and of rue. Such debt has not been settled yet, and I doubt you or your Phoenix king have it in you to pay it."
"A debt? Owed by the Asur?" Yrtle looked set to take a fit, "Your vaunted ancestors hunted us out and hounded us into exile. You destroyed our cities and took our lands. Where lies that in your ledger?"
"Elf, lad," the dwarf replied as if to a child in need of correction. "No dwarf occupies any land you forsook. You now offend we dwarfs, accusing us of warring for greed and for conquest. The ancestors drubbed you for the highest reason alone. It was the principle of the matter."
"Are you saying you swept us away for a principle? To make a point?"
"As a dwarf's beard is his pride and dignity," replied Inebric, soberly(ish). "I’m glad you're using your pointy ears for something. Settle accounts and take your precious lands back. Dwarfs want no part of them."
"Ahem."
"What is it lad?" Inebric peered at the interrupting party, one Magnus, Emperor of Sigmar's Realm.
"I hate to mention this, but... these lands are now known as the Empire, aren't they?" Magnus waved his hand over a map that happened to be open on his little table.
The slayer shrugged and tottered back to the ale cask on the side board. Yrtle tracked him with his eyes. "It seems that there can be no easy reconciliation of our loss and your... principle. Too much has befallen for our peoples to find in each other an ally."
"About that," Inebric refreshed his parched throat and staggered back. "Best you know, although a grudge must be squared, the ancestors weren’t overly specific about the timing. For all we hold you and your kin as foes, the dark ones are foes greater yet. A tide of blood won't square that one.
"I, Inebric the Slayer of Karak Hirn say here and now that dwarf and elf can settle accounts after we cast the devil army back into hell. My word binds all dwarfs, high and low. Shall we drink to it?"
He held his charged tankard poised to seal the compact.
The Arch Mage considered long before answering. "Like your mountain holds, the workings of dwarfish minds are dark and full of secrets. Full of pitfalls. You speak of a principle to live and die by, but yet tuck it away when it suits your need. I don't doubt the fastness of your word, Master Slayer, but how can we have a compact? We are as alike as air and stone. What can be more unnatural than an alliance between of elf and dwarf? If I see a similar working example, I will reconsider."
Inebric found himself in the invidious position of needing to abstain from drinking. His deep set eyes searched the room for someone to rescue him.
Fortunately Magnus had seen a chink in the High Elf's armour of pride and logic. He seized the opportunity to prise it open. "Lord Yrtle, If you desire to see an example of camaraderie overcoming cultural differences and better judgement... Brothers, Matron Lizard and Child. Stand forth."
"Us?" asked Brother Jakob hesitantly.
"Aye. Stand forth and pull back your cowls, brothers."
The flagellants slowly complied.
There were gasps and oaths from the floor as the familiar hooded figures of the two Imperial Spiritual Advisors revealed themselves to be disguised reptilian warriors. To most folk of the Empire, lizardmen were nothing but faerie tales or distant rumours. This pair were very clearly real and immediate.
For all the surprise that the unveiling evoked, three individual's reactions were worthy of note:
Inebric the Slayer spilled his drink.
Imperial Engineer Bullenscheisse licked his lips and wordlessly stepped forward to place a silver pfennig onto his elder brother's outstretched palm.
Arch Mage Yrtle turned and shot the dumbfounded Teclis an accusing glare. "You failed to inform me that the Emperor has two Lizardmen of Lustria in his retinue?" he snarled.
"No sir, not two." Mahtis raised his flowery bonnet a fraction of an inch above his head. The consternation at seeing two saurus warriors in the throne room gave way to shock and outright horror when a fully grown kroxigor was thus revealed.
There were cries of fear, and seasoned warriors quailed. The gentle priestess of Shallyan swooned dead away and needed to be caught by a young knight. Ever the opportunist, Freya of the Sisters of Occasional Chastity quickly assessed her options and threw herself halfway across the room and into the arms of Graf Bullenscheisse. She fluttered her eyelashes at him and gasped, "comfort me!"
The young noble took one look at her, exclaimed, "Urgh!" and dropped her like a sack of tubers.
