58

58

A hand touches the effigy at the bank of River Aver. Rings adorned his fingers. With finely cut jewels. Dwarven make. But he is not a dwarf. As he is not short nor is he stout in figure. Nevertheless he wore finely tailored clothes fit for a noble. Not a high ranking one but a noble nonetheless. He is Randolf Steirmann, Lord of Mittlenburg. Mittlenburg and the surrounding land is still part of Stirland. Situated southeast of the Moot and southwest of Sylvania, while also bordering a few dwarven holds. He has shoulder length black hair combed neatly to the back and finely trimmed beard.

“Guerino!” He shouts. And a shorter, more round, and his only servant arrives. “Did you think my wife would like this? It is quite finely made. Just need to clean it a little and it will be presentable is it not?” He spoke and articulated every word slowly and perfectly.

“Did you just pick it from the river master?” The servant spoke slowly too. Fixing his glasses and making sure his hair is also neatly combed to the sides.

“Of course not Guerino. I bought it from a dwarven craftsman.”

“My mistake master.”

“Of course I pick it from the river Guerino. Look how dirty it is.” Randolf shot back but still articulated everything slowly. Then he pushed the effigy to Guerino. “Now go clean it.”

“Yes master.” Guerino went to clean the effigy.

“Guerino! Is my beer boiled already? Don’t keep me waiting.” Randolf immediately asks as he turns away. Guerino didn’t even walk three steps away.

“Almost ready master.” Guerino hurries to clean the effigy. Hand it over back to Randolf outstretched hand. Then he went to boil the beer.

Seeing this Randolf just rolls his eyes. At least the effigy in his hands is much better looking now. His little secret excursion to buy a gift for his wife is in vain. All he sees are more gems, more jewelries, more clothes. His wife has plenty of those already and her temper is getting shorter by the day. How he wishes the beer to be boiled faster.

Did someone make a wish? A female voice sounds in his mind

“Who’s there!?” Randolf unsheathes his sword and looks around. Guerino also jumps back to his master's back and unsheathes his two swords.

“What is it, master?”

“Someone just spoke to me.”

You are not halfling. How did you get my effigy?

“There it is again!” Randolf shouts as fast as a Stirlander can

“There’s no one master.” Guerino said in concern

Guerino just finished making the fire when the pot full of beer suddenly boiled. Guerino’s eyes balk and dart back and forth between the pot of freshly boiled beer and the effigy on his master’s hand. Randolf however, just stretches open his free hand and waiting for his glass of beer.

—

This guy is an idiot. How the fuck he get his hand on one of my effigies. Did the halfling sell them? Can’t be. Stolen or just dropped it somewhere? A bit more likely.

Ehem, wish granting effigy. I wish for my wife to forget she ask for a gift

There he is again but his voice is a bit hushed. I sent my consciousness through the effigy and perceived the interior of a somber castle. A finely dressed woman shouting something at a few of the servants. Then I just exert my divine power through the effigy and make the wife forget she asks for a gift. She immediately calmed down. Somewhat.

1 soul

Wish granting effigy. I wish for my wife to be a bit more calmer

Again, I do that with my divine power

1 soul

Wish granting effigy....

1 soul

1 soul

1 soul

—

The werewolves, now with Wolfe’s absence, are now led by the Norscan werewolf chieftess. She personally led scouting parties ordered to track where the last chaos abomination went. While she lost many ranks in leadership, the Golden Mother has bestowed her plenty of blessings that will make all Norscan rage in envy. For this she will serve her faithfully. One thing she may still want, is the honor to receive an artifact personally made by the Golden Mother, however slim it might be. But so far, only her firstborn ever receives this honor. The sight of the Great Druig receiving his reforged greataxe is enough to make her envy.

A howl echoes in the north. The second scouting party has found some trace and she howls back. Signaling that she will move there with haste. The smell of familiar rot wafts into his nose. Followed by a shudder as it is followed by the madness given by the Blood God. Part of her relish remembering the sensation of battle only the madness could give and will gratefully accept death. But the Golden Mother saw fit for her to serve longer.

Now that she is the leader of the werewolves, she will zealously do what is ordered. She will make the Golden Mother acknowledge her name.