Power at its most liquid

Wealth flows from energy and ideas.

                            - William Feather

On today's Argos no coin is as pure as the Wezellian gylden, and no currency is as trusted. The heavy gold coins of the Syndikaat is even said to have some magical protection against counterfeiting.

In this short post I'll provide a few words on how to relate to the currency, and how it translates according to the framework of the WoD ruleset.

Fragments of Truth and Fiction IV

Despite the war drawing nearer, or perhaps because of it, the citizens of Apeldoorn gathered for Freeday games on the frozen channel. The cold air was filled with laughter and happy voices, and for those afternoon-hours they were as happy as they had ever been. At least the children were -- few of the adults were able to wholly forget the Year of Crisis, and the fear of it merely being the beginning.

The Great Explosion of Rederhafen

At five o'clock in the morning on 25 Octavum, YE 1022, a tremendous explosion shook the very foundations of the Wezellian capital Rederhafen. The centre of the blast was somewhere in the commercial district, probably around Tailor's Row and Seven Lodges Road. Most of the commercial district was destroyed, as well as Neue Stadthalle and the Temple of Justice.


In the aftermath, a ferocious fire raged through large parts of the city, further destroying a number of banking houses, mercantile offices, warehouses, as well as large residential areas. It is believed that the fatalities have reached more than 10,000, amongst these several influential persons, including at least three Onkels.


It is believed that the blast was caused by a bomb planted in the city by agents of the Ordo Ultima Thule in retaliation to an attack upon them by the Pius Cabal.




[Picture source: Tom Reeder's Blog]

The Enoch List

The following is a list of arcane orders and societies who have signed the Precepts Arcane, and thus stand united against the Enemy.


The list is compiled by Aktor Smit.

~o~

High Craftsmasons (order)
Legal Status: Ally
Representation: Dekanos Adalwin Carlomanus; 6 named Awakened; unknown number of followers.

Member of the Enlightened Alliance.


Royal Guild of Argonauts (order)
Legal Status: Ally
Representation: Captain C. Enesar Ardyne-Mellius, 3 followers.

Member of the Enlightened Alliance.

Order of the Black Friars (order)
Legal Status: Ally
Representation: Frater Æðelred of Gwyndelbane; 1 named Awakened.

Member of the Enlightened Alliance.

Ordo Hermetica (order/mythocracy)
Legal Status: Ally
Representation: Master Octavian Terrafundus Augustus Arbalestus bani Flambeu bani Hermes; 36 named Awakened; 207 followers.

Member of the Enlightened Alliance.

Knights of St. Invictus (order)

Legal Status: Ally

Representation: Knight Commander Estevan de Crezin; 5 followers

Member of the Enlightened Alliance.

Council of Awakened Viziers (order/faith)
Legal Status: Ally
Representation: Emir Hakim al'Faroul bani Aziz; 27 named Awakened; 2,300 followers.

Formal alliance between the Wezellian Syndicate and the Caliphate of Aziz. Affiliated with the Host of Man.


Wolflords of Draccia (order/mythocracy)
Legal Status: Affiliate
Representation: Lord Vargas Audovacar Raganchard of the Grey Knights; 167 Lychantropes; 900 followers.

Member of the Enlightened Alliance.

Host of Man (army)
Legal Status: Ally
Representation: Lord Marshal Friedric Roeder; 3 named Awakened; 9,700 followers.

Member of the Enlightened Alliance.

Oaths sworn to the Lord Marshal by numerous cabals and orders [see own file].

Knights of Angermar (order/faith)

Legal status: Affiliate

Representation: Ridder Gustavus Gyldenlance; 1 named Awakened; 5 followers

Member of the Enlightened Alliance.

Arkonshōv (faith)
Legal Status: Associate
Representation: Gode Godwin Suthavarde Osbeornì; 11 named Awakened, large and growing following.

Formally reckognized faith.


Pillar of Truth (order)
Legal Status: Associate
Representation: Lady Adelaide Thorne; 3 named Awakened; 12 followers.


Formal negotiations between the Wezellian Syndicate and the Corillian Presbyterium.


Arrow of Light (cabal/order)
Legal Status: Associate
Representation: Adalweda of the Seventh Pillar; 2 named Awakened.


Formerly of the Temple of Man Supreme.


Speakers of Mÿn (cabal)
Legal Status: Associate
Representation: 5 named Awakened.

Keepers of the Silver Tablets (cabal)
Legal Status: Associate
Representation: Manfex Berathraban Manticore Fulco artz Aretmar; 5 named Awakened; a dozen followers.

Holds considerable wealth. 

Solemn Order of the White Chrystal (cabal)
Legal Status: Associate
Representation: Manfex Childebrand Waltgaud artz Gryffon; 3 named Enlightened, a dozen followers.