Rychek began to fuss with the large pin which held his drooping diaper almost in place. Magnus put his hand on the infant's arm to forestall the imminent striptease. "That may be enough shocks for one day," he murmured.
Then Magnus spoke loudly and firmly to the startled court. "These you see before you are staunch allies of the Empire. They have fought for the people of this realm on a number of occasions without regard for their own safety, and I value their counsel and friendship. You accepted then while they walked hidden among us, and you will continue to accept then now. As you will accept the aid of elf and dwarf. On this matter I will not be gainsaid.
"Friends, the muster is now. As one indivisible Empire and with all of our allies we will march united to purge the north of the depravity of Chaos."
Magnus' eyes caught Yrtle's, to see if they held any challenge, but the Arch Mage knew his objections had been thwarted. The Emperor drew and raised his ringing runefang and soon every man-at-arms had his weapon and voice raised also.
As the spontaneous cheers finally fell away, a whining voice rose to ascendency.
"Oi! Isn't that our rolling pin?"
Mahtis attempted to hide the bulky article behind his back again.
Magnus shook his head wearily. "There are still many loose ends to be attended to. Return to your prayers and duties. Tomorrow is, let me see... Wednesday, which makes it the...sixth day of my reign. I shall receive reports on troop readiness, supplies and logistics on the morrow. And then I am taking Thursday off. On that day the Imperial Doorward will be given orders to kill any visitors, well-wishers, supplicants, envoys and distant relations on sight. That will be all."
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26 Loose Ends
Dusk was falling by the time the three elf mages had returned to Yrtle's pavilion. As soon as they were ensconced inside, the Arch Mage turned and spoke to Teclis with frost in his voice. "Do you keep secrets from me, boy?"
"No, Lord! I told you at the first opportunity that the Emperor had dwarfs in his company. I-"
"But not lizardmen. You were days in their company but you didn't tell me. What other hidden allies does the Fool Emperor have?"
"I did not know they were lizardmen until just now. I thought that they were monks and... regular lizards. Or something else..." Teclis himself was distraught that the Lustrians had evaded his recognition. "They must have hidden under an enchantment or an illusion."
"An illusion you could not detect? Do you aspire to the title of High Mage some day?"
Teclis shook his head, "I don't know how the deception was woven, but I will find out."
Yrtle threw his hands in the air, "Bah! It is too late for that, boy." He paced about his pavilion muttering.
Dragon Mage Finreir gave voice to his own concern. "The game becomes crowded with players, and these last are more powerful and inscrutable than most."
"Hmmf. Indeed the Slann are powerful, but these four are only witless drones. If their masters appear, then I might find reason for pause."
"Lord," Teclis protested, "the lizardmen are sworn against Chaos. They can be no threat to our mission. What is the worst thing that could happen?"
“Our mission?" the icy edge in Yrtle's voice returned. “Your mission, Mage Teclis is to do as your Arch Mage bids you. And he bids you this: I will have no more surprises from you or your pets until this Empire of Men has been secured."
"For a servant of the 'Keeper of Secrets'," Heimlich observed, "young Betruger has provided a comprehensive roll."
Magnus swept the side table clear of crockery and comestibles with a crash and dragged it into the light. "We shall compare the list with the ledger. Any matches should be Chaos sorcerers." He heaved the crimson tome onto the larger table. "And any which are in the ledger alone may be potential students for Teclis' school of witchcraft and wizardry."
The small group gathered around the documents and mostly got in each other's way. After a time, Heimlich stretched and rested his strained eyes. "There are no matches. Does that mean the Inquisition was incompetent or part of a conspiracy?"
Magnus also took a break. "Or are cultists cleverer than the red cloaks? We won't know until the heretics are rounded up and questioned. We might as well abandon the red list for now. What does the ledger tell us?"
"It tells us that they really hate cats," stated Rychek.
"And Clerics. You are in here, you know. 'Heinrich Heimmlich. Wolf-priest of Ulrik. Of Middenheim. Last known abode, Imperial Palace, Altdorf'." Brother Elwood noted.
Heimlich peered at the entry and swore. "The bastards. They spelled my name wrong."
"No wizards?" asked Mahtis.
