NEVER COUNT THE SEAPOPE OUT!
She flew like a bricc but she floats bros! Now there's hope for a swimming marathon back to Ostland afterall!
Warhammer Fantasy: A Dynasty of Dynamic Alcoholism
- Thread starter torroar
- Start date
- Mature
-
- Tags
- warhammer warhammer fantasy fantasy intrigue happens male protagonist ck2 quest belief stronk count of cannons drunken wisdom foes in the shadows graf of guns (guns) if you have a question check the front page first it begins... mountain vietnam ogres paranoia rising unseen enemies everywhere use the search function before asking waifu wars wake the bull
NEVER COUNT THE SEAPOPE OUT!
She flew like a bricc but she floats bros! Now there's hope for a swimming marathon back to Ostland afterall!
- Location
- Underground
Rolls for the slave revolts to go well enough that the Druchii's armed forces on the ark are wiped out, but enough civilians survive to run the ark, probably. Also to convince enough of them to do so, by carrot or stick, I imagine.
MasterDrakus
DEUS SOL
- Location
- Minas Gerais, Brazil
Ah yes I agree, the Ostland wine is truly meant to be drank alongside a baguette with escargot, tis how the gentleman enjoys it.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
…damn it, you're right.
- Location
- Underground
This is ostka and dwarven ale country, sir. Ostland wine, pfft.
Hopefully the gag is just that it's in French rather than not actually happening.
Oui oui!
Only thing missing is the Kilevite Caviar rolled in Eonir Leaf with Stonebread crackers on the side
- Location
- madison
[X] A Sulphuric Howl: Logan is Ulrican, sworn to the God of Wolves, Winter, and War. Black powder is forbidden from him as a priest of his God. But he is relatively sure that the chaos dwarfs do not use 'mere' black powder. Those conical objects are explosives. He knows that much. And he is, despite his God, a correspondent and brother to Anna von Hohenzollern. Before his passage to Middenheim he had ventured into a certain Imperial school. Regina Leitdorf wields a crossbow already, and has spent much time with dwarfs. And he knows fuses on sight It would be loud, dangerous, attention-grabbing, but if you put your faith into a vampire's magic to hide and shroud your passage in, can you do it again on the way out?
It is a classic for a reason.
It is a classic for a reason.
- Location
- Underground
The explosion probably would kill Bludwort, but waiting for a good opportunity to ambush him seems like it would give improved odds at killing him and getting away with it. Since we're waiting for an ideal moment to strike and the only thing we're relying on for that opportunity is stealth, which has a pretty good bonus right now.
Last edited:
Okay . I'm gonna say it.
Regina. She's joining StormCast... once they are a thing.
sooner or later. and given the tendencies, it might be sooner than anticipated.
Regina. She's joining StormCast... once they are a thing.
sooner or later. and given the tendencies, it might be sooner than anticipated.
- Location
- Underground
That implies Age of Sigmar will happen, which implies End Times will happen.
We don't talk about End Times.
I imply that Sigmar might simply 'figure out' how to make StormCast a thing sooner than Canon. Or equivalent for other gods.
Mayby Frederic punches him in the face while screaming "Send me at them!" convincing him to just power up his soul in Warp and see what happens.
would not be the first time we make a God 'reconsider'
Last edited:
- Pronouns
- He/Him
We talk about End Times when the GM uses not-bad stuff from it as a source.
That said—
No, no that will not happen.
When Magda shows up, Hultressa is going to start smacking her head into a wall because OF COURSE THE SEA POPE MADE IT.
[X] Release the Daemons: Clearly, many of these machines do not enjoy their positions. There are goblins scrambling around here and there, but you have the magic of Genevieve on your side to shroud you significantly. It will be dicier to do, but potentially devastating if successful. Pulling up stakes enough to release some of them will be swift, but technically less accurate at ensuring Bludwort's death. After that, one way or another, Logan would be pulling the Averlander away with him.
