Baldur Stormsong stood at the head of the table. His posture was so rigid it looked like he had a spear fused to his spine. He was pointing a pointer at a red zone on the map.
"The logistical deficit is critical," Baldur droned, his voice devoid of joy. "Grain reserves are at 40%. The Shadowgroves have monopolized the salt trade. If we do not implement strict rationing immediately, we will "
SLURP.
The sound was wet, loud, and aggressive.
Baldur stopped. His eye twitched.
CRUNCH. SMACK. GULP.
Every head turned to the end of the table.
Wilhelm Storm was leaning back in his chair, feet propped up on the sacred map of the realm. In his left hand, he held a massive, grease-dripping turkey leg. In his right, a goblet of wine the size of a bucket.
"Don't mind me, mates," I mumbled, my mouth full of poultry. "Just refueling the engine. Continue with the... uh... salt talk. Riveting stuff."
I took another bite, ripping the meat from the bone with savage enthusiasm.
"Master of Coin," Baldur ground out through clenched teeth. "We are discussing the survival of the dynasty. Must you eat like a starving badger?"
"I lost half my blood volume today, Baldur!" I argued, waving the turkey leg. Grease splattered onto Lydia Ironvine’s velvet dress. "This isn't gluttony. It's medical maintenance! Savvy?"
Lydia looked at the grease spot on her sleeve. She looked at me. Her face contorted into a mask of pure, fermented hatred.
"You are a pig," Lydia hissed, reaching for her wine decanter. "A common, muck-dwelling pig."
"And you are a delight, as always, Your Grace," I winked, taking a swig of wine.
GULP.
"Is that garlic roast?" King Brandan asked, sniffing the air. The King was slumped in his chair, looking bored by Baldur’s lecture.
"Aye, Your Grace," I said, tossing him a spare wing. "With a honey glaze."
Brandan caught the wing. He didn't hesitate. He took a bite.
"Gods, that's good!" Brandan roared, crumbs flying into his beard. "Baldur! Stop talking about salt! Put 'More Chickens' on the law scroll!"
"That is not how legislation works, brother," Baldur sighed, rubbing his temples. "We cannot legislate poultry into existence."
"Not with that attitude," Bastian Stormsong chimed in. He was peeling an orange with elegant, terrifying precision. "Perhaps we could negotiate a trade deal? I hear the High-Roost Avian people are... sensitive about us eating birds, but everyone has a price."
"We are not trading with bird-men," Gutrum Falken said sternly. He sat with his arms crossed, looking like he was in physical pain from the lack of honor in the room. "We have treaties. And table manners."
He glared at me.
"Wilhelm, get your feet off the Northern Territory."
"Sorry, Uncle," I muttered, dropping my feet.
Dr. Fenris Vulpine was popping pills from a small orange bottle. He stared at my turkey leg with clinical disgust.
"You're going to get gout," Fenris diagnosed flatly. "And I'm not treating it. I'll just amputate the foot. It’s faster."
"It's protein, Doctor!" I retorted. "I need to regenerate red blood cells!"
"You need a muzzle," Fenris countered.
"Shadows are moving in the East," Vasco Vane whispered. He was standing in the darkest corner of the room, as usual. "While you argue about chickens, the Bladebloods are gathering. Chaos is a ladder... but it is slippery with grease."
Vasco walked over to the table. He looked at the turkey carcass.
"Are you going to finish that?" Vasco asked smoothly. "I know a man in the slums who would pay three coppers for the bones."
"Get your own trash, Vasco!" I snapped, guarding my plate.
Suddenly, Pontifex Malachia glitched onto the center of the table, sitting directly on top of the map of the Capital.
"BORING!" Malachia yelled. "Blah blah blah, politics! Blah blah blah, salt! Where is the action? Where is the drama?"
She stuck her pixelated finger into my wine goblet.
"Hey!" I shouted. "That's vintage!"
"It tastes like grape juice and regret," Malachia reviewed, making a face. "Needs more sugar."
Lydia stood up. She poured herself a massive glass of wine her fourth.
"I am leaving," Lydia announced. "I cannot plan an assassination with this... circus. Brandan is eating like a peasant. The Bastard is covering the map in fat. And the Glitch is sitting on my spy network."