"At first I though not," said Elwood, "but listen to this: 'Bertrand Weimaraner, hunter, owns a cat. Alfons Dachshund, sausage maker, owns a cat. Dreyfus Pinscher, guard, owns a cat'..."
"Useless."
"Yes, but listen to the next one, 'Bogar Kadon, child, owns a talking cat'."
Mahtis brightened. "That sounds more promising."
"We can let Teclis sift through the dross." Magnus closed the ledger. "The Inquisition set itself against cats, clerics and mages for some reason. What do those three have in common?"
"Fleas?" suggested Rychek.
Heimlich ignored him. "I don't know how those others might feel, but being around your pretty Mister Schrodinger makes my hackles rise."
"Perhaps our very own mage has the answer. I will see you all on the morrow for council. Sleep well." The weary Emperor did a quick tally of heads and tails. "Where is Brother Jakob?"
Brother Elwood shrugged. "He slipped out with that dwarf earlier."
"Without a chaperone?" yawped Mahtis.
“You are taking the Matron Lizard thing a bit too seriously,” said Elwood, “and anyway, what is the worst thing that could happen?"
The-lizard-who-now-called-himself-Brother-Jakob had felt nothing but relief at his original parting from Inebric in Sylvania so many months ago. He had also gone to great lengths to avoid recognition by the dwarf since he had unexpectedly resurfaced in Nuln. Despite this, he felt he owed some companiable words. "You seem taller."
Inebric seemed not inclined to speak. They walked in silence for a time, eventually finding themselves sitting on the south docks. As they looked across at the lanterns over the darkly lapping waters of the Reik, Joe tried again.
"Have you had your hair styled?"
Inebric touched his stiff orange crest of hair. "The hair and tattoos are the Slayer's Mark, lass."
"What are Slayers?"
"Oathbreakers. The craven. Failures. The dishonoured and the dishonourable. There is no word for forgiveness in the Khazalid tongue and the only path for these back to the Ancestor's favour is by seeking worthy death in battle. We take the Slayer Oath and eschew all wealth and ambition. Our only possessions are our axes and our shame."
They sat quietly for a time and listened to the soft rush of the waves.
Inebric eventually spoke again. "I presume you took religious vows for the same reason I took the Slayer path, lass."
"It's complicated," was the careful reply.
The dwarf laughed mirthlessly. "Aye, it's all of that. We'd not long parted when I realized my mistake in abandoning you. Then I came to Karak-a-Karaz to find that my entire nation had marched to war with me left behind. I was in a deep and lightless shaft of despair."
"Is that why you took the slayer oath?"
"Well, No. That was a bit of a mix up. In my grief I spoke about the oath with the Old Thane. He said that to take the Slayer Oath was a bitter draught to swallow. I misheard and thought he said it was a draught of bitter to swallow, and I had gone dry again. Speaking of which."
"I'm sorry to hear that you have lost your honour and status."
The dwarf shrugged. "I've come to terms since then. But I'm still dry." He hauled himself to his feet and held out his hand to help his companion up. "Let me get you a draught, lass."
Brother Jakob responded cautiously. "Oh I shouldn't... My vows..."
"Oh come on. Just one. What's the worst thing that could happen?"
Dusk was falling by the time the three elf mages had returned to Yrtle's pavilion. As soon as they were ensconced inside, the Arch Mage turned and spoke to Teclis with frost in his voice. "Do you keep secrets from me, boy?"
"No, Lord! I told you at the first opportunity that the Emperor had dwarfs in his company. I-"
"But not lizardmen. You were days in their company but you didn't tell me. What other hidden allies does the Fool Emperor have?"
"I did not know they were lizardmen until just now. I thought that they were monks and... regular lizards. Or something else..." Teclis himself was distraught that the Lustrians had evaded his recognition. "They must have hidden under an enchantment or an illusion."
"An illusion you could not detect? Do you aspire to the title of High Mage some day?"
Teclis shook his head, "I don't know how the deception was woven, but I will find out."
Yrtle threw his hands in the air, "Bah! It is too late for that, boy." He paced about his pavilion muttering.
