Olesya's Dispatches - Bardin’s breakfast device

The Ubersreik Five may not know Olesya Pimenova as a conversationalist, but the caustic Kislevite is secretly a prolific writer of letters. Amongst her grimoires and arcane paraphernalia are stowed reams of gossip and covert intelligence from across the Old World. To what purpose this correspondence? Nobody knows. Suffice to say, Olesya's fingers are in many pies.

Rutger.

Now I think you are doing this deliberately. No, despite what you say in your letter, a fell-bat bears absolutely no resemblance to a large dove. Even when painted. There is no situation, ever, where rabid vermin garlanded with dead flowers are appropriate messengers to bring a romantic letter. I am assuming the roses were alive when the bat departed Bretonnia, but then, perhaps I grant you too much credit.

You’re fortunate that you catch me in a good mood. A travelling fair came past the keep, and I won a great quantity of shillings at the knuckles and cup game - entirely fairly, of course (although all is fair in love and knuckles…). Kerillian made out she was disgusted with the whole thing, although she became rather protective of the small fish she won, which she had to prevent Bardin from eating.

Speaking of the dwarf, he was unusually quiet at the start of this week. He disappeared into his workshop for a few days and, save for a deal of banging and crashing (still quieter than Bardin himself), we saw neither hide nor hair of him. One morning at dawn, however, there was an almighty scream of machinery, or so I’m told. As you know, I’m a heavy sleeper so it didn't wake me, although it sent the Five scurrying. What roused me was the foul stench of sulphur (which immediately brought back memories of our time in Miragliano, although the less said about that, the better…). In the courtyard, I found Bardin showing off his latest invention, the source of all the fuss. Fed up with the cooking abilities of Lohner and the Five, he’d taken the situation into his own hands and constructed a breakfast engine to automate the preparation of ‘proper food.’ By the time I arrived, the vast machine was clattering out stonebread and oozing cave fungus, to the disgust of everyone else. Bardin was pretty pleased with himself, until Kerillian descended like an avenging goddess, wreathed in greasy fumes of goat-sausage and snarling something profane over the grinding of egg-gears. Nobody quite saw what happened, but suffice to say an end was put to Bardin’s construction.

The whole thing made a foul mess, and Lohner point-blank refused to clear it up. Everyone else disappeared, seemingly occupied by urgent errands, leaving poor Kruber to do the washing up. Although that’s nothing new.

I can hear Saltzpyre ranting about something, so I’d best go. In your next letter, give me any news you may have concerning the necromancers operating in your part of the world. No, not the ones from the old days. I’m interested in someone new - you’ll know her by her fiery disposition.

Olesya