- Location
- Winchester
I just felt slaying your enemies whilst also styling on them (they mentioned doing tricks) would mostly be a Slaanesh thing.
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
- Location
- Somewhere
I don't think so.
Skis aren't a reliable mode of transportation. They might be used on carts in replacement of vehicle wheels. Or there might be some sled-dogs used to pull sleds.
Skis would be used for speed, would be difficult to return onto the track used. They'd be something for hunters to use on a mountain, or a low hill area with large animals around.
Snowshoes can carry weight, like a surprising amount of weight for how deep a snow hill can be. Slower, but more reliable.
The fauna is also hazardous to a person's health, so which one would have a better fighting foot foundation in a melee or range? The skis or the snowshoes?
Edit: @torroar I think something has gone wonky with the Sidestory tab. It's reader mode seems to be messed up near the end of the pages (can access page 51 of sidestories reader mode, but 50 gets me the front page). And the index for the sidestory tab won't work right either. Though it might just be me. At least it drops the sheet down, and the list can be accessed through clicking "...", but.... Shrug. Somthing to be aware of.
Edit2: Yeah I don't get it. Somehow the reader mode Sidestory pages seem to have stuff (might be everything actually) up to page 28, then one post on page 51. With pages 29-50 being blanks? Shrug.
Edit3: Maybe "Excerpts from a lecture by Professor Adolf von Heydrich of the department of Natural History at the university of Altdorf regarding the Beasts of Norsca - Iggyfan" is causing the issue? It seems to be disconnected from the sidestory threadmark flow.
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Yeah I don't know what's up with that. I can look through it okay with regular page just with the dropdown and .... section, but when I tried to open it up in a new tab it was just kinda. Not there? It had the people's names, but no actual posts. Very odd.
Spikes, Horns, and Stone 21
Spikes, Horns, and Stone 21
There is something terribly wrong with the twitching undulations of the Tiranoci squire, stumbling forward and forcing you to back up as she tries to head directly towards Hultressa. It is something that you can only equate somewhat to the same sorts of bodily movement that particularly energized undead possessed during the Vampire War. Zombies or skeletons or wights empowered by a vampire or necromancer's spells to infuse them with unholy vigor. She is not sleep walking, not exactly, it is more that there are forces warring for dominance inside of Eldyra's body and mind as they try and wrestle to the fore after a near unfathomable amount of pain and trauma at the hands of Dreadbringer. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Hultressa subtly twitch her hands upwards with the faintest glow of magic beginning to bloom into visibility, but a gesture from you and a vigorous shake of the head has her stop. Gwendolyn seems unable to decide whether or not she should allow her mother to keep pushing her behind her protectively or if she should stand in front of her mother ready to defend her. She hasn't yet drawn one of her knives, but the child's hands are on the hilts.
"Eldyra!" You say again, this time more firmly, causing the lolling head and unevenly fluttering eyes to twitch in your direction. "Danoi, Eldyra, Danoi," you say with forced calm.
As with almost every other word that you were taught by Sadrina of Eltharin, there are multiple meanings. All of it is in the intonation, the context, and on that ephemeral third level simply managing to project your intent into the world whilst using the word entirely. Something to rely upon the more naturally perceptive capabilities of the elves, the way their minds were capable of working, that in the end you will assuredly never be able to properly comprehend with your comparatively limited and so very human senses. For all of that, you do not speak of sleep, though Danoi can mean such. She is far past that point, and you would not demand that she return to that accursed sleep. Nor do you speak of lethargy, though Danoi can mean that as well. She's plenty enough lethargic at the moment, though the twitches and short terminated bursts of movement and frantic energy are starting to come faster and faster. Instead, you speak of the middle meaning of Danoi, one you are straining as hard as you can.
Peace.
A meaning that you cannot ever imagine being spoken by the Druchii unless it were being used mockingly, or perhaps when speaking as to the peacefulness of the grave, of the dead on the battlefield, and other such things.
"You are safe here," you continue in Eltharin, stepping back step to step with Eldyra as she advances.
(The Broken Tor: 35-Awoken By Wrath(5)+No Violence Offered(5)+No Restraints Forced(10)+A Barbarous Tongue(10)+Vengeance Gained(15)-A Mind Gone Dark(30)=40/100)
The keening, whistling sound of pain that has escaped Eldyra up until this point disappears.
For the briefest moment you allow yourself to hope.
But then her lips peel back to bare her teeth in a feral snarl and a burst of near gibberish escapes her mouth.
"Loedrakhelthraicynath!" She howls at you before those fluttering eyes go wide, revealing that the storm grey of her eyes has gone literally dark in a manner that is disturbingly similar to that of both Gwendolyn and Kerillian.