Dragon Mage Finreir gave voice to his own concern. "The game becomes crowded with players, and these last are more powerful and inscrutable than most."
"Hmmf. Indeed the Slann are powerful, but these four are only witless drones. If their masters appear, then I might find reason for pause."
"Lord," Teclis protested, "the lizardmen are sworn against Chaos. They can be no threat to our mission. What is the worst thing that could happen?"
“Our mission?" the icy edge in Yrtle's voice returned. “Your mission, Mage Teclis is to do as your Arch Mage bids you. And he bids you this: I will have no more surprises from you or your pets until this Empire of Men has been secured."
------------
Back in the Imperial Throne Room, Magnus and his closest confidants examined the Ledger of the Imperial Inquisition and the red list of Chaos heretics that had been extracted by confession that morning.
"For a servant of the 'Keeper of Secrets'," Heimlich observed, "young Betruger has provided a comprehensive roll."
Magnus swept the side table clear of crockery and comestibles with a crash and dragged it into the light. "We shall compare the list with the ledger. Any matches should be Chaos sorcerers." He heaved the crimson tome onto the larger table. "And any which are in the ledger alone may be potential students for Teclis' school of witchcraft and wizardry."
The small group gathered around the documents and mostly got in each other's way. After a time, Heimlich stretched and rested his strained eyes. "There are no matches. Does that mean the Inquisition was incompetent or part of a conspiracy?"
Magnus also took a break. "Or are cultists cleverer than the red cloaks? We won't know until the heretics are rounded up and questioned. We might as well abandon the red list for now. What does the ledger tell us?"
"It tells us that they really hate cats," stated Rychek.
"And Clerics. You are in here, you know. 'Heinrich Heimmlich. Wolf-priest of Ulrik. Of Middenheim. Last known abode, Imperial Palace, Altdorf'." Brother Elwood noted.
Heimlich peered at the entry and swore. "The bastards. They spelled my name wrong."
"No wizards?" asked Mahtis.
"At first I though not," said Elwood, "but listen to this: 'Bertrand Weimaraner, hunter, owns a cat. Alfons Dachshund, sausage maker, owns a cat. Dreyfus Pinscher, guard, owns a cat'..."
"Useless."
"Yes, but listen to the next one, 'Bogar Kadon, child, owns a talking cat'."
Mahtis brightened. "That sounds more promising."
"We can let Teclis sift through the dross." Magnus closed the ledger. "The Inquisition set itself against cats, clerics and mages for some reason. What do those three have in common?"
"Fleas?" suggested Rychek.
Heimlich ignored him. "I don't know how those others might feel, but being around your pretty Mister Schrodinger makes my hackles rise."
"Perhaps our very own mage has the answer. I will see you all on the morrow for council. Sleep well." The weary Emperor did a quick tally of heads and tails. "Where is Brother Jakob?"
Brother Elwood shrugged. "He slipped out with that dwarf earlier."
"Without a chaperone?" yawped Mahtis.
“You are taking the Matron Lizard thing a bit too seriously,” said Elwood, “and anyway, what is the worst thing that could happen?"
------------
The-lizard-who-now-called-himself-Brother-Jakob had felt nothing but relief at his original parting from Inebric in Sylvania so many months ago. He had also gone to great lengths to avoid recognition by the dwarf since he had unexpectedly resurfaced in Nuln. Despite this, he felt he owed some companiable words. "You seem taller."
Inebric seemed not inclined to speak. They walked in silence for a time, eventually finding themselves sitting on the south docks. As they looked across at the lanterns over the darkly lapping waters of the Reik, Joe tried again.
"Have you had your hair styled?"
Inebric touched his stiff orange crest of hair. "The hair and tattoos are the Slayer's Mark, lass."
"What are Slayers?"
"Oathbreakers. The craven. Failures. The dishonoured and the dishonourable. There is no word for forgiveness in the Khazalid tongue and the only path for these back to the Ancestor's favour is by seeking worthy death in battle. We take the Slayer Oath and eschew all wealth and ambition. Our only possessions are our axes and our shame."
They sat quietly for a time and listened to the soft rush of the waves.
Inebric eventually spoke again. "I presume you took religious vows for the same reason I took the Slayer path, lass."