These claims have been lain towards SOWC: demon-worshipping; espionage; plotting regicide (Emperor Constantinius Ada of the Enlightened Skythian Empire).

Cult of Dìs Invictus (cabal/faith)
Legal Status: Associate in pending
No named representation, growing following.

Suspected close affiliation with the Host of Man.

House of Voordalak (cabal/mythocracy)
Legal Status: Associate in pending
Representation: Rago Vardayev; a dozen followers.

Golden Ladder (order)
Legal Status: Associate in pending
Representation: Atmân Svarog of the Seventh Gate; 1 named Awakened; 7 followers

Esoteric Kengelian order. Rumored to be in congress w/demons.

Guardians of the Tablets of Merovinus (cabal)
Legal Status: Associata in pending

Representation: Finnguala Enenina Gruinn; 1 named Awakened; three followers.

---

Storyteller's note: I will try to keep  this list up to date.

The Golden Ports of Saranassi

The Tradesmaster's Dispatch
Räderhafen - 2 / MXXII

~Arasani merchant and assistants~

[Picture from Costumes of All nations, 1907]

East of the Inbari Peninsula lies the Golden Islands of Saranassi with ports of coffe, sugar, and most of all silk. The trade in precious stones, pearls, spices, and beautiful works of gold and silver is also rich in these ports, and is surpassed by none. It is here we find the noble tribe of Aras, tall, crafty and golden-skinned. A thousand and one islands encircle the Sea of Pearls, all ruled by the Grand Sultan.


Grand Sultan Ahamet the Light of Conviction is not only rich as onkel; it is said by many that he fought with the prophet Aziz in the Battle of the White Tower, and that he is indeed one of the Awakend Viziers -- the mysterious cabalistic Azizinian order that rules the Hanumen.


The Grand Sultan rules from the Palace of Pearls in the magnificent city of Sirinagar on the emerald green island of Erentam. In this city, the roofs are made of gold and even the footmen wear silk. In its markets one can see wild and exotic displays, peruse wares from far away realms, and haggle with the Arasani. Be warned though, they are as cunning merchants as any in Creation.


After the loss of the rich harbours of the Colonies, the Saranassi trade has become increased to fill the Erian demands. As of this day next to five ninths of all Wezellian silk import hails from the Golden Islands, further three sevenths of the coffe bean, and four thirteenths of the sugar. For most of the remainding trade, merchants rely on the Waymar ports.


For almost three centuries now there have been Wezellian offices on the Golden Islands. Even though all foreign commerce is strictly controlled by the Grand Sultan, the tradesmasters and captains who have plied this route have made healthy profits. There are currently five Wezellian houses running trade off the Golden Ports, the newest of these being Ferner-Smaal. This young house only became involved in the region as recently as YE 1017.


The Tradesmaster has become informed that due to certain developments, the named tradeshouse is in the process of opening two new offices in the Golden Islands. One need perhaps not explain why this makes the purchase of stocks in this venture good business. It can also be expected that many others will follow suit within the end of the year.

Historical References: Amsterdam

This reference-post is devoted to the city of Amsterdam in the 17th Century. This is definitely the most direct inspiration for the city of Rederhafen.

By the early 1600's, Amsterdam was the center of world trade [...] The seventeenth century saw the Dutch Republic become the center of a cultural flowering much as Italy had been during its Renaissance. Along with money to patronize the arts and sciences, the Dutch Republic had both a free and tolerant atmosphere and enterprising spirit willing to challenge old notions and creatively expand the frontiers of the arts and sciences.  

~The Flow of History

Amsterdam, 1702

Hosted by:  The Portsmoth Bokshop

Dutch East India Warehouses, 17th Century

Hosted by: AllPosters.com

Amsterdam Harbour, c. 1700 CE

Hosted by: Life.com

Typical canal house, c. 1600 CE

Hosted by: TravelPod

View of Dordrecht, by Aelbert Cuyp - 1655 CE

Hosted by: Lib.Art.com

Dutch familiy, c. 1600 CE

Hosted by: Scroll Publishing Co.

The last chapters

Artist: Ken Matheson

There are few things more awesome than when the players take control of a situation, and when they know what they are doing. This happened the last session.

The current story-arc has lasted two nights now, and it might have started a bit hard. Then again, sometimes the antagonists have to strike back.

What happened was more or less as follows.

The minions of the Exarch, led by the nefarious Queen of Stars, had orchestrated an attack on Wezell, the realm where the forces of Creation are marshalling. The attack was well planned, and involved a wide range of the assets available to the enemy.

The Black Ship Kraken, under Armand, landed several large crates along the Wezellian coast, where Shaitani-cults took over the cargo. From there they were transported to six different Hallows, located on key positions throughout the realm. When all was ready, Mr Corvin went ashore in the capital, Rederhafen.