[] A Sulphuric Howl: Logan is Ulrican, sworn to the God of Wolves, Winter, and War. Black powder is forbidden from him as a priest of his God. But he is relatively sure that the chaos dwarfs do not use 'mere' black powder. Those conical objects are explosives. He knows that much. And he is, despite his God, a correspondent and brother to Anna von Hohenzollern. Before his passage to Middenheim he had ventured into a certain Imperial school. Regina Leitdorf wields a crossbow already, and has spent much time with dwarfs. And he knows fuses on sight It would be loud, dangerous, attention-grabbing, but if you put your faith into a vampire's magic to hide and shroud your passage in, can you do it again on the way out?
Oh ,boy, both of those are so Hohenzolern style. Sure Logan is unique in his greatness by being silent Mother Hugger but he already has a reputation for blowing up places he's supposed to recon, might as well lead into that.
And yes, use not firearms be the fire hehe.
MANTLAN HAS COMPLAINS!
[] A Sulphuric Howl: Logan is Ulrican, sworn to the God of Wolves, Winter, and War. Black powder is forbidden from him as a priest of his God. But he is relatively sure that the chaos dwarfs do not use 'mere' black powder. Those conical objects are explosives. He knows that much. And he is, despite his God, a correspondent and brother to Anna von Hohenzollern. Before his passage to Middenheim he had ventured into a certain Imperial school. Regina Leitdorf wields a crossbow already, and has spent much time with dwarfs. And he knows fuses on sight It would be loud, dangerous, attention-grabbing, but if you put your faith into a vampire's magic to hide and shroud your passage in, can you do it again on the way out?
Oh ,boy, both of those are so Hohenzolern style. Sure Logan is unique in his greatness by being silent Mother Hugger but he already has a reputation for blowing up places he's supposed to recon, might as well lead into that.
And yes, use not firearms be the fire hehe.
MANTLAN HAS COMPLAINS!
Last edited:
- Location
- SEAsia
- Pronouns
- Thou
Someone call a Bretonnian! We need important documents deciphered.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Marlin posted a translation like, four posts down…
- Location
- SEAsia
- Pronouns
- Thou
Apologies for not examining every single post that followed a threadmark before putting up a comment and thanks for informing me.
They are hitting Norsca.
just one good comand from the chaos gods, propably led by Roland's son.
it's not gonna be boring.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I agree. Have stealth, use stealth.
- Location
- Underground
And unless the explosion is very precise and planned, there's the chance that Bludwort could escape it.
And if you're planning that precisely anyway, why not wait for the best possible ambush opportunity instead?
Last edited:
Shades of White, Black, and Grey 20-B Excerpts/Notes
So for the most part, assuming at least similar rolls for the sake of my own sanity, seeking out the Warbosses would have followed similar descriptions and viewings as the canonical choice. You would have seen the Broken Goliaths, renamed by the greenskins as Da Supa Lugz, as they trundled on past and forward to start messing around with the lava pumps and stone dragons and what not. It would be essentially impossible to miss after all, given that they're so huge after all. Even smashing at the stone dragons and such would have been audible for miles around, they're titanic thwacks. Same with the lesser giants who were carrying up the diverting pipes and such.
I would say that there would have been slightly different scenes and descriptors, after all. While the artillery park was certainly more well protected and kept relatively calm and unbothered by regular black orc patrols and the like, it wasn't stupendously crowded or anything because they weren't firing at the time. It's guarded, sure, well guarded even, but so far Logan and Regina have done a good job of stealthing to the point that they're able to approach and see/hear Bludwort. It would be much different heading for the tents of the leadership.
----------------------
"We have heard much hearsay about these Warbosses," Logan mused, rubbing at his chin before nodding decisively. "I will journey through the camp to see if I can learn any more from them."
All three older women exchanged disbelieving looks, or at least two of them did. Regina's eyes barely flickered his way before she gave a nod to acknowledge his decision. It was enough, however, for Logan to sigh and roll his eyes.