"Sit down, woman!" Brandan bellowed, his mouth full. "We haven't discussed the War strategy!"
"The strategy is simple!" I yelled, finally finishing the meal.
I burped. Loudly.
"Excuse me," I grinned. "The strategy is: We survive. We get rich. And we don't let the scary sky-gods wear us like suits. Any questions?"
Baldur stared at me. He looked like he wanted to execute me for grammatical errors alone.
"We are doomed," Baldur whispered to his ledger. "The Kingdom is run by children and madmen."
"Correct!" Malachia cheered, high-fiving the air.
"Meeting adjourned!" I slammed my empty goblet on the table. "Now, who wants dessert? I think I saw a cake in the kitchen."
As the Small Council dissolved into arguing, eating, and drinking, I leaned back. My blood was full. My belly was full.
And for a brief moment, the end of the world seemed just a little bit funny.
The turkey bones were cleared away. The map of the Kingdom was wiped clean of grease (mostly).
I sat at the table, feeling the heavy, comforting weight of my coin purse.
"Right then, lads," I announced, slapping a heavy ledger onto the table. "We are rich. Relatively speaking. But a pile of gold can't hold a spear. We need bodies."
"We need an Army," King Brandan corrected, looking at the map of Moonclaw Duchy. "A Royal Army. Not Ironvine mercenaries. Not Shadowgrove spies. My men."
"Loyalty is expensive," Vasco Vane whispered from the shadows. "And the Duchy of Moonclaw is... distinct."
Baldur Stormsong adjusted his spectacles, reading from the scroll of vassals.
"The available contracts are... concerning," Baldur noted dryly. "The names of these holdings suggest a severe morale deficiency."
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
I looked at the list.
"Weeping Cross?" Bastian crinkled his nose. "Do they come with tissues? Or do we have to supply those?"
"They come with pikes and clinical depression," Gutrum Falken grunted. "Good fighters. They don't fear death because they live in a place called 'Rotwood'. Life is already worse than the grave."
"I'll take twenty," I said, checking the prices. "What about the mid-tier?"
"The Barony of Solitude," I mused. "Sounds like a terrible place for a party, but excellent for holding a flank. How much?"
"5,000 Gold per Barony for the contract," Baldur calculated. "Plus equipment."
"And the big ones?" Brandan asked, leaning forward.
"The County of Perdition," Malachia giggled, floating over the map. "That sounds like a Black Iron band. I bet their uniform is just spikes and eyeliner."
"They are heavy infantry," Fenris noted, popping a pill. "High pain threshold. Low IQ. Perfect cannon fodder."
I did the mental math.
To buy the contracts for the best units 10 Knightships, 5 Baronies, and 2 Counties plus the initial arming cost from my new Storm-Forge...
I winced. That was half my fortune.
"It hurts," I whispered, clutching my chest. "It physically hurts my heart."
"Do it, Master of Coin," Brandan ordered. "Buy me the County of Desolation. I like the name."
"Fine," I sighed. "I'll buy the emo-army."
I slammed my hand on the table.
"Done," I grumbled. "We now own the Royal Legion of Moping. Congratulations."
"Excellent," Baldur nodded. Then he frowned. "However, there is a secondary issue."
"What?" I asked, suspicious.
"Upkeep," Baldur said, the word landing like a hammer. "You paid the signing bonus, Wilhelm. But soldiers need to eat. Every day. They need boots. They need wages. The projected Day cost is 20,000 Gold."
I choked on my wine.
"Twenty... thousand... a Day?" I squeaked. "Baldur, my passive income is good, but that will bleed me dry in four months!"
"War is expensive," Gutrum shrugged. "That is why Kings are usually poor."
"We need a sponsor," Bastian suggested, looking at his fingernails. "Someone with deep pockets and low morals."
Suddenly, a hand slammed onto the table. A hand covered in emerald rings.
Lydia Ironvine.
She had been silent, drinking her wine, looking furious about the orphanage incident. But now, she looked sharp. Calculating.
"I will pay it," Lydia announced.
The room went dead silent. Even Malachia stopped glitching.
