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Daemons on fire

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Chasing demons is a game of patience. They are caught through their followers and chasing their worshippers is as fickle and fragile like the flame of a candle. They are easily spooked. Flame extinguished and gone forever. We have to find a way to fan the flames and smoke them out. Many of our clues have however gone cold. But a few remain still and we do not despair. Life still goes on while checking out leads and surveilling the last targets we know, I for one spend my days with Mia, teaching her the ways of Aqshy and some investigative skills at the same time. Johanna and sweet Sunniva have been summoned. Posh dinner with the elector count, von Gosser. As Johanna prepares and Sweet Sunniva coaches her in etiquette, Victor polishes his sword. Ever eager to cleave someone in two. He is also attending the dinner though I doubt they will let him sit at the big table. We can do nothing but wait now. We have surveillance on the tunnels. The rumor is out about the apprehension of the cult
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Eleanor's baptism

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I finally got my new sword. I am really happy with it, the smith was as much of an artisan as his other work indicated.  I got exactly the slightly forward weighting I wanted, making both parrying and cutting better. Would be a problem if you're not strong enough, but it is perfect for me. Exactly the right dimensions and the trim is beautiful. The steel holds an edge very well, none of the brittle razor sharp bullshit, but an edge that keeps even after cutting up 4 guys in armour. I love it. I'll name her Eleanor! I was optimistic that I'd get an opportunity to baptise her in a fitting liquid quickly. But, if takes a for effing ages to arrange a baptism. I guess it doesn't help in the fight against chaos to just slaughter random people, even if they look funny, but being an inquisitor is more about reading stuff and talking to people than I expected. It gets kinda long-winded after a while...  Sunniva and Johanna look at the poems, but it isn't all that easy to fig
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Semita violentiae

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From the journal of Johanna Schwarz 19. Brauzeit, 2499 What is the nature of combat? Some see it as the epitome of life itself – the self struggling to overcome obstacles in order to grow and prosper. Some ascribe almost mystical, even divine properties to the clashing of blade on blade. They argue that to face an opponent on the battlefield is a transcendent act, the ultimate collisions of wills. Others compare it to a celebration, a dance, the strikes movements in a careful choreography. What self-serving delusions. Combat is one thing only: Survival, or death. I have seen enough of it in my life to know that when you face someone, the only thing that matters is survival. For those left bleeding out, calling for their mothers and voiding their guts to the sand, calling it sacred, or enjoying the aesthetics of it, is a pure mockery. So you have taken a life, does that make you grander, more attractive, more moral or wiser? If so, then I suggest you marry the next orc chief you encount
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Winter is coming

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 Winter is fast approaching. We are back in the warm embrace of the town. Away from the undead in their tombs and the chaos worshippers. People are busy everywhere in the city, preparing for the cold months to come. Fortunately, the fire burns bright within me and I am not worried, but Mia needs to learn how to control the flames and I immerse myself in this task. She is a natural and adept student. Impatient but still able to quickly master the art of channeling the warm wind. Small candles turn into torches and torches into fires. Soon she will be able to brighten this blaze as well as fires become pyres. Sweet Sunniva will be happy. Her reading skills are unbelievable considering the short time since she started. Dealing with the corrupted We also seek out High Morr Priest Teidegger. He is shocked at the revelation that another of his knights has fallen sick and hence corrupted to work with the forces of chaos. He will deal with the matter. Johanna is not impressed and wants to put
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Interlude: A memory of Remer

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  The sun was shining down on a lazy summer morning, as Lyudmila ran down the streets of Remer towards the small port. From her bedroom window she’d seen an unfamiliar ship, with strange, angular markings on the sail heading towards the town. As she reached the pier, she saw the ship had laid to, and the crew were busy unloading masses of crates from the hold. «Dwarfs!», she squealed with delight. She’d heard of the mountain folk, of course, but never seen one up close. They were so short, not more than a bit taller than her, really, but twice as broad. They seemed awful strong though, from how they carried those huge crates on their backs. She’d seen ships unload many times, but there was something endlessly fascinating in seeing how even a modest river barge could vomit up such a large load of stuff. She always imagined how the boxes were really treasure chests, waiting to be opened to spill out spoils of adventure. Watching the dwarves work, she noticed a difference from other ships
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