"I am not suicidal, nor am I planning on trying to simply behead them from behind. For goodness' sake, I've heard the about the sort of armor they walk around in," he reached up behind him and jostled the haft of his axe in that deadened magically induced silence. "This? This is a good weapon. A strong one. But blessed by Ulric as it might be, it is not, per say, the same as a Runefang or the like."
Genevieve crossed her arms and looked at him with a faint shade of worry on her face that Logan was surprised to believe might be genuine.
"But you'll be on your own. Alone. In what might be one of the most heavily guarded parts of the camp."
"Maybe, maybe not," Regina murmured, shrugging.
"Oh?" Cloudhorn arched an eyebrow as high as it could go.
"Depends. Warbosses usually have their strongest cadre nearby, to protect and keep an eye on in case one wishes to take their place," she spoke steadily, eyes occasionally glancing up at the camp and then back to Logan. "But if they get bored enough, takes long enough to get to a good fight, they might widen the gap. Leave things open. For excitement."
"Or these ones, as cunning as they have proven themselves," Cloudhorn shook her head, "Will have dismissed much of our 'common knowledge' about their kind."
"Either way," Logan interrupted as the wizard and Champion looked ready to debate further, "I am not looking to kill, simply learn what I can. Even overhearing them boasting to one another might prove valuable, if the information is good."
Genevieve frowned at him again before clicking her tongue and sighing with a shrug.
"Sometimes you must let the fledglings act for themselves," she muttered before glancing at Cloudhorn and then Regina. "Once you are done with your scouting, return here post-haste and wait for the others. If it takes longer than an hour as best to your reckonings, return to the hangar regardless."
"Or," Cloudhorn tossed her hair before hunkering down to crouch and move alongside the vampire. "If you learn something dire enough, I say go as swiftly as you can."
"That is true," Genevieve nodded before snapping her fingers at Logan and then pointing towards the camp emphatically. "Largest tents I can see are over there, the WAAAAGH!! swirls there even without activity like the shamans."
Logan nodded, his expression grim.
----------------------------------
So then after that point, the scene would largely be Logan moving through the camp, seeing the bonegrinder chaos siege giants, etc. He would likely not have seen the black orc patrols keeping the peace, as the closer he gets to the warboss tents, he'd notice that there were more and more black orcs simply there and around. These ones would not need regular enforcement to get their act together, and he would note just how disturbingly quiet and disciplined they were. There would still be notes about the watch towers, the bonegrinders, etc, the general culture of the war camp. The many tribal banners, but the difference would be that he would see the snotling packs and goblin crews start to winnow out rapidly the further into the black orc portion he got. The orcs present would all be, obviously, gigantic and huge, like the kind he saw during the hangar incursion, those big kind, each of them huge and well armed even compared to the other black orcs elsewhere.
They would, however, be grunting and grousing to themselves. And not all of them would be doing it in the usual broken sort of funetik accented Reikspeil that Logan would be used to. There would be a darker tongue that some of the larger and more scarred ones would speak, something which filled the very air with a sort of supernatural malice. Only a tinge of it, of course, but enough that it would make Logan take notice because the last time he heard things like that it would be from the blasphemous tongue of Chaos itself being spoken aloud and/or chanted by cultists and sorcerers. Not entirely like that, it would be tinged by a strange sense of heat and hate that would be a different 'hue' to Logan's priestly senses than what he'd experienced previously.
Eventually, however, he would start getting closer to the two massive tents at the direct center, noting that the entire section was a very bracketed, strict, and generally organized military camp by comparison to the mishmash that would be the majority of the rest of the camp. Here, the black orcs are truly huge, and these ones don't even speak, and he can actually see with Witch Sight the taint that clings to some of their arms and armor. A lot of it actually. Like a Chaos armory or something was broken open, claimed, and roughly 'scrubbed' down with the WAAAAGH!!! magics of their shamans.