"It's complicated," was the careful reply.
The dwarf laughed mirthlessly. "Aye, it's all of that. We'd not long parted when I realized my mistake in abandoning you. Then I came to Karak-a-Karaz to find that my entire nation had marched to war with me left behind. I was in a deep and lightless shaft of despair."
"Is that why you took the slayer oath?"
"Well, No. That was a bit of a mix up. In my grief I spoke about the oath with the Old Thane. He said that to take the Slayer Oath was a bitter draught to swallow. I misheard and thought he said it was a draught of bitter to swallow, and I had gone dry again. Speaking of which."
"I'm sorry to hear that you have lost your honour and status."
The dwarf shrugged. "I've come to terms since then. But I'm still dry." He hauled himself to his feet and held out his hand to help his companion up. "Let me get you a draught, lass."
Brother Jakob responded cautiously. "Oh I shouldn't... My vows..."
"Oh come on. Just one. What's the worst thing that could happen?"
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Epilogue
There was a place.
There was no up or down, no length, and nor it seemed any passage of time. There was only an eternity of raw and unpleasant sensation for the one who dared to survive it. Senses were distorted into a synaesthetic jangle of suffering. Coolness burned, tastebuds registered a wailing silence. If pain had a colour, it pulsed through every raw nerve ending of the skin like bolts of black lightning across an indigo sky. Internal organs seemed to be at war with each other. As they strived to attack and retreat all at once, it seemed that the outcome was likely to be the violent expulsion of material from both ends of the gastrointestinal system. Then there were the voices. The words they whispered were skull splittingly loud. They entreated their tortured hearer to do insane and unspeakable deeds.
This place was the very threshold of the Realm of Chaos.
Few ever approached the polar warp gates for fear of being blessed with an unsightly or inconvenient mutation. For the same reason, fewer still went naked.
Asavar Kul’s lineage was Kurgan, but he had long cast off his heritage. He had eschewed the life of a nomadic horseman and travelled deep into the south in search of an alternative to the ceaseless striving for glory which typified the brutal way of the Chaos Wastes. He might have hoped to find enlightenment, or at least peace within himself. Instead, what he finally discovered in the Empire of Sigmar was the bitter taste of a lifetime wasted. Nearing the end of his years he returned to the cradle of his youth. Then he continued north unto the flux of the warp with nothing to offer the gods but his abiding disillusionment.
He was by no means the first man to stride into the eye of discord. Of the few who returned from hence, none were left unchanged. Most often chaos spawn would re-emerge in twisted forms barely compatible with physical existence.
Within the warp, the first lesser daemon he encountered should have made of him sustenance or a plaything. After all every man has a weakness, be it rage, lust or avarice. But he was different. He was devoid of all but nihilism.
Lesser daemons squabbled over this unusual prize, but none could corrupt or exert dominion over him. As the bickering escalated to include greater daemons, the empty human came to the attention of the four principle gods of Chaos.
He who had scoured his own humanity until it was an empty husk, he who had tested and rejected the aloof deities of order, was to the four ruinous powers a perfect vessel. As he embraced them, they poured a lavish measure of their corruption, rage and rapacity into the barren void of his soul.
When Asavar Kul strode back out of the warp, the earth herself trembled at his footfalls. He stood taller than the mightiest of Chaos champions and wielded an authority to which even greater daemons grudgingly bowed. He was no longer a man.
He had become Everchosen.
There was a place.
There was no up or down, no length, and nor it seemed any passage of time. There was only an eternity of raw and unpleasant sensation for the one who dared to survive it. Senses were distorted into a synaesthetic jangle of suffering. Coolness burned, tastebuds registered a wailing silence. If pain had a colour, it pulsed through every raw nerve ending of the skin like bolts of black lightning across an indigo sky. Internal organs seemed to be at war with each other. As they strived to attack and retreat all at once, it seemed that the outcome was likely to be the violent expulsion of material from both ends of the gastrointestinal system. Then there were the voices. The words they whispered were skull splittingly loud. They entreated their tortured hearer to do insane and unspeakable deeds.
This place was the very threshold of the Realm of Chaos.