Even before the enemy plan could spring into motion, the heroes complicated things for their adversaries; the Miracle of Arkon, where the remnants of the beleaguered Host of Man was brought back from the Dark Continent changed the balance in Wezell considerably -- seventeen thousand veterans from the War of Creation, including Wolf Lords and a few cabals of magicians, from the war on the darkness now stood less than a dozen miles from Rederhafen.

The heroes of the Pius Cabal first became aware that something bad was happening when Mr Drake, the cabal's Spirit and Life magician, encountered a swarm of rats leaving the city. When they looked into it, they found that shit was indeed about to hit the fan.

What happened afterwards is described in the Last chapter of 28 March 2010.

After having defeated Armand, they returned to business -- this time that of crowning a king (see G. Galan's Journal).

However, when they came back to Rederhafen they found that even if the fires in the harbour had been put out, all was not yet well. Apart from a nasty plague quarantine in a neighbourhood in the city, the very ground beneath Wezell was sinking.

On the night of the attack, cultists had planted some kind of perverse larvae in six Hallows. These demonic entities had quickly grown into enormous wyrms, and unless they were somehow contained, they would destroy the land; measurements along the coast showed that already the tide had risen an inch. Now, this was taken care of -- Wolf Lords, other magicians and priests from the newly founded Arkonshōv were doing what they could to slow the progress of the foul creatures, and the Syndicate had started the construction of dikes along the seashore.

The problem Onkel Jap van Zaar, the cabal's Wezellian patron, handed over to the heroes was a prisoner; Mr Corvin had been captured after the attack, and since then he had been most cooperative, answering any question put before him. Still, the Board of Onkels was divided. The cabal was asked to go talk to the prisoner.

After having established that Mr Corvin was indeed a foul agent of the Exarch, and after having decided that he should be killed, they signed a waver transferring the prisoner to their custody. The small snag was that he had some sort of ring around his neck. They had tried to ascertain what it was, and what he was, and hadn't really found out much. Still, Prince Aegir went into the dungeon and executed Mr Corvin.

As the sword hit, the ring shattered, and hell broke lose. As it happened, Mr Corvin was not much more than a very smart bomb, or rather, when the ring broke, the horrible demon bound in human flesh were freed. Luckily van Zaar is a Master of Time, and so he undid the fatal last second, stopping the execution.

This is where the chapter ended and the next one picked up.

And this is where I was baffled.

I was half expecting them to build up for a confrontation with the demon. Instead they did a tour-de-force of every major player and faction they knew. Having Masters of Time and Space in the group meant that they were able to cover a lot of ground.

They even found time to lead King Rowar II of Pendrell to Hûron the White, the Lord of the Frostelves. The king, seeing no other solution than to beg the Elven Prince for mercy. It was granted.

After having brought in Hermetic wizards, elves, Svārtsmiths of the North, and five hundred Wolf Lords, and after having found out as much as they could about their particular problem, the Pius Cabal made its move. They took Mr Corvin to a remote location and bound him with right powerful magic deep in a mountain. This was also Drake's Masterpiece, by the way.

About two hundred of the Wolf Lords stayed behind to guard the entrance to the caves where the demon was bound.

And so it happened that a great evil was locked away by a group of heroes. This is the first time I've seen this happen. Normally it works the other way around: For some reason, the heroes find/unearth some great evil that was somehow, and for some reason, locked away in bygone days. As a bonus, the cave in question was the very same that once gave birth to the Book of Worlds.

The really neat thing was that I just sat back while players took the story from the brink of destruction to a quite prosaic conclusion, or at least a solid temporary solution. They may or may not return to make an attempt at dealing with the problem once and for all (I do believe that will be the first thing to be decided next time), but for the time being the world is safe.

The minions of the Exarch, guided by the Queen of Stars, struck hard at the power-base of the heroes, and they were defeated. Armand is dead, partially due to his own hubris -- his number one flaw. Due to the sudden appearance of the Host of Man immediately before the attack, neither plague nor wyrms were allowed to wreak the anticipated destruction. More importantly, Mr Corvin was meant to fall in the heroes's lap, and even if they almost died, they managed to avert the localized End of the World that was planned for them. The evil witch-queen's plot was foiled.

A good group is often clever, but every now and again they are damned ingenious. The guys walked deep into the trap the first night, but got out alive and in style the second. I'm now wondering what the bad guys will come up with next.

Bloody well done, guys!

Curriculum Vitae

Hans Willem Smit, GMGD, MAA, CPF, ETT

Born to Hans Willem Smit and Gememina C. Smit, née Raffernak,  in Mannswerk, 5 Septimus YE 975. Married to Laea Smit, née de Groot. Five children, Gememina, Hans Willem, Leander, Jakob, and Adelheide.


