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Sigmarzeit-20-21,2491 IC

"Good fight, son of the Empire… surely Sigmar must be proud of you for having dueled one of those abominations of the Ruinous Powers," said the priest of Sigmar as he let his divine power flow through me, making sure no trace of corruption lingered.

"I'm shattered… so many hours of fighting only to end up facing a daemon stronger than all the rest. At least I can take solace in knowing we saved this damned city from the forces of Chaos," I said, lying on the ground, exhausted, every muscle knotted after throwing my life into the frontlines.

"Well… it seems you're free of all taint. It looks like Sigmar shields you well, son of the Empire," the priest replied, slowly withdrawing the golden light that illuminated my body.

"I have frequent visions of the twin-tailed comet, and I believe they are true, honorable servant of our god. He showed me that I had to come to Marienburg to settle accounts. If I did, it would aid the Empire," I answered, forcing myself to sit among the corpses still strewn across the ground.

"Settle accounts?" the Sigmarite priest asked, raising his brows.

"The corrupt merchants of this city had struck a deal with me over the railways… but I received a letter one day before arriving, informing me that all my holdings in Marienburg had been seized to cover supposed damages from a previous conflict. The message should have reached me after the inauguration, but the messenger came early. Thanks to that, I discovered their scheme… and on my way here, another vision showed me the city overrun by daemons. I understood I had to act before it was too late," I said, rising with effort.

"Fortunately, Sigmar deems you His messenger. But much remains to be done. This corrupt city, which abandoned the patron god it once revered, must be brought back into the fold. The cult of Sigmar must know that Marienburg is once again Imperial, and that this farce of independence is over," the priest declared solemnly.

"I know. But first I must review certain information and bring it with that message. Even though everything turned out well, if I don't present evidence to the Emperor, I'll find myself in serious trouble," I replied as I made my way toward the palace district.

The priests of Morr were already at work in the streets, conducting burials and shielding bodies with sacred rites to prevent them from rising again. Many of my men assisted them, for we did not want the vampire returning to raise corpses left unprotected. The stench of death clung to the city.

When I reached the government palace, every part of me screamed to head straight for the treasury—where Chamon called to me with burning insistence—but I knew I had to first control the narrative, or else face harsh punishment.

It did not take long to find several administrative clerks hiding in the corridors, survivors of the carnage. My men also combed through the personal palaces of Marienburg's ruling houses, dragging out attendants and family members still alive.

In short order, I gathered a score of scribes, assistants, and district representatives. For years they had written letters for their lords, imitating their handwriting, style, and even their seals. That was my great advantage: I could fabricate evidence as if it had come from the hands of the Directorate itself.

"In consideration of the damages caused during the commercial conflicts, the city of Marienburg will henceforth seize all railways and trains belonging to Albrech von Reinfelds, until the monetary losses have been covered," I dictated to the chief scribe, who wrote nervously while I paced before him.

"For the sum of twenty-five thousand Bretonnian gold coins, the passage of Bretonnian ships and forces through Imperial territory will be allowed, aiding their attacks and joining them in case of victory, with the intent of seizing lands in Reikland," I added, dictating the missive that had to appear as if written by Jaan van de Kuypers. The patriarch's assistant perfumed the paper with his master's customary scent and sealed it with the precise wax his lord used.

I continued dictating. Letters revealing conspiracies with rebels in Altdorf, inciting internal revolts. Others exposing secret agreements with Bretonnian mercenaries, plans to strike the Empire, even promises to provide troops for future invasions.

We also forged trade ledgers, weaving the tale that Imperial citizens had been systematically kidnapped and sold as slaves to the Norse.

Soon the web was woven. A chain of correspondence and "authentic" evidence condemning Marienburg's Directorate as the Empire's greatest traitors.

"Enough… enough… I will not be the one to tarnish the honor of our city," said one of the scribes, from a once-powerful house now without a lord.

"Are you certain?" I asked, staring at him, the only Imperial in that room surrounded by them.

"No… I will not—" he began, before I blew his brains out with a single shot. The echo of the gunfire filled the hall, and the muffled screams of the others rang out as they looked at me in terror.

"Anyone else eager to be next? I told you—your lives depend on your cooperation. By your obedience, I will decide your fate. Now work, you wretches," I growled at the group, who shakily took up their quills again and resumed writing the incriminating letters.

Night fell over Marienburg as they continued writing just as they had for their former masters, producing hundreds of missives and dozens of contraband ledgers.

"They look too new… I need to make them seem like someone tried to destroy them," I muttered, breaking wax seals, crumpling parchments, burning edges, and smudging some with soot, until everything bore the appearance of having been salvaged from ash and shattered cinders.

Thus we spent hours. I worked silently among them, forging a mountain of false evidence that would grant me the moral authority I needed to justify my assault. It had all begun with a train—my train—which the Directorate had tried to seize. That was a direct attack against the Empire and against the dawi, and it would be enough to have their names inscribed in the Dammazkron.

If I told the tale that the letter had reached me by mistake before the celebration, and that thanks to that twist of fate I discovered their treachery, I could present myself as one who acted by Sigmar's command, not out of self-interest. Even more so, with my visions of the twin-tailed comet as my divine witness.