Few ever approached the polar warp gates for fear of being blessed with an unsightly or inconvenient mutation. For the same reason, fewer still went naked.
Asavar Kul’s lineage was Kurgan, but he had long cast off his heritage. He had eschewed the life of a nomadic horseman and travelled deep into the south in search of an alternative to the ceaseless striving for glory which typified the brutal way of the Chaos Wastes. He might have hoped to find enlightenment, or at least peace within himself. Instead, what he finally discovered in the Empire of Sigmar was the bitter taste of a lifetime wasted. Nearing the end of his years he returned to the cradle of his youth. Then he continued north unto the flux of the warp with nothing to offer the gods but his abiding disillusionment.
He was by no means the first man to stride into the eye of discord. Of the few who returned from hence, none were left unchanged. Most often chaos spawn would re-emerge in twisted forms barely compatible with physical existence.
Within the warp, the first lesser daemon he encountered should have made of him sustenance or a plaything. After all every man has a weakness, be it rage, lust or avarice. But he was different. He was devoid of all but nihilism.
Lesser daemons squabbled over this unusual prize, but none could corrupt or exert dominion over him. As the bickering escalated to include greater daemons, the empty human came to the attention of the four principle gods of Chaos.
He who had scoured his own humanity until it was an empty husk, he who had tested and rejected the aloof deities of order, was to the four ruinous powers a perfect vessel. As he embraced them, they poured a lavish measure of their corruption, rage and rapacity into the barren void of his soul.
When Asavar Kul strode back out of the warp, the earth herself trembled at his footfalls. He stood taller than the mightiest of Chaos champions and wielded an authority to which even greater daemons grudgingly bowed. He was no longer a man.
He had become Everchosen.
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Scar-Veteran
spawning of Bob
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The list is of all 67 (urk!) named characters to help you keep track.
To make it less spoileriffic they are listed in the chapter order in which they appear. I've got dozens of links for bios about real WHFB Canon characters - see mum, I did do some research.
Scourge of the Empire - Dramatis Personae
key-
Prologue
Armin Wechsel
Magnus the Pious *^
Schmetterling
Captain Bauernretter *
Malodor the Foul Emanation
Guarana the Red Bull
Manuel
Brak
Shipmaster Caell
Brother Wilfred
Cardinal Werner Heisenberg
Inebric the Slayer *
Kennic the Sober *
Nabelbauch
Inquisitor Hans Geiger
Franz Betruger *
the Templars of Sigmar ^
Asavar Kul ^
Gods
Old World Gods here ->
http://whfb.lexicanum.com/wiki/Old_World_pantheon
Sigmar of the Empire ^
Elf Gods here ->
http://whfb.lexicanum.com/wiki/Elf_pantheon
Asuryan ^
Tzeentch
To make it less spoileriffic they are listed in the chapter order in which they appear. I've got dozens of links for bios about real WHFB Canon characters - see mum, I did do some research.