Academic
Magister Philosophicum, Universitas Ghoerwaldensis, YE 991
Magister Theologicum, Universitas Marburgensis, YE 994
Magister Artes Geometricum, Universitas Marburgensis, YE 996
Magister Juridicum, Universitas Ghoerwaldensis, YE 1000
Doctor Juricum, Universitas Ghoerwaldensis, YE 1003
Doctor Philosophicum, Universitas Staffordiensis, YE 1005


Professional
Employed by Koern, de Groot, Sandeman & Jaeger of Rederhafen, YE 1008 - 1015
Solicitor for House Wartenstam, YE 1011 - 1015
Appointed to the Royal Office of the Witchfinder General, YE 1015
Appointed to the Office of the Ombudsman, YE 1019
Appointed Aktor of the Office of Internal Affairs, YE 1021
Appointed Grand Onkel of the Syndicate, YE 1022
Elected Reichsombudsmann of Wezell, YE 1037


Published
Three Pillars of Reason, Ghoerwald, YE 992
The Nature of Worship, Marburg, YE 995
Idols and Idolatry of the Second Age, Marburg, YE 996
Enlightened Principles of Rational Thought, Ghoerwald, YE 999
Occult Theories in the Temple of Man Supreme, Ghoerwald, YE 1003
Thoughts and Reflections on the Forgotten Arts, Ghoerwald, YE 1005
Mælchior Speaks to the Wanderer, Rederhafen, YE 1009
Principles of Enlightened Law, Rederhafen, YE 1014
The Follies of King Rederius, Rederhafen, YE 1020
Seven Axioms of Arcane Societies, Rederhafen, YE 1021
Lex Arcanum, Rederhafen, YE 1022

[Picture source: Nicole Kipar]

A Short History of the Wezellian Syndicate

Portrait of the Syndics of the Clothmakers Guild, by Rembrant

Picture hosted by The Social Affairs Unit

Wezellian merchant houses have dominated the trade on the White Sea and the Inner Ocean for more than five hundred years, and today the Syndicate has offices in every major trade-port in the region. Wezellian merchantmen carries fur, honey and amber from the Principality, grain, wine and steel from the Skythian ports, stockfish and lumber from Livonia, wine and cloth from Corillia, and wool from Pendrell. There is even an office in the Hermetic port of Göteshafen, as well as on the far-away Waymar Islands. The Wezellian warehouses and stockyards are probably the best stocked in the World of Man.



The Syndicate was formed by the five largest Wezellian trading houses in YE 799 to represent and further the interests of their business. They chose an Ombudsman to speak on behalf of the Five in dealings with the king and the nobles, and were quickly able to reap the harvest of their investment. In fact, before the end of the following century two more houses had joined the Syndicate, and their Ombudsman had been given a permanent chair in the King's Privvy Counsil. The last house joined the Board in YE 963.


The nobles resisted the merchants's bid for power, but after Wezell's expensive war with the Princess of Gaffenmarch, YE 907-921, the Syndikate's position, after having bankrolled the endeavour, had become all but unasailable. Over the next hundred years the Onkels would be appointed to key possitions in the government, and the office of Ombudsman became more influential than that of First Minister.


Throughout the 10th Century, the conflict between the Onkels and the noble houses came to a boiling point. Having lost considerable influence in the war, a group of nobles under the Duke of Angermar set out to reclaim their possition through voilence and assasination. After decades of civil strife, the conflict came to an end in YE 987 when the entire family of the ageing Duke died when their ship disappeared. Shortly after, five key members of the Dukes conspiracy were arrested and sentenced to death on charges of treason. When the Duke died the following year the Syndicate had no opposition in Wezell.


The Royal House of Wezell suffered under three weak generations over the last century, and plummeted into debt during the years of the Angermar-conspiracy. The last of these monarchs King, Alphonse XIII, nicknamed Half-Crown, is most famous for his lavish feasts and his love of cards, as well as his dislike of politics.


In YE 1021 the dept of the Crown had reached such astronomical proportions that the Board of Onkels declared the Royal House bancrupt and dissolved the monarchy. The parliament, by now without any real influence, thereafter transferred power of government to the Board of Onkels, in effect making the realm of Wezell an extention of the Syndicate.


The Eight Houses of the Syndicate and Onkels
De Groot, Feliks Apathon de Groot (Ombudsman)
Van Zaar, Jap Makarius van Zaar
Haffen-Manell, Nestor X. Manell
Van Wartenstam, Semion P. van Wartenstam
Van Rosenhafen, Yorman van Rosenhafen
Raederstrasse, Rasmus Edelman
Van Stackermar, Karolinus van Stackermar
De Martellus, Johanna de Martellus

Lady in Waiting

Artist: Amélie Hutt

"Junker! I bring reports from the baron Edelgade!" the rider shouted. He had galloped across the white sheet covering the fields around the windmill, reining in his foaming horse just as the faint thunder of far away cannons could be heard from beyond the forest to the south. He wore the brown and black uniform of the 4th Rederhafen Militia Regiment.

