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Vorgeheim 2-30,2491 IC

In the end, what Kislev really wanted was for trade to resume as quickly as possible, and for guarantees that their merchants would not be burned as had happened in the past. It seemed they had no wish for an open conflict with the Empire, especially at a time when it was in a phase of expansion—where the slightest pressure, such as trouble with their merchants, could redirect the rising Imperial army.

The ambassadors did not stay long. After hearing my words, they went on to Altdorf, where they would demand explanations from those they considered responsible for the great pyres that had consumed so many of their people in Marienburg.

Meanwhile, we continued to expand the city. Much of the nearby swampland had recently been drained, leaving the ground ready for building or farming. However, given how late in the season it was for planting, the wisest course was to use those new lands for construction. Many urban districts of Marienburg were demolished—not only to clear away ruins, but to make room for warehouses, workshops, and storehouses. I did not care so much about housing people there, but about turning the city into a massive center of business.

After the Kislevite visit, more embassies came one after another, sent from various cities to confirm what had happened. I gave them all the same answer: any complaint or problem must be taken to Altdorf. My role was simpler and far more profitable: to announce that doing business in Marienburg was once again safe, and that we were working tirelessly to rebuild wide ports, solid warehouses, and properties ready to be rented by merchants and traders. Security was guaranteed, and the rest was pure opportunity.

The first to return were the Tileans. Barely days after signing the agreement with their ambassador, their merchants began arriving in masses. And with them came gold into my hands—renting properties, leasing warehouses, and using my trains to transport goods into the heart of the Empire. The loading and unloading service quickly became one of the city's most demanding tasks, and each day new traders arrived, eager to claim a place in the rising Marienburg.

Next came the Kislevites again, setting up their own warehouses and workshops to sell vast amounts of furs, grease, and meat from northern beasts—and above all, the riches of the whaling trade. They brought oil, narwhal ivory, and carved bones, products in high demand throughout the Empire. But what they sought most was not to sell, but to buy: they wanted salt. A great deal of salt.

Until then, their suppliers were merchants buying rock salt from dawi in southern settlements, paying high prices for a resource that, in theory, was right before everyone's eyes: seawater. All one had to do was evaporate it. The problem was that Marienburg's climate was far too cold most of the year, limiting that method to only a few months. But then I had an idea.

What if I combined the technique with dwarven runes? The runes could generate constant heat, far more reliable than depending on the sun in these gray lands—and with rune-heat, the process could be accelerated to produce mountains of refined salt. An almost endless system of distillation and evaporation. With it, I would not only supply Kislev, but the entire Empire. And best of all, I would turn something as simple as seawater into an inexhaustible fortune.

I contacted Hieronymus's old friend in the city, a runesmith who still lived in Marienburg, and made him my great commission. I needed enormous distillers reinforced with two key runes: the rune of heat, and the rune of stability. If both could be joined in one mechanism, seawater would evaporate on its own, leaving behind only salt, while the condensed vapor could be stored and used as drinking water. Granted, in the Westerlands fresh water was not scarce thanks to swamps and rivers—but nothing should go to waste: every drop had to serve a purpose.

The dawi wasted no time getting to work. The city was only just recovering and trade had barely returned to its streets, so he had few other orders. He assured me that everything would be ready soon, and that his hammers would not rest until the first distillers were working.

Days passed, and with them Marienburg began to grow again at a steady pace. Each day more ships arrived, and soon even merchants from Araby returned, bringing with them hundreds of traders and thousands of sailors who gradually settled in the city, eager to open businesses and establish themselves. Many rented my properties at high rates, filling my coffers with gold with little effort on my part beyond leasing warehouses, storehouses, and homes. The new constructions, overseen by dwarven engineers, multiplied on the outskirts, forming entire districts to house the working population supporting this rebirth.

Gold flowed. And although the expenses were enormous—paying my army, maintaining the administration, covering compensations for the fallen, and giving generous donations to the cults—for the first time my income exceeded my outflow. I no longer relied solely on rare alchemical productions or costly experiments. Soon I would not just be rich, but immensely rich. And with that gold I would forge my legacy: to turn Marienburg into the greatest fortress ever seen, reinforced with the finest dwarven runes, until anyone who laid eyes on it would think ten times before daring even to imagine a siege.

And I had already decided once and for all where to take the next step: Nuln.

At first, I had no intention of attending the great weapons competition in the city of Nuln. Now, however, it was nearly impossible for anyone to force me to hand over a superior design against my will—but I could clearly take advantage of the occasion to display my entire arsenal before the Empire. And, if I played my cards right, I could even mass-produce it—always, of course, under the strict supervision of the dawi. The future weapons factory I would build in Marienburg must have the best runic security system, demon-proof, to avoid surprises like the secret production of cursed or corrupted weaponry.