--------------------------------------------------------
It was only good sense, he supposed, that there would be at least some gap between the gap of the leaders of the entire camp and WAAAAAGH!!! though it wasn't nearly as big as perhaps Cloudhorn might have expected. There was no palisade, no wall of spikes, nothing of the sort. Only a zone of emptiness that roughly sketched out an oval between the two equidistant tents that were by their own right huge. These, Logan could tell, were not made with mere squig leather or looted cloth or the like. No, the strange hides which sprang up and wide were heavy enough and large enough to require metal supports along them like ribs. The very ground was bathed in WAAAAGH!! energy, that strange magical power and aura which sprang forth from and to the greenskins. At times, it could feel tingly, but at the moment, it rather felt like Logan was stepping onto hot coals except for the part where they did not burn him.
Each of the tents also had boss poles on them, but they were clearly so much more than the sort that the meager goblin tribes of the Empire's forests might have.
They weren't even single poles, either. Each was a strange structure, as if someone had taken thick poles of black iron with deadly looking spikes protruding out from the sides in all directions. Like a sort of barbed metal wire writ large and given structure and stability. A great many of the spikes were occupied as well, by heads. Some were by huge greenskin heads, what Logan assumed to be rivals or challengers that had been decapitated in death. Others were of large beasts, tongues lolling and eyes glassy. What looked like part of the head of what he thought might have been a skaven abomination of sorts from Evangeline Hertwig's books were present as well. A faintly glowing creature only somewhat resembling a bull, its flesh a scarlet red, sat on one spike still somehow smoldering in death. Shockingly, there were also some black conical helms he recognized as being of Druchii make, alongside the surprised-in-death expressions of the heads within them.
None of which was as strange as the snarling, tusk-mouthed, horn-sprouting heads of what had to be chaos dwarfs.
It was strange to look at these twisted mirrors of the dawi he knew, and yet it was unmistakable despite all the changes. These were dwarfs. Changed. Altered. Sworn to Chaos, in some fashion or another. And each of them was very, very dead. None of them had gone graciously into death, but somehow their sheer hatred and anger had managed to ensure that despite however long it had been since they died their expressions had remained entirely the same. There would be no slack and loose features here, only rictus of fury and denial at their fates as trophies. At the very height of the poles, however, both poles by each tent, was the most confusing heads of all. Because unlike every other head, of flesh and fur and chitin and bone, Logan stared at heads that were all partially stone.
Then he heard a rasping wheeze from one of the warboss tents, and crouched lower in the shadows and neatly stacked crates of weapons and foodstuffs.
There, there was that language again. So similar to Khazalid, but not, he realized.
It had taken hearing it from a throat other than the greenskins, but that was what it had to be.
"Hah! Well, that's your problem then, isn't it, Overseer?" A voice that felt like the rumble of a storm and an avalanche combined filled the air, easily penetrating the hide walls of the tent. "You were the masters of aaaaall you surveyed. But now you're the one in the dirt, skin like rags on your backs," what had to be either Mag or Thraka growled, the even lower timbre of the voice managing to rattle Logan's bones even at a distance. "We're the ones making the deals, the ones with that contract your master worked so hard to get, hurr."
He heard more of that not-Khazalid rasping again.
"WELL THAT AIN'T YOUR DECISION ANYMORE!"
There was a smashing sound, the agonized screech of metal being torn with incredible force.
"We're gonna crack this place open, yeah, but that's because da boss said to, and after that?!"
What came next was likely the best equivalent to a whisper that a Warboss of that size could manage.
"We're gonna take this hole, stink up every pit they got, and get us even more boyz. And then? Gork and Mork are gonna have a nice, long talk with your precious Hashut."
A chuckle that was more boulders grinding together than anything else followed.
-----------------
And then there'd be some other stuff.
I would say that there would have been slightly different scenes and descriptors, after all. While the artillery park was certainly more well protected and kept relatively calm and unbothered by regular black orc patrols and the like, it wasn't stupendously crowded or anything because they weren't firing at the time. It's guarded, sure, well guarded even, but so far Logan and Regina have done a good job of stealthing to the point that they're able to approach and see/hear Bludwort. It would be much different heading for the tents of the leadership.
----------------------
"We have heard much hearsay about these Warbosses," Logan mused, rubbing at his chin before nodding decisively. "I will journey through the camp to see if I can learn any more from them."