The man he addressed, Junker Hans von Stachelswein, was aloft, on the top deck of the mill, a good eight yards above the ground, in open air. A somewhat portly, quite sturdy-looking bald and bareheaded man, in a thick, wool-lined winter coat. Junker von Stachelswein had a perfect view of the serene, snow-covered landscape of southern Wezell; frozen fields, covered in an inch of new snow, the winter-bare trees distributed throughout the scenery in the subtle methodical manner of the Wezellians – here Man has tamed his world. A channel cutting a dark silver line through the picture a few yards from the windmill. Smoke rising in a lazy, unaffected tendril from the lonely farm on the other side of the waterway. All in sharp contrast to the flat, empty, gray morning skies above.

The Junker had been trying to capture all of this in watercolor for the last hour, and seemed almost relieved by the disturbance. Stepping back a pace, he took his sword, handed to him by his old bugler. "Not altogether bad, if I have to say so myself," he said, as if speaking to himself while fastening  scabbard to baldric.

"I've seen better, Hans," the scruffy old soldier said as he took down the easel and packed up the tools of the artist.

The officer gave his subordinate a hard glance, muttered something about his general contempt for the uneducated, and descended backwards down the ladder, into the belly of the mill.

The currier, a young man, not much more than a boy stood shivering at attention, trying not to rattle his teeth too loudly. The four blue-coated troopers of Stachelswein's Dragoons had left their cards and now sat watching the newcomer with the anxious patience of veterans. Beneath their winter coats each man wore breastplates of tempered steel. Junker Stachelswein tutted at the men as he climbed the last steps.

"Let's not waste more time before you get a blanket and some schapps, lad", he said as he stepped up to the freezing soldier, folding his hands behind his back and tilting slightly forward on his feet as he stopped. The private was not a large man, still he had a good head on the much older officer. "No good to anyone dead, now are you?"

The messenger seamed to have stumbled in his rethorics, and managed no better answer than a confused stutter.

"Well?" The Junker raised his voice slightly and squinted his eyes. "Let's have it, man!"

Duty overwhelmed his confusion, and the baron's dispatch rider straightened up, looked ahead, and made his report: "Junker von Stachelswein, baron Edelgade sends his compliments and wishes to inform you that the Pendrellians have been locked down in battle at Arber Bridge, three-quarter league south-east of Zaarbrügge. The strength of the enemy is twelve thousand infantry, rifles all. They field four and a half dozen of their best cannon, as well as three lesser batteries. Four regiments of horse have been confirmed – three thousand Ironbellies, and the Kings's Own Blackriver Cuirassiers."

"The baron informs you that while the artillery will no doubt prove costly, he is confident that he will carry the day, Justice willing. What small matter of discomfort he begs you assist him in is that Lady Thorne and her Black Coats have not been accounted for."

"Heh!" The Junker turned to the closest of his men, a hawk-faced, ushaven lance-corporal and was handed a rugged brown, ceramic bottle. Turning again on the militiaman he said, "Not as dumb as you look, are you lad?" He further unbalanced the poor man by handing him the bottle. "Distracting me with open blasphemy while delivering my orders." The old Junker tutted, and muttered something about heathens in general, and youth in particular.

"So the Black Thorn is loose under the good baron's skirts, and now he feels it's time for me to earn my pay?" He had held the question so that the messenger was interrupted as he was about to take a drink. "To end your duty here, Citizen, does His Grace wish to inform me of anything else?"

"Only that he bids you make haste, and not dally, Junker." It was apparent that the young militiaman enjoyed delivering the insult from behind the shield of the messenger.

Von Stachelswein laughed, clapped his hands, and shouted upwards, "Bugler! Sound the Lance! Let's hunt!"

Turning again to the currier, he said, "We'll leave you a meal, that bottle, and I'll send you a fresh horse shortly. Tell your master that he can worry about the cannon, and I will keep his backyard clean."

From the top of the windmill, an insolent, defiant, clear, call to arms rang over the landscape. Immediately a murder of crows took wing from a lonely oak across the channel. From the nearby wood faint command-cries arose, and within minutes a long, gray line of horsemen faded into view along the forest-line.

The four troopers had left the mill, and now sat mounted outside, awaiting the Junker and his bugler. One of them had unfurled a white standard with a black hedgehog, von Stachelswein's coat of arms. Inside the old officer stood bent over a map he held down to the deserted table, while the last of his men came climbing down the ladders from above. The messenger stood discarded, trying not to be in the way, and not long after he stood alone in the windmill. The sound of the horses faded, and around him silence descended. Nineteen years old, a university student, called to fight in what the Pendrellian Parliament have named the Witch's War.