"You?" Brandan asked, narrowing his eyes. "Why? You hate us."
"I hate losing," Lydia hissed. She stood up, smoothing her dress. "My son, Volpert, is still technically a Prince, thanks to Vasco's... intervention. If this Royal Army fails, the Kingdom falls to the Shadowgroves or the Whitefields. And if the Kingdom falls... House Ironvine loses its investment."
She walked around the table, trailing her hand along the backs of the chairs.
"I have just lost one hundred million gold to build a house for rats," she spat, glaring at Vasco. "I might as well spend a few thousand more to ensure those rats have soldiers to protect them."
She looked at me.
"I will cover the Daily Wages for the Royal Army. 20,000 Gold a Day."
"What's the catch, Lydia?" I asked, my eyes narrowing. "You don't give away copper without wanting silver back."
Lydia smiled. It was a cold, terrifying smile.
"The catch, Bastard, is that the Army answers to the Small Council. And I sit on that Council."
She leaned in.
"And... I want the County of Sorrow's End to be commanded by Ser Damian Ironvine. My Brother. He needs a job that isn't... disappointing me."
I looked at Brandan. Brandan looked at Vasco. Vasco gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. Take the money.
"Fine," I said. "Ser Damian gets the Sad County. And you pay the bills."
Lydia swirled her wine. "Agreed. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go drink until I forget I am funding my own enemies."
She swept out of the room.
"She's up to something," Gutrum rumbled.
"Of course she is," Vasco whispered, stepping out of the shadows. "She is buying leverage. If she pays the soldiers, the soldiers eat Ironvine bread. Eventually... they might wonder who their real master is."
"Let her try," Brandan grinned, patting Thunder-Fall. "Bread buys loyalty for a day. Being a Legend buys loyalty for life. And I intend to be a Legend."
I looked at my remaining 163,000 Gold.
"Well," I sighed, rubbing my temples. "We have an army. We have a sponsor. And we have a list of vassals that sound like they write bad poetry in the dark."
"To the County of Desolation!" Bastian toasted. "May they be cheery in battle!"
"I hate this council," I muttered. "Pass the wine."
—-------------The Grand Duchy of Moonclaw, Seat of the Choirlands’ Crown—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
- Ashhollow: House Cindergrief
- Bleakrock: House Grimstone
- Coldbrook: House Frostvein
- Crowperch: House Rookwood
- Cryptshade: House Sepulchre
- Deadwater: House Stagnant
- Drownfield: House Breathless
- Dustgate: House Parchment
- Fogbottom: House Haze
- Gloomridge: House Blackpeak
- Gravewatch: House Sexton
- Greywall: House Monolith
- Hollowhill: House Vacancy
- Mistveil: House Obscura
- Murkwell: House Sludge
- Paleham: House Gaunt
- Rainscourt: House Torrent
- Rotwood: House Fester
- Rustkeep: House Oxide
- Shadowfen: House Boggs
- Siltshore: House Dregs
- Stonecoffin: House Sarcoph
- Thornfield: House Briar
- Weeping Cross: House Crux
- Witherroot: House Atrophy
- Barony of Blackheath: House Charcoal
- Barony of Broken Spire: House Ruination
- Barony of Cinderfall: House Emberless
- Barony of Deepminds: House Delirium
- Barony of Ghostfens: House Wraith
- Barony of Hushed Valley: House Silence
- Barony of Ironshroud: House Locke
- Barony of Lament: House Woe
- Barony of Morose: House Sullen
- Barony of Nocturne: House Midnight
- Barony of Ravenscroft: House Corvid
- Barony of Solitude: House Lonely
- Barony of Stillwater: House Calmdeath
- Barony of Tearfall: House Weep
- Barony of Voidedge: House Null
- County of Abyssal Reach: House Bottomless
- County of Desolation: House Waste
- County of Dolor: House Agony
- County of Evernight: House Eclipse
- County of Grimhaven: House Dreadport
- County of Mortmain: House Deadhand
- County of Mourningclad: House Veil
- County of Perdition: House Damned
- County of Sorrow’s End: House Terminus
- County of Umbra: House Shade