All three older women exchanged disbelieving looks, or at least two of them did. Regina's eyes barely flickered his way before she gave a nod to acknowledge his decision. It was enough, however, for Logan to sigh and roll his eyes.
"I am not suicidal, nor am I planning on trying to simply behead them from behind. For goodness' sake, I've heard the about the sort of armor they walk around in," he reached up behind him and jostled the haft of his axe in that deadened magically induced silence. "This? This is a good weapon. A strong one. But blessed by Ulric as it might be, it is not, per say, the same as a Runefang or the like."
Genevieve crossed her arms and looked at him with a faint shade of worry on her face that Logan was surprised to believe might be genuine.
"But you'll be on your own. Alone. In what might be one of the most heavily guarded parts of the camp."
"Maybe, maybe not," Regina murmured, shrugging.
"Oh?" Cloudhorn arched an eyebrow as high as it could go.
"Depends. Warbosses usually have their strongest cadre nearby, to protect and keep an eye on in case one wishes to take their place," she spoke steadily, eyes occasionally glancing up at the camp and then back to Logan. "But if they get bored enough, takes long enough to get to a good fight, they might widen the gap. Leave things open. For excitement."
"Or these ones, as cunning as they have proven themselves," Cloudhorn shook her head, "Will have dismissed much of our 'common knowledge' about their kind."
"Either way," Logan interrupted as the wizard and Champion looked ready to debate further, "I am not looking to kill, simply learn what I can. Even overhearing them boasting to one another might prove valuable, if the information is good."
Genevieve frowned at him again before clicking her tongue and sighing with a shrug.
"Sometimes you must let the fledglings act for themselves," she muttered before glancing at Cloudhorn and then Regina. "Once you are done with your scouting, return here post-haste and wait for the others. If it takes longer than an hour as best to your reckonings, return to the hangar regardless."
"Or," Cloudhorn tossed her hair before hunkering down to crouch and move alongside the vampire. "If you learn something dire enough, I say go as swiftly as you can."
"That is true," Genevieve nodded before snapping her fingers at Logan and then pointing towards the camp emphatically. "Largest tents I can see are over there, the WAAAAGH!! swirls there even without activity like the shamans."
Logan nodded, his expression grim.
----------------------------------
So then after that point, the scene would largely be Logan moving through the camp, seeing the bonegrinder chaos siege giants, etc. He would likely not have seen the black orc patrols keeping the peace, as the closer he gets to the warboss tents, he'd notice that there were more and more black orcs simply there and around. These ones would not need regular enforcement to get their act together, and he would note just how disturbingly quiet and disciplined they were. There would still be notes about the watch towers, the bonegrinders, etc, the general culture of the war camp. The many tribal banners, but the difference would be that he would see the snotling packs and goblin crews start to winnow out rapidly the further into the black orc portion he got. The orcs present would all be, obviously, gigantic and huge, like the kind he saw during the hangar incursion, those big kind, each of them huge and well armed even compared to the other black orcs elsewhere.
They would, however, be grunting and grousing to themselves. And not all of them would be doing it in the usual broken sort of funetik accented Reikspeil that Logan would be used to. There would be a darker tongue that some of the larger and more scarred ones would speak, something which filled the very air with a sort of supernatural malice. Only a tinge of it, of course, but enough that it would make Logan take notice because the last time he heard things like that it would be from the blasphemous tongue of Chaos itself being spoken aloud and/or chanted by cultists and sorcerers. Not entirely like that, it would be tinged by a strange sense of heat and hate that would be a different 'hue' to Logan's priestly senses than what he'd experienced previously.
Eventually, however, he would start getting closer to the two massive tents at the direct center, noting that the entire section was a very bracketed, strict, and generally organized military camp by comparison to the mishmash that would be the majority of the rest of the camp. Here, the black orcs are truly huge, and these ones don't even speak, and he can actually see with Witch Sight the taint that clings to some of their arms and armor. A lot of it actually. Like a Chaos armory or something was broken open, claimed, and roughly 'scrubbed' down with the WAAAAGH!!! magics of their shamans.