At dawn, I had fabricated so much evidence that no Elector Count—nor even the Emperor himself—would doubt its authenticity. The letters were flawless, identical in style and handwriting, reinforced with stains, creases, broken seals, and even invisible ink made with citric acid to simulate secrets revealed only under heat. No one could ever uncover the lie.

"Good… very good… this will be our little secret. Everything you wrote, no one else shall know. So I thank you for cooperating with my plan. We twenty are the only ones who know what happened here. It is our secret," I said, raising the fragments of metal scattered across the hall with my magic.

"But as you well know… twenty can keep a secret, if nineteen are dead. And I do not intend to be one of them. Still, I assure you—you shall enter Morr's gardens as is fitting, thanks to your collaboration," I added with a cold smile.

The shards of metal shot forward, piercing the foreheads of the scribes one by one, dropping them like puppets with their strings cut. Some tried to flee, but only made it a few steps before death caught them.

The hall fell silent, covered in bodies and papers that would now serve as the foundation of my perfect alibi.

With hundreds of letters and dozens of ledgers prepared, while most of the city slept, I placed them throughout the directors' palaces. I wanted it so that, should any of my men ever speak, they could only swear that they had truly found those proofs there.

After more than an hour of work in the early dawn, everything was ready. I ordered that all documents "found" in the palace district be gathered: falsified ledgers mixed with authentic ones, invented letters alongside real correspondence. Everything fit perfectly, as though it had always been there.

Finally, after a day of endless blood and steel, I sent messengers by train to Altdorf to report what had happened. Then I allowed myself barely two hours of sleep before returning to my duties.

Upon waking, I gave the order to begin the systematic sacking of the city. But it would not be indiscriminate: I spared the middle and lower classes, for they had not led the treachery. All wrath would fall upon the elites—the merchants who had orchestrated the secession. They would pay for their ambition.

My soldiers stormed the mansions of wealthy merchants and artisans. Only the dawi and elves were spared retribution. The rest could weep as much as they wished—I did not care.

The treasury was full, yes, but not nearly as much as I had expected. I found millions in gold coins, but not the tens of millions that a city as coveted as Marienburg should have accumulated. The true hoard lay in the banks: vaults overflowing with gold and silver, which we emptied until the chests nearly burst.

In the house of Jaan van de Kuypers, I discovered something else. A hidden vault protected by a complex security system—useless against my mastery of Chamon. In seconds I had the heavy door open. Inside was such a mountain of gold and silver ingots that for a moment I was speechless.

But the greatest treasure was not the metal, but the account books. There they were: personal loans to half the world. The Emperor… the King of Bretonnia… cities of Estalia and Tilea… Kislev… even several Elector Counts.

"Damn… that's why no one ever dared act against Marienburg. Half the world owed this bastard," I muttered, leafing through the records.

Jaan's cunning was clear. He had scattered his fortune across multiple ports and cities, each with vaults like this. His enterprises, spread across every sea, lay beyond my reach unless the states themselves recognized the annexation of Marienburg. Otherwise, each power would claim its piece of this merchant's corpse.

But Jaan was dead, one of the first to fall to shrapnel. And with him, his empire had been left an orphan.

"Now I am the richest man in the world," I said softly, closing the ledgers firmly. The oldest business of all had smiled upon me—war.

"I will have to give a portion to the dawi, for I acted in defense of our shared interests, and their claim is rightful. Another portion to the Emperor, to maintain his favor. And perhaps a fraction to the Elector Count of Nordland, to purchase his rights over the city… of course, if he is willing. If he attempts to reclaim it by force, it will be more complicated. But so long as the cult of Sigmar supports me, I will be safe."

The city would not rest easy yet. The sack had been only the beginning. Now came the purge of all who had collaborated with Marienburg's treason.

Those who had lost everything to my soldiers were captured without delay. Dragged into dark alleys, bound with rough cords, tied to wooden posts like cattle awaiting judgment.

I stepped forward, my voice firm:"For your treason against Deus Sigmar, and for collaborating with the traitor city by trading under its secessionist banner, I declare you guilty. The sentence is death—by firing squad."

The musketeers formed a line before the condemned. A sepulchral silence fell over the street. Only the ragged breaths of the prisoners, broken whispers of prayers, and the scrape of metal as soldiers raised their weapons could be heard.

"Ready… aim… fire!" The thunder of muskets echoed between the walls. The bodies fell like rag dolls, held upright only by the ropes that bound them. Blood seeped into the wooden boards beneath, and the stench of burnt powder filled the air.

"Next." Guards brought forward the next group: artisans, merchants, bureaucrats. All with vacant eyes, some weeping, others with faces hardened by fear or resignation.

Once again, I repeated the words of condemnation with the same calm:"For your treason against Deus Sigmar, and for collaborating with the traitor city by trading under its secessionist banner, I declare you guilty. The sentence is death—by firing squad."

The echo of the shots shook the street once more, and another row of traitors collapsed. The pile of corpses grew ever higher.

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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.

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I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.

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