As the six riders galloped off, the line of horses by the woods merged into two long columns and cut across the fields to meet up with their commander. The regiment moved with the effortless efficiency of veterans, confident and proud. They were mercenaries, and some of them had followed the Hedgehog-banner in wars all over Eria for more than a dozen years. While few of them nurtured any loyalty to any royal house, every man would follow the old Junker to the edge of the Abyss, and perhaps even further. Bastards and cutthroats all, yet they were amongst the best paid in the Wezellian army.

The bugler's horn sounded again, and while the regiment came to a halt five officers spurred their horses and rode up to the Junker. There followed a short discussion, and before long the officers returned to their men. Orders were given and distributed down the lines by shouting corporals. Two companies spurred their horses and wheeled off, one heading north along the channel, the other south, towards the distant thunder of the artillery. Only minutes later, the rest of the unit rode west at good speed.

After having put a league behind him Junker von Stachelswein ordered a halt in a small forest and dismounted. He walked a few paces off the road and stood there, gazing off between the trees for a time before calling for his bugler.

"What do you think she's up to?" he asked when he could hear the steps in the snow behind him.

"The Lady Thorne, you mean?"

"Off course, you goat-faced old fool! There's no reports of her or her Black Coats since yesterday when they burned the village of Anster."

"Why do you always talk to me about things I know naught about, Hans?"

"I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to myself. I just like the company." The Junker picked up a wooden pipe carved like a naked woman and started the process of filling it.

"She has one of the best outfits the Parliamentarians have fielded, yet she does not take battle," he continued. "She's not a soldier, she's a killer."

Behind him the bugler drew out his own pipe and for a while the two men occupied themselves with the familar ritual. From around them the sounds of horses and men, waiting patiently, came through the winter wood.

"I have a hunch," the officer said when both pipes had been lit and smoke hung around their heads like clouds obscuring mountain peaks.

The old bugler knew all about his commanders hunches. They had been riding together for a generation, and the Junker had always had a way of guessing what their enemies were up to. Some of the men even believed that their commander had the Gift. He didn't say anything. Instead he drew deep from his pipe and let the smoke pour slowly from his nostrils.

"She knows she's being hunted," the Junker finally said, "that's what she wants. She will try to draw us into a battle where her dismounted carabineers can use their repeating guns to full effect."

After a pause to send a few smokerings up among the branches he continued. "She will find a soft target, likely a town behind the lines, and she will make sure we find her. She will burn and kill. She hopes that we will become too enraged by the plight of the poor citizens to think clearly and storm the streets." He spat in the snow and stuffed the pipe back in his pocket just as the sound of a galloping horse could be heard coming towards them.

"Junker!" The young private reined in his horse, its hooves kicking up powdery white snow as it came to a standstill. "Rittmeister Fegel sends me! He has found the enemy in Erstmannshof a league and a half from here. Black smoke can be seen rising from the center of the town. Peasants say scores of black-coated soldiers rode into town less than an hour before we came there."

"So it is as I thought," the Junker said. He turned to one of his officers. "Ride in all haste to baron Edelgade. Tell him that he is free to die in front of the enemy's cannon, the Black Thorn is lodged behind him, and I will make sure it breaks when it comes out."

Other orders were given, riders bearing dispatches galloped off, and then the bugle called the Hedegehogs to advance.

As the day wore on into afternoon, Stachelswein's Dragoons moved up to within sight of the town of Erstmannshof. The town seemed small and insignificant, almost unreal contrasted against the snow, ocean and sky, all in shades of grey. Normally there would be smoke rising from the many chimneys, instead only a thick, dark tendril snaked upwards from the middle of the town.

Von Stachelswein took up possition on a low ridge about three furlongs from the nearest houses. In front lay the town, behind it a dense thicket of trees. From here he could respond to any attempt to escape. He kept half his strength hidden behind it and had three companies line up along the crest. The remaining two stood in plain view a little to the left.

The Junker dismounted, cursing the cruel fate of old age as his joints groaned at the effort. Pulling up his telescope he took in the scene. "Good ground," he muttered, "if the enemy behaves."

"Order Fegel to advance on the town," he said to the bugler. "Let's see what she's got," he added, to himself this time.

The two companies to the left trotted down the gentle slope in two columns. They stayed in formation until they had covered half the distance, then they split up. One company continued ahead on the road, the other broke off and advanced on a farm about one and a half hundred yards from the nearest houses.

From the ridge the movements on the field were watched carefully. Some held their breath, others muttered thanks to fate or even gods for not having been chosen to test the enemy's guard. Those who grew too bold in their blessings were quieted by gruff corporals.

The company, looking like a small, grey line against the white to those on the ridge, closed the distance at a carfree trot. One hundred paces. Seventy. The spectators held their breath. They could do nothing but wait and watch. The Junker had his telescope trained on the houses in front of the small force. Fifty paces. Twenty. The bugler swore a foul oath under his breath.

