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Erntezeit-8-2493
"How different it is to travel now…" I said as I gazed through the train's window, watching the landscape rush backward. "From Kislev to the heart of the Empire in just one day. Before, it took entire journeys on horseback, without rest. Now it's all reduced to just a few hours."
Katarin remained stoic, her eyes fixed on the fields. "A great creation of the dwarfs," she replied calmly, watching as the towers of Altdorf began to rise on the horizon.
"At last we'll be able to rest a little in the city. But first of all I'll request an audience with the Supreme Patriarch to resolve the matter of our magical licenses. Until then, I ask you not to use your magic inside Altdorf. Afterwards, we'll travel to Reinsfeld to oversee the harvest," I said as the imperial walls drew near.
"And what about our marriage?" Katarin retorted, turning toward me with a stern expression. "My father is growing more nervous that the ceremony hasn't yet taken place. The sooner it is consummated, the sooner the boyars will fall silent and their complaints will cease."
"Next year," I answered calmly. "The Grand Theogonist has offered to officiate the ceremony. It will be a huge event and will require preparation. I don't think you'll mind waiting a little, will you?"
"I had hoped it would be held in a temple of Ursun… it will be a problem for everything to take place under Sigmar's standards," said Katarin with an icy tone.
"Ah, no. That is non-negotiable," I replied, meeting her gaze. "The ceremony will be under the Cult of Sigmar. I'm not going to deal with questions from my own priests as to why I accepted a marriage before Ursun or the Kislevite Orthodoxy."
"And don't you think it will also be a problem for me to accept a ceremony under the Cult of Sigmar?" she pressed, her eyes never leaving mine.
"Listen… I'm paying for the defense of your people. Twenty thousand weapons aren't given away. Don't you think the least Kislev can offer is a bit of sacrifice?" I replied in a dry voice.
"Kislev needs stability. And with this, we give the boyars and the cults reasons to complain openly against the Tsar. You have political capital to resist the blow, Kislev does not," Katarin answered firmly.
"Bah… always asking, asking, asking. Fine, we'll find a middle ground: two ceremonies. One in Altdorf and another in Kislev. Let them complain all they want—at least each cult can boast it officiated the marriage."
Katarin's expression softened a little, even allowing a faint smile to escape. "That seems acceptable," she conceded.
Silence returned as the train entered the station. Thousands of my soldiers disembarked immediately, forming up with discipline before I temporarily dismissed them. Many were from Altdorf and ran to reunite with their families after months of campaigning against the beastmen and the princes. They returned with bags full: gold plundered from frontier towns, Cathayan coins seized at tolls. Others, the men from Reinsfeld, awaited the next train to carry them back home.
Several convoys were still to arrive, but within a few days my entire army would be back, far from Kislev's brutal winter.
With the men already dispatched, I wasted no time and went to seek the Supreme Patriarch. It was the most important matter.
The trail led me to the Bright Order, where the current Patriarch resided. In the Empire, he who rules in the world of magic is always the greatest battle wizard, and that title now rested with a sorcerer of the Bright Order. We were speaking, then, of the most powerful man in arcane arts in the Empire—and also one of the most temperamental, for his order was known for failing to control their emotions. I imagined the meeting could turn rough if I began to demand too much.
Accompanied by some of my men, I crossed into the northern district, where the Colleges of Magic stood. Upon reaching the Bright College, the sensation was immediate: I could feel the energy of dozens of wizards practicing or forging arcane artifacts to sell and finance their studies.
The place, however, didn't resemble an academic institution so much as a forge of the dawi zharr. The walls were blackened, the towers spat constant bursts of flame into the air, and a stench of smoke clung to every corner. As soon as I crossed the magical barrier that protected the complex, the smell became suffocating. And I couldn't help but think that perhaps that defense was not there to protect them… but to shield the rest of the city from what happened inside.
Despite the suffocating haze of smoke that enveloped the entrance, I pressed forward into the college. An apprentice of the Lore of Fire, his face blackened with soot, stood guard over the premises.
"Who is it?" he growled, raising his staff wrapped in flames and bringing its glow close to the steel of my helm.
"The Elector Count of the Westerlands," I answered firmly. "I need to speak with the Supreme Patriarch. I understand he is not at the Emperor's palace."
"This way… we've been expecting you for months," said the apprentice, stepping aside and leading me through the corridors.
