The Ignoble Origins of Konrad's Carpenters

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Dannaron
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Joined: Mon Oct 03, 2005 10:06 am
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The Ignoble Origins of Konrad's Carpenters

#1 Post by Dannaron »

AUTHOR: So, no idea if I'm actually going to make a series out of this or not, just seemed like a fun idea at the time.

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Keep supplicants waiting. That was Konrad’s father’s first rule of state. Let them stew. That way they’ll have softened up by the time you get to them.

Now, Konrad swore, it will not work on him. He will think of other things. Not what might await him in the baron’s library, not the fresh cut still smarting under his mouth, the swelling around his eye. He will think about the weather instead. It had been an arse-end of a winter, but every indication seemed set for a fierce spring. Out of the ice and into the glare.
“Enter.”

Konrad opened the double-doors and entered the library where he found his father’s narrow face buried deep in A Dissertation on Reikland Agricultural Law. It was all a sham: did the baron expect to deceive his son using tricks he’d tried his best to teach him? Or was he really that set in his ways?
Konrad hadn’t been invited to sit, so he didn’t. Instead he stood stiffly straight with his arms by his side and nailed his gaze to a point two inches to the left of his father’s ear. Old habits died hard, if drilled deep.

After the customary eleven beats, the baron looked up at his son. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Konrad. Does this the behaviour befit one of your station?”

Konrad didn’t blink. “I was provoked.” He said.

*

Konrad had just received the news. Lord Holtan had been impressed with his progress: he was to become a major! His sergeants, Schultz and Dormick, had invited him out to celebrate.

The Northman’s Head was a long-established soldier’s bar, famous for its dirt-cheap brandy and the many ladies who plied their trade outside. It wasn’t an officer’s establishment and neither the artful Shultz or hulking Dormick were officer’s company, but the opportunity to annoy the baron was too great to pass up.

The famous brandy had flowed fast. Toasts had been offered on the new station, young men rising up in the world, the fame of the regiment. The talk had migrated, with numerous skitterleap bounds, from congratulations to the proud tradition of the military to the health of Prince Siegfried. And once toasts had been drunk for the health also of the Grand Prince’s soul, wife, children, dog, soul and wife, it was decided that the sooner the Dog had been put in his place, the better. There should be an invasion.

Then Dormick pointed out that
The Wintergarden, infamous for containing drinkers with northern sympathies, was just a few blocks away…

*

Konrad’s father arched an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yes sir.” Konrad replied. “I was investigating a lead on treason and sedition, sir, and I found both.”
“Hrm.” The baron replied. He leaned backwards slowly, joints popping, and steepled his fingers. “I was told that you were off duty, and celebrating your promotion.”
“Yes sir. That is to say, I was enjoying good cheer and company.” Konrad replied, “But a true officer is never really off duty.”

The baron fell silent and observed his son quietly for a moment. Of course, Konrad thought, you would have no idea what makes a good officer, beside what you’ve read you papery old lych.

“So was the man that you shot a traitor?”
Konrad frowned, and his gaze flicked over his father briefly before returning to the wall. “I didn’t shoot anyone, sir. I tend not to carry my pistol with me everywhere.”
“Please do not be bothersome Konrad” the baron sighed, “I know a shot was fired.”
“Proud of your confidence in me, sir. But I wasn’t the shooter.”

*

There had been a guard on the door of The Wintergarden. There usually was at night-time: but his job was to prevent the patrons from causing trouble. He didn’t look twice as Konrad entered, nodded at Shultz. Everyone seemed to know Shultz.

Everyone who went to this bar knew each other. Walking in they had known instantly that they weren’t welcome, but they were too full of the fire of cheap brandy to care. The barkeep had glared, sauntered over and told them to leave. Shultz was halfway through explaining that they were travellers from Talabec when Dormick had loudly demanded the tavern to swear loyalty to Siegfried. The bartender’s eyes went hard, and people began to shift in their seats: prepare to stand up.

The bartender suggested rather more forcefully, with more colourful words, that they should feel inclined to leave. Konrad drew himself to his full height with barely a sway and told the bar at large that he was a major and would not be ordered around. There was a moment of hesitation, but then he hiccupped and the patrons made their own conclusions.

Dormick had then accused the bartender of sedition and claimed he swore loyalty to a false god. That was when the small man had walked, calmly and quietly, right up to them. Konrad had been to drunk to prevent the man reaching into his doublet, but sober enough to stand out of the way of the pistol when it was pulled.

Konrad had grabbed the man’s bird-like wrist and pulled it away as the report rocked the bar. Then he’d punched the smaller man’s elbow opposite to its bend; a second crack sounded as the bone had snapped.

Through the blurry haze of triumph, Konrad had noticed that Dormick was on the ground, clutching his bleeding foot. Schultz was shouting something and trying to drag the bigger sergeant out. Konrad felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to find his view full of a golden beard.
The man stood nearly twice as tall as the one who had pulled the gun, and easily head and shoulders above Konrad. His arms had been nearly as thick as the Major’s head. His face was partially hidden behind his majestic beard, but Konrad could see clearly that the expression wasn’t friendly. It was almost puzzled, like a person searching for the location of a stinging insect to swat it.

Konrad had bent down and punched the giant twice in the gut. It was like hitting a wall. With a minimum of fuss, the man’s fist had come straight forwards and onto Konrad’s face, just above his eye. The force of the blow sent Konrad’s head snapping backwards and bore him straight to the ground.

The other patrons were fleeing now: stampeding out the door, shoving past Schultz and Dormick. They flowed like water around the blonde giant, who advanced on the two sergeants like a glacier: slow and unstoppable. Konrad tried to stand, but discovered that someone had rewired his arms and legs since he had hit the ground.