The words that spill from her lips are mishmash Eltharin, but immediately you can feel the difference in them, in the intonation, the sensations and meanings conferred. Powerfully, as well, not just something requiring supposition and emotional intelligence and your own knowledge working together to make an approximation. No, this is the precise sort of thing that perhaps only elves or otherwise supernaturally powerful beings can manage, a subtle shockwave of pain and hatred and self-loathing of all things which seems to scorch the air around your ears. But the greater issue is that somehow you know, you simply know, that what she spoke could not be properly considered Tar-Eltharin, the dialect of the Asur. There is too much darkness in that guttural exclamation, the sort of thing you associate far more with Druhir. Not the point of invoking the Black Tongue of Chaos' contributions to that dialect, but the unwholesome cutting nature of the exhalation remains distinct.
All of which you barely are able to process before she swipes for you with the weapon she has made for herself.
(Pacifistic Approach: 71+Frederick Martial(19)-Eldyra Martial(20)-Deliberately Defenseless(10)+Barely Awoken(10)=70/100)
Hultressa is a true master of fleshcrafting. She intimately knows how to individually separate muscle fibers and strands from one another across the whole of the body. To identify and mark and mold every single organ, every single vein, down to the smallest of them in the fingers and toes. To unravel and then build up with precise applications of Ghyran and Ghur to produce and alter from the innermost marrow to the outer layers of the skin. She has, you have overheard her muttering to herself as she thinks about terrors she is currently crafting while at dinner, disturbing knowledge about the nervous system of the body and its connections throughout. It is the kind of knowledge and experience that certain scholars of the Empire would likely pay multiple fortunes for, given the continual clashing of the studiers of anatomy and the Cult of Morr. It should come as no surprise then when, combined with her natural mastery over the Eight Winds of Magic, Dhar, and Hysh that no Imperial Wizard could hope to match, she was more than capable of restoring Eldyra despite the tortures of the Cult of Khaine. More than that, she maintained the Asur as she laid in repose, without any of the kinds of loss of muscle definition or manual dexterity expected by those who are forced unconscious for truly extended periods of time. All the trained triggers and instincts from years of training under who is – as far as you know – the pinnacle of Elven swordsmanship, are therefore more than capable of being utilized by a body that is essentially in peak condition.
All of which means that, despite everything, Eldyra nearly takes you in the throat with the broken bottle.
Twice.
In two seconds.
"I am not your enemy, Eldyra," you shake your head, arms outstretched to the sides as you leap backwards out of the way. "I heard Loec in there, and no, this isn't a trick. Not the time to invoke Drakira either," you say before again shaking your head at a very wary looking Hultressa who is still backing up and circling. "Remember, your enemy is dead. I killed him. Remember? Like back in Athel Loren? I killed Orion too. Just like I killed Tullaris Dreadbringer."
(The Broken Tor: 67-5+5+10+10+15-30+Invoking The Tormentor(1d2=2=+25)=97/100)
And Eldyra slows, the darkness in her eyes still there, the grip on her weapon still tight, but her manic approach slows all the same. She tracks you now, still twitching horrifically, eyes no longer fluttering just to stay open but instead blinking rapidly and unevenly from one another.
"He had a lot to say about how much he was going to hurt me, my people, my family, my friends," you continue slowly, pausing momentarily as her grip on the bottle tightens to the point that the already stressed glass cracks further. "But won't. He can't. Not to anyone ever again. Because he died. You want to hear how I killed him?"
You have been purposefully retreating, circling around, back until you've returned to where Eldyra herself once laid for so many days and nights. There was no way for her to know that she had left her very own sword Death Thorn behind when she rolled off and forwards half-mindless and feral. Even if she did possess some extra sense of it, some esoteric connection forged by those who fight and practice so long their weapons become pure extensions of their bodies, she could not have reached it thanks to the shape of the recliner. It was on the opposite side, simply laid at rest on a small weapon stand that Hultressa had procured from somewhere. Not exactly pride of place, but workable enough. Despite all the desecration it had been forced into, the damage sustained by the exposure to the foul touch of Dreadbringer and Khaine, it was not destroyed or hopefully irreparably damaged. In truth, you suspect that a magical artisan of Hultressa's skill could repair it if she had the time and resources, but thus far she has not had the former or the willingness to expend the latter given everything else going on.
"He struggled against me," you say slowly. "Fought hard. Called upon his God, scorched everything around us in bloodflame. But he still couldn't stop me. Do you want to hear how Tullaris Dreadbringer died?"
Eldyra's chest is heaving with every ragged breath.