Once the dawi completed my commission for runic armaments, I would set them to work on building that factory. There, my workers and smiths would dedicate themselves exclusively to the production of muskets and other weapons that, sooner or later, would become the standard of the Imperial army.

Thus, I boarded my train bound for Altdorf, loaded with carefully selected weaponry for the exhibition. From there, I continued on to Nuln. The railway line to that city was neither officialized nor begun yet, so there was no choice but to finish the journey on horseback. Unfortunately, until my plans were complete, I could not enjoy the luxury of traveling from Marienburg to Nuln in a single day by rail.

For now, all I could do was hope the journey would be quiet and that no unforeseen event would divert me from my goals.

Nuln was a great city, as one would expect from the industrial heart of the Empire. Like Altdorf, it had a cosmopolitan culture where countless peoples and customs mingled. What struck me most was the sheer number of ogres walking its streets—and even more so, their companions: the gnoblars. These strange beings seemed to be servants, pets, and even food for the ogres. On more than one occasion, I watched in mild astonishment as one of those giants grabbed a gnoblar off its shoulders, lifted it as if it weighed nothing, and without hesitation tossed it straight into its mouth, devouring it with an unpleasantly audible crunch.

My arrival in Nuln was well received, as befitted my rank and my new title. Fortunately for me, the city did not seem as saturated with priests and templars as Altdorf; here I could walk more freely, without constantly feeling the breath of witch hunters at my back. Perhaps in this city they were more restrained, or perhaps I had simply grown too accustomed to the brutality of the Sigmarite fanatics who, in Marienburg, had purified everything with merciless fire.

In any case, I was soon invited to one of the preliminary banquets of the weapons competition. There gathered high nobles, merchants, and ambassadors from all across the Old World, each eager to secure a seat at the table of the future. After all, whoever obtained permission to purchase the standardized weaponry of the Empire would hold the key to strengthening their borders and ensuring the safety of their lands. It did not surprise me in the least to find representatives from Estalia, Tilea, Miragliano, and even Kislev, all waiting to witness the field tests firsthand.

Considering my position and ambitions, I decided to attend the banquet. Though I disliked the atmosphere filled with flatterers and favor-seekers, ever willing to grovel for recognition or a purse of gold, this was far too good an opportunity to waste. Several powerful figures, including some Elector Counts, would be present; negotiating with them in the future could prove more valuable than any cannon or musket displayed on the testing grounds.

Unlike Altdorf, where banquets were often divided into multiple halls to keep rival factions of Imperial politics apart, in Nuln there was only one great hall. And though the chamber was majestic—laden with tapestries, chandeliers, and silverware shining under the lights—it lacked the careful separation of the capital. Here, all guests were mixed in one space, allowing one to see at once who hated whom, and how rivalries showed in every glance and every uncomfortable gesture among the diners.

I ordered my men not to let anyone bother me, unless the person had a title high enough to justify the interruption. Thanks to this, most of the banquet passed in silence for me, calmly observing as others lost themselves in wine and music.

Suddenly, the clamor shattered the calm: one of the enormous silver mirrors in the great hall came crashing down, shattering into pieces on the floor. An uneasy silence gripped the hall for a few seconds—until, as if repeating a bad omen, another mirror fell and splintered into a thousand fragments. I heard that one of the ladies had tripped against the frames, causing the disaster. Yet the Elector Count of Wissenland seemed not to care in the slightest; he simply continued drinking and celebrating as if nothing had happened.

Wine flowed among all the guests, but I kept sober. I would never allow alcohol to cloud my judgment in a place full of rivals, flatterers, and possible enemies. I preferred to remain still, watching from my seat as the hall's attention focused on a woman.

It was strangely curious: though she was attractive, she was not the only beauty in the room, nor did she seem to wield real power, save her obvious wealth. And yet, everyone seemed eager to speak with her, as if her mere presence carried an irresistible magnetism.

"She could be… one of those vampires," I thought silently, following her with cautious eyes. As if hearing my thoughts, the woman slowly turned toward me, offering a soft, faint smile before turning her attention back to the crowd of admirers around her.

Later, I had a brief conversation with the Elector Count of Wissenland. He insisted I accept his invitation to one of his private chambers, a proposal I disliked greatly but felt compelled to accept so as not to create unnecessary tension. Every time I found myself before his son, Leos, an odd, almost unnatural sensation crawled over me, raising the hairs on my skin. There was something in that young man that reminded me of the degenerate cultists of Slaanesh… and every time I saw him, I felt the urge to erase him from existence.

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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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