--------------------------------------------------------
It was only good sense, he supposed, that there would be at least some gap between the gap of the leaders of the entire camp and WAAAAAGH!!! though it wasn't nearly as big as perhaps Cloudhorn might have expected. There was no palisade, no wall of spikes, nothing of the sort. Only a zone of emptiness that roughly sketched out an oval between the two equidistant tents that were by their own right huge. These, Logan could tell, were not made with mere squig leather or looted cloth or the like. No, the strange hides which sprang up and wide were heavy enough and large enough to require metal supports along them like ribs. The very ground was bathed in WAAAAGH!! energy, that strange magical power and aura which sprang forth from and to the greenskins. At times, it could feel tingly, but at the moment, it rather felt like Logan was stepping onto hot coals except for the part where they did not burn him.
Each of the tents also had boss poles on them, but they were clearly so much more than the sort that the meager goblin tribes of the Empire's forests might have.
They weren't even single poles, either. Each was a strange structure, as if someone had taken thick poles of black iron with deadly looking spikes protruding out from the sides in all directions. Like a sort of barbed metal wire writ large and given structure and stability. A great many of the spikes were occupied as well, by heads. Some were by huge greenskin heads, what Logan assumed to be rivals or challengers that had been decapitated in death. Others were of large beasts, tongues lolling and eyes glassy. What looked like part of the head of what he thought might have been a skaven abomination of sorts from Evangeline Hertwig's books were present as well. A faintly glowing creature only somewhat resembling a bull, its flesh a scarlet red, sat on one spike still somehow smoldering in death. Shockingly, there were also some black conical helms he recognized as being of Druchii make, alongside the surprised-in-death expressions of the heads within them.
None of which was as strange as the snarling, tusk-mouthed, horn-sprouting heads of what had to be chaos dwarfs.
It was strange to look at these twisted mirrors of the dawi he knew, and yet it was unmistakable despite all the changes. These were dwarfs. Changed. Altered. Sworn to Chaos, in some fashion or another. And each of them was very, very dead. None of them had gone graciously into death, but somehow their sheer hatred and anger had managed to ensure that despite however long it had been since they died their expressions had remained entirely the same. There would be no slack and loose features here, only rictus of fury and denial at their fates as trophies. At the very height of the poles, however, both poles by each tent, was the most confusing heads of all. Because unlike every other head, of flesh and fur and chitin and bone, Logan stared at heads that were all partially stone.
Then he heard a rasping wheeze from one of the warboss tents, and crouched lower in the shadows and neatly stacked crates of weapons and foodstuffs.
There, there was that language again. So similar to Khazalid, but not, he realized.
It had taken hearing it from a throat other than the greenskins, but that was what it had to be.
"Hah! Well, that's your problem then, isn't it, Overseer?" A voice that felt like the rumble of a storm and an avalanche combined filled the air, easily penetrating the hide walls of the tent. "You were the masters of aaaaall you surveyed. But now you're the one in the dirt, skin like rags on your backs," what had to be either Mag or Thraka growled, the even lower timbre of the voice managing to rattle Logan's bones even at a distance. "We're the ones making the deals, the ones with that contract your master worked so hard to get, hurr."
He heard more of that not-Khazalid rasping again.
"WELL THAT AIN'T YOUR DECISION ANYMORE!"
There was a smashing sound, the agonized screech of metal being torn with incredible force.
"We're gonna crack this place open, yeah, but that's because da boss said to, and after that?!"
What came next was likely the best equivalent to a whisper that a Warboss of that size could manage.
"We're gonna take this hole, stink up every pit they got, and get us even more boyz. And then? Gork and Mork are gonna have a nice, long talk with your precious Hashut."
A chuckle that was more boulders grinding together than anything else followed.
-----------------
And then there'd be some other stuff.
Last edited:
Massgamer
Advance toward the Future
- Location
- The Future
Very interesting, thanks for look!