Scourge of the Empire - Dramatis Personae
key-
* Spawning of Bob character from previous works
^ existing WHFB character. Some links provided
^ existing WHFB character. Some links provided
Prologue
Armin Wechsel
Rich merchant of Nuln, Chosen of Tzeentch
1 AltdorfMagnus the Pious *^
Emperor and Elector Count of Reikland, previously Graf Mahrlecht von Bildhofen of Nuln, brother of Arschloch and Bullenscheisse
http://warhammeronline.wikia.com/wiki/Magnus_the_Pious , http://whfb.lexicanum.com/wiki/Magnus_the_Pious
Graf Bullenscheisse von Bildhofen *http://warhammeronline.wikia.com/wiki/Magnus_the_Pious , http://whfb.lexicanum.com/wiki/Magnus_the_Pious
Imperial Engineer, artillery lieutenant, brother to Arschloch and Mahrlecht
MonbergA teddy bear or WHFB equivalent, companion of Bullenscheisse
Arschloch von Bildhofen *Imprecator (priest) of Saint Tourette of Nuln, brother to Mahrlecht and Bullenscheisse
Brigadier Liensbrucke *Artillery Officer of Nuln
Guildsman Otto *Member of the Arse Wiper's Guild
Dragon-mage Finreir *^Fire mage of Caledor, elf warlord
http://warhammeronline.wikia.com/wiki/Great_War_Against_Chaos
Eagle Scout Badenpoelhttp://warhammeronline.wikia.com/wiki/Great_War_Against_Chaos
Elf scout
Lieutenant MerrickMercenary officer
Corporal Salzenpfeffer *Marine of the Marienburg State Navy
2 PalaceSchmetterling
Imperial Lepidopterist and Entymologist
Brother Jakob *Joe, saurus warrior of Lustria, disguised as Imperial flagellant
Brother Elwood *Bob, saurus warrior of Lustria, disguised as Imperial flagellant
Rychek *Skink and beast-master of Lustria, disguised as a sideshow freak - the lizard child
Mahtis *Kroxigor of Lustria, disguised as a sideshow freak - the lizard lady
Leonardo of Miragliano ^Imperial Portrait artist and inventor
http://whfb.lexicanum.com/wiki/Leonardo_of_Miragliano
Wolf-priest Heimlich *http://whfb.lexicanum.com/wiki/Leonardo_of_Miragliano
Priest of Ulrik, previous travelling companion of Magnus and the four lizardmen
3 ReikwaldCaptain Bauernretter *
Cavalry officer of Nuln
4 Outside the CityMalodor the Foul Emanation
Bray-shamen, beastman leader
Arch Mage Yrtle *^Heavens mage, leader of the elf army
http://warhammeronline.wikia.com/wiki/Great_War_Against_Chaos
Wog-elhttp://warhammeronline.wikia.com/wiki/Great_War_Against_Chaos
Elf, eagle scout
MeritbajElf, eagle scout
Mage Teclis *^Elf, trainee mage of high magic, of Hoeth
http://whfb.lexicanum.com/wiki/Teclis
7 On the Wallhttp://whfb.lexicanum.com/wiki/Teclis
Guarana the Red Bull
Minotaur, war leader
8 At the GateManuel
Estalian mercenary, crossbowman
9 On the WallBrak
Spearman of Ostermark
13 His Brother's BoatShipmaster Caell
Elf sea captain of Teclis' brother's boat
Malekith ^Witch King of the Druchii, Dark Elf lord
15 NulnBrother Wilfred
flagellant monk of Nuln
Mister Asbestos AmiantidisGrekian merchant of Nuln
Brother Turheldflagellant monk of Nuln
Grafina von BildhofenMinor noble of Nuln, laywoman of the Order of Saint Tourette, mother to Arschloch, Mahrlecht and Bullenscheisse
17 The TrialCardinal Werner Heisenberg
High ranking Inquisitor of Nuln
High Inquisitor Erwin SchrodingerHighest ranked Inquisitor in the Empire, of Altdorf
GerburstagkostumPriest of Taal
19 ReunionInebric the Slayer *
dwarf slayer, previously Inebric the Trader
20 FaithKennic the Sober *
dwarf slayer, previously Kennic the Lavatory Attendant
Alaric the Mad ^dwarf, Ally of Sigmar, Forger of the Ghal Maraz and Runefangs
http://warhammeronline.wikia.com/wiki/Alaric_the_Mad
21 Altdorfhttp://warhammeronline.wikia.com/wiki/Alaric_the_Mad
Nabelbauch
Imperial Historian
23 DungeonInquisitor Hans Geiger
Torturer
Inquisitor Wilhelm RoentgenTorturer
Inquisitorial Scribe Gustav HertzScribe
24 Torture ChamberFranz Betruger *
Cultist of Slaanesh
Adrienn AlinCultist of Slaanesh
Josef PilatesCultist of Slaanesh
25 Palacethe Templars of Sigmar ^
Knightly order
http://warhammeronline.wikia.com/wiki/Order_of_Sigmar
the Order of the Wolf ^http://warhammeronline.wikia.com/wiki/Order_of_Sigmar
Knightly order
http://warhammerfantasy.wikia.com/wiki/Knights_of_the_White_Wolf
the Black Bears of Averheim ^http://warhammerfantasy.wikia.com/wiki/Knights_of_the_White_Wolf
Knightly order, known for irreligious behaviour
http://warhammerfantasy.wikia.com/wiki/Order_of_the_Black_Bear