The company halted, and after a short moment a single rider continued ahead. On the ridge the men looked on, intently, as if they were watching a juggler try a particularly difficult trick and expecting him to fail.

The bugler stepped closer to the Junker. "Something ent level here, if I know anything about killing," he said in a low voice.

"I agree," the Junker replied, "I've had a bad feeling since I first saw the infernal town. There's something here I can't put my finger on..."

"Shall I sound the recall?"

"No, it is too late. The game is afoot."

The lone rider had vanished between the houses. The thin line of horsemen sat motionless. The company headed for the farm had dismounted and were occupying its buildings. The men on the ridge stood silent, behind them restless horses snorted, their riders standing beside them fiddling their weapons. Black smoke coiled upwards from within the town. Not a sound could be heard. A lonely sparrow landed on a naked shrub not five feet from the hedgehog standard.

Then the rider returned to his company, and not long after the men dismounted. As they fell into ranks around their banner a dispatch sped off towards the ridge. He had not covered half the distance when a single strand of smoke seemed to speed towards the dismounted soldiers from one of the outer houses. Only a heartbeat after, seven more shot forth. As the first reached its mark there was a voilent burst of fire and smoke, then as the rest struck the company vanished in snow and soil and smoke. To the men on the ridge the sound that reached them was like that of a cruel nightmare bearing down on the guilty dreamer: long banshee-wails followed by hard knells of thunder.

Before the dust had settled, hundreds of black-clad riders sallied forth from the northern edge of Erstmannshof. They cut straight for the ridge, threatening the flank of the three dismounted companies holding it.

The Junker reacted swiftly, and gave orders for the five companies behind the crest to mount up. Just as the bugle's challenging call rang across the field shouts came from the thicket behind the ridge The shouts were quickly drowned by a volley of gunfire. It sounded almost like a coarse, wet canvas was being torn by strong hands.

Junker von Stachelswein looked down to where now several men fell from their steeds, and almost obscured by the thick smoke from discharged powder he saw black-coated soldiers kneeling behind his own troops. He saw the same man fire twice without reloading his musket before he vanished in the smoke and chaos. All along the edge of the thicket gunfire could be heard, no longer the massed volley, but the sound of repeated shots, fired at close range at an enemy who had been caught unawares. It all lasted perhaps half a minute, and when it was over nothing but screams of men and horses, dead, wounded or panicked, scattered command calls, and the increasing thunder of approaching cavalry could be heard on the ridge.

The old Junker lay on the eastern slope, away from town. The ground he lay on was trampled and cold. He had caught a stray bullet in the throat, and his life was running steadily into the soil. On the hill the remainder of his men prepared for their last stand.

A tiny, brown sparrow landed on the hilt of a discarded sword stuck in the ground only a few feet from the old man. It sat there, unaffected, watching with its black, unblinking eyes as Junker Hans von Stachelswein died.

The missing chapters

Storyteller's note: I have been dealing with a case of writer's block, and there are a couple of chapters missing. So, to get back on track, I need to fill in the blanks. Here we go.


At breakfast in the van Zaar mansion, Geminon approached Banzel and told him that to find what he was missing he had to look for Margreta af Borg. Geminon also pointed out that since he was in fact a god, Banzel wouldn't be hurt by showing some faith.


After the failed attempt on Dr. Murdoch, the Cabal set out in strength to slay the Witch Finder General. In a border-town between Wezell and Corillia they set themselves up in an inn, hoping to draw their quarry to them. Instead they were poisoned (only Galan succumbed to the toxin) and encircled by a company of dragoons supported by a three pounder cannon. In the ensuing battle the inn was demolished and set alight. Banzel and Drake managed to conjure an antidote and the Captain was able to teleport them all safely out.


In Zaarbrügge they were attacked again. Banzel left the van Zaar mansion to check up on some work he was having done. In the busy streets he was waylaid by the same assassin that had slipped the poison in their wine in the inn. Luckily, Galan was using his magics to keep tabs on him, and so they Cabal was able to react swiftly and save the Bombman from a less than desirable fate. The assassin, a young woman, escaped.


On their third attempt they first bought all the poisenous snakes and insects they could find in Räderhafen, then travelled by stealth to the outskirts of Grasse arriving in the dead of night. Here Banzel's two ravens flew eight of the poisenous critters to the fortress of the good doctor. Through mind-controll the tiny killers were guided through the corridors of the fortress towards the bed chambers of Murdoch.


Simultaneously, Drake controlled the remaining critters, hid them in his clothing, and made his way into the town of Grasse alone. Here he was apprehended by a patrol of soldiers which he then had killed by the obedient little assassins that fell out o his robes on command. However, he stirred up quite a fuzz and was overpowered by another patrol and taken to the dungeons of the Palace of Reason.


At this point one of the critters flown in by the ravens had reached the bed chambers and had managed to deliver its poison, thus killing the leading man of the Magisterium in Corillia.


