Flechtweide’s Footsteps - The Parable of the Three Charcoal Burners (Patreon)

Hi! Andy Leask here, with a cheeky wee guest blog for y’all.

We’ll be doing proper 'meet the player' and indeed 'meet the characters' posts later, but we thought it might be nice to give you a little sneak peek ahead of their full unveiling.

There will be opportunities later to hear from my character – Father Luitpold, of the Order of the Silver Flame – later, but for now you can learn of him through the eyes of another, Alanna Flechtweide, Reikland’s preeminent travel-writer and raconteur. 

The following is one of her monthly columns – Flechtweide’s Footsteps – which feature in the Altdorf Spieler. Supposedly a travelogue detailing the day to day lives of the Empire’s far-flung corners to the jaded cityfolk of Altdorf, more often they descend into thinly disguised critiques of rural life (‘small towns, small minds’ as Altdorf’s elite like to say), and pointed barbs at social and political rivals of Altdorf, the self-styled ‘Jewel of the Reikland’.

Flechtweide’s Footsteps

Greetings, dear reader! Alanna Flechtweide here, bringing you the latest digests from the farthest corners of the realm, to the heart of the Empire. Remember – I travel to the sticks, so you don’t have to!

Today, however, I must confess to finding myself somewhat at a loss for words! (I know, I know…)

En route to Kemberbad – a far cry from the bright lights of Altdorf, but what passes for civilization in these parts! – I found myself compelled to pass a day or two in the dismal confines of Diesdorf. With a name like that, the moribund social scene should have come as no surprise; sticky, sawdust floored taverns and poky rooms, reeking of…well, whatever it is these poky little places always reek of.

Consider my surprise, when I actually encountered a glimmer of something approaching excitement! Attending throng in these faraway climes is often a tedious chore, given the droning tones and indecipherable accents of the local clergy. But, as luck would have it, the local priest was struck down with a case of the trots, and a visiting warrior priest took the sermon in his stead. I was expecting yet more doom, gloom, fire and blood – such is the norm for these types.

But instead, we were gifted with a sermon that was actually, dare I say, interesting. Compelling, even. The speaker, a Father Luitpold, of no family worth mentioning, cut an imposing figure, standing taller than his flock, well over six feet. His robes were dark, typically travel-stained, but embossed in silver thread with twin-tailed comets of surprisingly neat stitching. Though nothing special to look at, beyond his height, when he opened his mouth it was as if Sigmar himself had returned to share his wisdom with us. It takes quite something to make this jaded old hack take notice, but take notice I did!

The sermon was long, and to be honest I was rapt for most of it. But I did recall one parable he shared, which I will endeavour to recount for you here.

The Parable of the Three Charcoal Burners
Now, many of you will know the tale of the Three Charcoal Burners, or some variation. If you have kin in Talabecland, you may call it the three hunters; in Wissenland, it’s Woodsmen. Regardless of the profession, the tale is – in essence – the same. And, though I’d never wager in temple, if I were the wagering sort, I’d lay odds on all of you knowing the tale, and thinking you know the meaning.

In summary, then, as you all know, there are three brothers, Charcoal Burners as we tell it in the Reikland, making their living in the Reikwald. The first brother hears the baying of beastmen coming, and decides to lie down in a ditch, covered in sticks and leaves, thinking to hide there. But the beastmen sniff him out, and gobble him up whole!

[At this, the congregation’s children gasped on cue. It was at once adorable and insufferable.]

The second brother, when he hears the braying coming, he scurries up a stout tree, thinking to hide on high, far from the forest floor. But the beastmen sniff him out, too. They batter their great, horned heads against the tree, till it topples to the earth. There, the second charcoal burner is also gobbled up whole!

[Another gasp. Honestly, it’s too much. My eyes almost rolled out their sockets.]

The third charcoal burner, of course, was the wise one. He fled to his home – a stout building with a stone ground floor. And he barred the door. There he hid, holding off the beastmen, until brave knights arrived, slew the foul beastmen and saved the charcoal burner.

[Whoops, cheers and huzzahs from the children and more than a few old enough to know better.]

Now, you likely think the warning here is about being prepared? About having somewhere safe and solid to hide in? About keeping safe in your home, while the warriors of Sigmar come to save you?

And that’s a fair warning, and a good message.

But is it the real message? Is it the heart of the story? Let me ask this: how many of you fine folk of Diesdorf live in properly fortified house? Many of you, eh? Good, good. And how many of you built that house with your own hands? Ah, not nearly so many. And you, sir, who did – a carpernter by trade? Yes. Good. Did you build the wall yourself? Plaster them? How about the roof? Did you quarry the slate? Did you fell the tree and hew the timber? Haul it all, by hand, to where you laboured?

Of course not; no-one could have done all of that. And this – this is the true message of the parable. We need stout buildings to keep us safe, but we can only build the strongest of them by working together. The house where the third charcoal burner  house is the Empire: the House that Sigmar Built. His crowning glory, his greatest legacy, was the gift of the sure and certain knowledge that we are strongest when we work together. And let that be the lodestone by which you live your life; work with one another, to build a stronger empire, to build a better home for us all.

Now, brothers and sisters, in that spirit of working together, raise your voices with me in a rendition of ‘Sigmar Smote the Goblin’s Skull’!

Written down it doesn’t seem like much, but something in the way he spoke was most compelling. And though a reasonably comely young man, I must assure you, dear reader, the effect was purely spiritual!

Until next month, dear reader, I remain Alanna Flechtweide, and I thank you as always for following my footsteps.