Schultz grabbed a stool and used it like a buckler, blocking the first two of the giant’s punches. Dormick was trying to drag his considerable mass up using the bar as a support. The bartender loomed on the other side of it, his face furious and shouting, holding a long cudgel in one hand that he’d grabbed from under the counter. He swung it at Dormick but the sergeant grabbed his wrist and pounded it onto the bar until he dropped the club, then picked up the weapon and punched the man neatly on his nose, folding him up. Things hit by Dormick stayed hit.

It occurred to Konrad at this point that using the bar as a support was a sensible idea and he attempted to mimic Dormick.

Schultz ducked under another punch and broke the stool across the giant’s back, to no discernable effect. The bigger man then smacked the sergeant aside, only to have his legs smacked out from under him by Dormick wielding the bartender’s friend.

Konrad got to his feet, eager as they seemed to leap away in opposite directions, to see the small man with the limp and bleeding arm appear before him with a knife in hand. Konrad had just reached out when he felt a horrible hot sting across his jaw. The man stabbed forwards again and this time Konrad grabbed his knife hand before the knife got to his eye. For a moment his whole world centred around the wet end of the knife as it floated, too close to focus on, before him. Then there was a crash and the strength evaporated from the man’s arm. He fell forwards onto Konrad, who fell back under him, and felt fragments of cold glass tinkle around his head. Shultz rolled the small man off, still holding half of the smashed bottle that had served as a cosh, and pulled Konrad to his feet, grinning like a cat. He then pulled himself to attention and jokingly saluted.


Damn it all, Konrad thought, but we are soldiers! We aren’t going to take this from these north-born hicks!

*

“I see. And I suppose that you had nothing to do with the subsequent fire?”

Konrad had been waiting for that one, but still didn’t really have a response. It seemed like a good idea at the time always sounded lame when said out loud, but must be responsible for all of the really horrible mistakes of history. After all, why would anyone do something if they knew from the beginning it was a bad idea?

“The fire was a regrettable mistake, sir.” That was another trick Konrad had learned from his father. To avoid blame, remove pronouns. It wasn’t his regrettable mistake, just a mistake which had occurred in the natural progress of the universe but was, nonetheless, regrettable. He saw the baron’s eyes flash and was forced to beat back a smirk.
“I see.” he repeated instead, and then rapped his fingers on the desk. “I never get this trouble with your older brother.”
It wasn’t a question, so Konrad didn’t answer it, though the words No sir, that’s because my brother has barely enough strength in his noodle arms to hold a pen, let alone throw a punch marched to his mouth.

The baron’s fingers pushed the tempo of their drumming and then ceased entirely. “This is unacceptable behaviour.” He said, “I have written to Lord Holtan resigning you from the military. I knew I was too optimistic to think they’d teach you discipline rather than just violence.”

Konrad’s eyes shot open and moved from the wall to his father’s smirking face. His hands balled to fists. “You WHAT?!”
“You will not raise your voice at me, boy.” The baron replied, a victorious grin still tugging at the corners of his face. Konrad blinked, then leaned forwards and swept the papers and book from his father’s desk. He pounded the flat of his hand on the wood and pointed a finger at the man.
“I will shout at whoever I wish! You have no right to do this!”
“I have as much right to do that as I do to demand you out of my house, Konrad.” The baron replied, raising his own voice now. “I have had enough of your sneering and complacency!”
“I am your SON!” Konrad roared, “You can’t just turn me on the streets!”
“I am.” The baron replied coldly, “I’ve set aside an allowance. Take it, get out of my site, and never darken my doorway again. I will not have my name continue to be sullied by escapades such as this. I will no longer be the father of a common thug. Sell your sword, your soul, become a Gods-damned carpenter for all I care, but remove yourself from here.”

*

For a while, with Konrad and Schultz each supporting one of Dormick’s arms, they had watched the blaze. Then they decided that the larger sergeant really should see a physician. They headed towards saw street like the proudest five-legged race in town.

“Sir, if I may speak freely,” Schultz began, then continued before getting a response, “Of all my many commanding officers through the years, I think that you are probably the best.”
“I’m sure they all were.” Konrad replied with a grin. “But thanks for the thought.”
“As you wish, sir. I was just going to say that I have heard lately of a great opportunity for supporters of the Prince. They say that he is seeking after…a certain substance, that can only be found in what’s left of Mordheim. All of the claimants are. Whoever collects the most, they say, will be sure to be Emperor.”
“Really?” Konrad asked, and raised an eyebrow. “Why do you bring this up?”
“It sounds like a great opportunity for a man of your standing to me, sir. A chance to win your fortune away from this dead-end town. To really prove yourself as the soldier that you can be.”
“Schultz, we were celebrating my promotion today! Why would I want to throw all that away? I have a home here, and a job. I don’t need to look for either somewhere else, even if it is a bit to close to the baron.” Konrad shook his head and laughed. “Believe me, as Sigmar is my witness, I’ll not be going to Mordheim.”


*
Avorndril enlui! Soeth et ellesius Avorndril!
Arcsheild
Posts: 78
Joined: Mon Oct 27, 2008 5:29 am

Re: The Ignoble Origins of Konrad's Carpenters

#2 Post by Arcsheild »

Dan! This is great! Please, if you have any spare time, continue with the story! I'd love to hear more! :D
[i]'Though the darkness grows stronger each day, we still shall fight it, with hope that it will sometime fade. For hope is our shield against our unimaginable foe, and for as long as we live, our hope will never die...'[/i]
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