Now the cabal had to stage a rescue of their captured compannion, something they managed to accomplish before the noose closed around him.


Chapter end/start.


Back in Zaarbrügge the magicians set out to decipher one of the formulae in the Saragossa Manuscript, the Elder Sign, and to make it suited for distribution amongst the Correspondents. This consumed a lot of time and resources, and took a massive concerted effort to accomplish. Van Zaar also wrote a Letter.


Once this had been done, the Cabal set out to find the Committees so that they could send out their messages to the Enlightened of Eria. Jaap van Zaar, Yolander's uncle, and also one of the Onkels, sent them to the University of Ghoerwald. Before they departed, the Onkel told them that this day, the 19th Dodecium of the year 1021, the Wezelliche Syndikaat no longer forbade the practice of magic by law.


In Ghoerwald the Elder Sign, van Zaar's Third Letter, and the announcement of Wezell's acceptance of magic was put to print and sent out to the Committees for further distribution.


Once this had been done, the Cabal set up court at the brothel 'the Firbidden Book' in Ghoerwald and declared a Party. By weaving heavy magics into the patterns they explored several paths and constants. They also spread the word of magic.


Banzel given a Livonian book by one of the students he talke to. In this book, an edition of the Deus Machina, he found a print of the Dragon Machina and the Dragonheart (the forge he built to power the dragon).


The Cabal also contacted Octavian, and found him East in the Fallen Star Mountains on the Dark Continent. He had taken his War Cabal to find and anihilate a group of Outsiders searching for something in the mountains.

On Argonauts

Storyteller's note: This article can be read in The Tradesmaster's Dispatch, a Wezellian newsletter. This particular edition can be found in the van Zaar residence in Zaarbrügge.



The Tradesmaster's Dispatch
Räderhafen - 11 / MXXI


The Attack on Free Thought
as illustrated by the persecution of the Argonauts.


The Royal Guild of Argonauts was founded by Lord Solar Macharius, King of Pendrell and Corillia in YE 89. The guild was tasked with preserving the secrets of navigation and astronomy, and for centuries it was the backbone of the Pendrellian navy; only on few occasions did any one not a member of the guild rise to admiralcy.


The guild served the Royal House of Pendrell with honour, adhering to the mandate laid down by Macharius. We ourselves owe them some gratitude for the prosperity brought by the trade routes opened by the Argonauts before the Wezellian Renaissance. Let us not forget that early in this age, our kingdom stood without the wealth of enlightenment other realms inherited from the Scythian Empire.


The Argonauts have lost a great deal of influence, prestige, and resources over the last generation. There have been a few scandals involving prominent Navigators, but the greatest blow is a most recent one: the Tribunals of Pure Thought. These tribunals, as the astute reader will know, have been founded in order to weed out freethinkers and heretics, and are strictly counter-Enlightenment. They follow the doctrines laid down by the Presbyterium, and operate outside the Habeas Corpus. To date, at least twenty-three gentlemen of standing have been sent to the pyre by these tribunals, several more have been imprisoned or exiled. It should also be noted that the property of the convicted does not befall the Crown, as is customary, but the Parliament.


That such an ancient order as the Argonauts are being eradicated should be cause for concern for all enlightened gentlemen, for if the secrets of navigation are to be suppressed, the very foundation of reason and commerce is threatened.


The Tradesmaster is informed that over the last year, the Board of Onkels have granted asylum to several prominent scholars, thinkers, peers and gentlemen of good standing, all of whom have had to flee from unjust persecution and slander. It is the conviction of the Tradesmaster that the outcome of these horrendous actions can only lead to a dilution of the very essence of Erian civilisation -- that of pursuit of wonder tempered by rational thinking and enhanced by scientific achievements and philosophical advancements. Was it not these very qualities that enabled Man to emerge victorious from the Second World War? Should we then abandon our best hope in the face of what may well be the greatest peril Man has ever faced?


We, as a culture, nay, as a race, are now besieged by great and terrible forces -- forces of darkness, corruption and ignorance. The Syndikaat has committed itself to this conflict, this war, this, the Third World War.


The Tradesmaster can do nothing but condemn those that seek to shackle and make mute those gifted individuals who are our best hope for salvation. If war is the only way to survive, we must all answer the call to arms. The Third Age is ending, and the Fourth Age must be born in blood. We must strike down those who wish to poison and destroy our brothers with furious anger, whatever they be, where ever the are. Let us not fear this struggle!


The fate of the Navigators is but one example of the tyranny of evil men. What sets it apart from the Temple's rampant persecutions of free thought and enlightened vision is that it happens with the blessing of the Cabal of Pure Thought. If the thought is no longer pure, let us then, for the sake of our sons and daughters, abandon it and embrace the truth. The seeing must lead the blind, lest we all perish.