Finubar the Seafarer ^http://warhammerfantasy.wikia.com/wiki/Order_of_the_Black_Bear
Elf, Phoenix King of Ulthuan
Freya *Abbess of the Sisters of Occasional Chastity, Priestess of Rhya
27 EpilogueAsavar Kul ^
Everchosen, the Kurgan
http://whfb.lexicanum.com/wiki/Asavar_Kul
http://whfb.lexicanum.com/wiki/Asavar_Kul
Gods
Old World Gods here ->
http://whfb.lexicanum.com/wiki/Old_World_pantheon
Sigmar of the Empire ^
God Emperor of, well, the Empire
Verena of Nuln ^Goddess of Justice and Reason, patron goddess of Nuln
Saint TouretteA minor deity of Nuln
Shallya ^Goddess of healing and mercy
Myrmidia ^Goddess of strategy and war
Ranald ^God of luck, thieves and tricksters
Ulrik ^Wolf god of war
Taal ^God of nature and wild places
Rhya ^The Earth Mother. Goddess of abundance and fertility
Elf Gods here ->
http://whfb.lexicanum.com/wiki/Elf_pantheon
Asuryan ^
The Creator, chief elf god
Khaine ^The Bloody Handed God, god of warfare and bloodshed
Tzeentch
Chaos god of deception, change and magic
http://warhammeronline.wikia.com/wiki/Tzeentch
Slaaneshhttp://warhammeronline.wikia.com/wiki/Tzeentch
Chaos god of sensuality and excess
http://warhammeronline.wikia.com/wiki/Slaanesh
Khornehttp://warhammeronline.wikia.com/wiki/Slaanesh
Chaos god of rage war and murder
http://warhammeronline.wikia.com/wiki/Khorne
http://warhammeronline.wikia.com/wiki/Khorne
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Kroxigor
thedarkfourth
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Bob, have you considered monetising your work for Lustria Online? I can't believe how much time, skill and effort you have gifted us with. It's an inspiration to all of us obsessed with super niche fandoms where there's only about a dozen people who would ever be interested (jk). I need to write more. Seriously, what a treat.
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spawning of Bob
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Well spotted, Einstein.
There are several layers to the reason.
I needed German names
It helps me to remember which character is which when I use a memorable name, and when I use a category of names for a faction. (I have a LOT) of characters. I hope it helps readers too.
You can tell that I chose to use physicist names before I defined characters. (I need a boss in Nuln. Heisenberg sounds good, but I am uncertain what his personality should be... Wait a minute!). As for Schrodinger, the name led to the cat thing, which will develop into a significant plot point later. The same was true of the Heimlich manoeuvre in the previous book, and Mahrlecht for that matter - name first, silly joke idea, joke idea becomes a significant pillar for the plot - then later, when I decide to be serious, the whole story falls over if I try to remove the joke.
I'll need to be a much better writer before I can write plots that move forward without using such crutches. Fortunately, there seems to be a niche for silly authors 
There are several layers to the reason.
I needed German names
It helps me to remember which character is which when I use a memorable name, and when I use a category of names for a faction. (I have a LOT) of characters. I hope it helps readers too.
You can tell that I chose to use physicist names before I defined characters. (I need a boss in Nuln. Heisenberg sounds good, but I am uncertain what his personality should be... Wait a minute!). As for Schrodinger, the name led to the cat thing, which will develop into a significant plot point later. The same was true of the Heimlich manoeuvre in the previous book, and Mahrlecht for that matter - name first, silly joke idea, joke idea becomes a significant pillar for the plot - then later, when I decide to be serious, the whole story falls over if I try to remove the joke.
I'll need to be a much better writer before I can write plots that move forward without using such crutches. Fortunately, there seems to be a niche for silly authors 
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tom ndege
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I like this method... Helps to keep the different characters in mind and helps not confusing them. If I had that idea earlier in my life my writing attempts would not have stopped after 3 pages... All of them...
Still giggling about the Heimlich thing...
Still giggling about the Heimlich thing...