The moment I crossed the threshold, the suffocating sensation vanished. Inside, one could breathe normally, as if the smoke remained outside by some enchantment. Along the corridors, several wizards practiced their arts: I saw fiery projectiles crashing against practice dummies and spells exploding with shockwaves that made the walls tremble. The force of some incantations was such that it seemed the building itself remained standing out of sheer stubbornness.
The apprentice led me through a maze of corridors and staircases. With every floor we climbed, the heat became unbearable; soon I heard several of my men muttering complaints, stifled by the burning air that grew heavier with each step. I felt it myself: it was like ascending inside a furnace.
At last we reached a wide chamber. There awaited the Supreme Patriarch, seated on a chair of blackened stone, watching me intently. The assistant shut the doors behind me, leaving my men outside. Now it was just him and me.
"So, you are the wizard…," he said, fixing his gaze upon me. His voice dripped with irony. "When one of Sigmar's priests told me that the Champion of Sigmar had received the gift of magic, I didn't believe it. But I sense a faint arcane presence in you… though it could just as well be a trick of the Cult, a lie to cover their champion. It would be very shameful if Sigmar's chosen turned out to be a sorcerer." His hair's tips shimmered like fire as he spoke.
"It's the truth. I even had the honor of speaking with Sigmar himself; he sent a vision of our conversation to the Grand Theogonist. Sounds almost like heresy, doesn't it, Supreme Patriarch?" I said, locking my eyes on him.
The ironic smile faded, and his face hardened with evident anger. "Well… how interesting. Very well, we have much to teach you, shaman wizard," the Supreme Patriarch retorted.
"I suppose so. I would, however, like to be granted the license as soon as possible so I can move freely and comply with the city's regulations—one as well for my future wife and her companions," I said, stepping forward and attempting to sit in one of the chairs before him.
"When you complete your long training, we will grant you that permit. Until then, you must attend and live in the Golden Order until you fully master your powers. Moreover, those women you mention must undergo rigorous testing: records already show the use of their kind of magic in the forests of Reikland," replied the Patriarch, pacing among the shelves of his study.
"It is also clear you must renounce your titles to devote yourself entirely to the arcane arts. We cannot allow a noble sorcerer with feudal interests; that would bring us problems. Before entering the Golden College, decide who will govern the lands you hold," he added gravely.
I laughed dryly. "Ha, ha… good joke. Patriarch, I never thought anyone from the Bright College could be so amusing."
"This is not a joke. It is an order," he said, without a trace of humor.
"Well, it's not going to happen. Not a chance," I replied, relaxed, watching as sparks danced at the tips of his hair. "I insist: I demand the permits for magical use."
"You will not receive them. I will not grant a license without rigorous training within the Empire. Either you submit to instruction, or—" the Patriarch snapped.
"Or what? Let me remind you, you are speaking to Sigmar's Champion. Chosen by the god himself. Unlike you, my magic comes directly from Sigmar. Any attempt to persecute or subjugate me will end with the Cult of Sigmar driving you back into hiding, hunted once more. Believe me. I have the gold and influence to proscribe you and force you to scurry like rats. So tell me—what will you do? Unlike you, I will not be hunted. My power is a gift from the God of Humanity," I said, staring at him with deadly seriousness.
The Patriarch fell silent for several seconds. The flames dancing in his hair's tips snuffed out all at once.
"So once again—I need my permits issued immediately. I'll overlook your earlier remarks. Unless, of course, you like the idea of being pursued across the Empire for attempting to defy Sigmar's will," I said with a bitter smile.
The Patriarch stood motionless. He seemed like a statue. Slowly, fire returned to the ends of his hair. His hand crept toward an iron quill on the desk.
For an instant, calm returned to his face. "No. The answer remains no. You will submit to the training as required. This is not negotiable. I will not jeopardize the rules that have kept wizards within the Empire for years," the Patriarch said firmly.
"Fine. I suppose there's nothing more to discuss. You'll hear from me soon. Don't be surprised if you find an army of Templars at the college gates—they'll be eager to ask what you're trying to do," I replied, rising and walking to the door.
I opened it and stepped out. My men followed, still complaining of the unbearable heat. I wasn't too concerned. I could go directly to the Emperor. With the Grand Theogonist's support, we would create a new College of Magic. Problem solved. It would scandalize the other wizards, yes—but I would not lock myself away for years to learn what I already mastered better than many veterans of the college.
Without wasting time, I headed for the Imperial Palace. I had to inform the Emperor of my intentions. Then, ask the Grand Theogonist to support the founding of a new college. That way I would be accredited as a wizard within the Empire and avoid further disputes with the Patriarch.
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.
Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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