(The Broken Tor: 56-5+5+10+10+15-30+The Hunger For Vengeance(15)=76/100)
But she advances no further.
"I…," you raise up your hands, not towards her, but simply in illustration despite being unsure how much she is actually seeing with her eyes at the moment. "Booted him in his damn gut," you growl out, your own Eltharin now starting to waver and twist with your words, your memories flooding back with every syllable. "And carved his precious draich out of his grip. Imagine that, Eldyra. The terrible and fearsome Tullaris, a so-called pinnacle of Druchii warriors, losing his bedamned weapon."
The Asur's breathing begins to steady, though not necessarily slow down. It is simply less erratic than before, her lungs no longer working for each and every gasped breath. A faint noise escapes her, though you can't tell if it's a whine or a hiss or a grunt, rather it is something indescribable as exhalation from that deep and dark place that she threw herself into as a final defense against her torture. A sound half-heard from the depths of the deepest mineshaft, the kind that even dwarfs would be wary of digging.
"Tried to grab another, some no-name lackwit Druchii, another supposed peerless warrior – more a wretch, of course," you're almost snarling the words now, the contempt and hate in your soul boiling forth into your Eltharin, the almost arcane language shifting in the air despite your own lack of any magical capabilities. "Wasn't enough either. And then…I grabbed him by his damned throat!" You clutch at the air, clutch at the image in your mind, at the memory.
You can feel his struggling in your grip, even now, as if you are right back there.
Now your own lips are peeling back in angry, vicious satisfaction, and you'd almost swear that you could hear the howling of the ancient Udoses screaming their joy as the Norsii died one and all on a burning shoreline. You do not look at Hultressa or Gwendolyn directly, but you can see that they too have gone still on the other side of the room, just near one of the doors.
"Eldyra of Tiranoc…do you want to hear how Tullaris Dreadbringer died?" You ask again, your voice low and guttural now. "Because I will tell you…if you let go of the bottle. You don't have to defend yourself from him ever again. He is dead. This I swear to you."
(The Broken Tor: 73-5+5+10+10+15-30+15-Promises Made(10)=83/100)
Eldyra doesn't lunge for you.
Or at least, it doesn't seem like she fully does so of her own accord.
There is a push there, an impulse, a tensing of muscles, which drags her forwards as her entire body trembles and shakes so badly she almost seems to vibrate.
The keening returns this time rather than the mishmash of words, but this time it is far more pained.
Like that of a dying animal, scared and terrified of something it couldn't truly comprehend.
You have heard sounds like it before – horses on the battlefield too wounded to be saved in time by a wizard or priest. A deer that has been struck badly but not immediately fatally by a hunter's arrow.
But she lets go of the broken bottle all the same, and though it crashes to the ground and breaks into many more pieces she still steps forward uncaring of the tiny cuts and nicks that have appeared on her right ankle and calf. Her hands still clench and unclench, however, seeking something – anything – to hold onto. She is listening, somewhere in that darkness, at least some part of her is. But so too is so very much more of her still locked into that life or death struggle, all but drowned in pain thanks to the Chosen of Khaine and his ministrations.
"Brain Wounder," you inform her, "You remember it, right? Back in Laurelorn. Right after you told me all about Tiranoc, and the great hero Eldyr. You held it. Felt the weight. You let me hold Death Thorn, and I let you hold Brain Wounder."
Then you very, very carefully, unsheathe your Runefang before taking advantage of its perfect balance and weight to swing it about so that the blade is pointing towards you and the hilt is just in front of her.
"You remember how it felt to hold. Back then, it was like you weren't even sure of how to hold it, if you even should. But there was no one around. So you did."
With a small lurch, her sword arm comes up and locks around the hilt of your Runefang in a death grip, knuckles going white with the tightness and force.
"You feel that weight? Good. Because you're holding the same weapon that killed him. You're wielding it. So I want you to feel more than its weight," your voice is growing lower and deeper now as you step forward again, letting Brain Wounder's flat slide over your shoulder as you approach her. "I want you to feel it like I did. Because he spent a hell of a lot of time talking about you. So now you get to hear a hell of a lot about what it was like for him to die…no. You get to understand how it is to kill him."
There is a shifting out of the corner of your eye, but you don't give it any attention. Eldyra requires all you have right now, in this moment. So you reach out and grasp for her free hand to clasp it in one of yours, and then have to restrain a wince as she unleashes a grindingly powerful grip that almost turns the bones to powder inside the skin. But restrain it you do.
(The Broken Tor: 55-5+5+10+10+15-30+15+Defiant Tiranoc(5)=80/100)
"You have him by the throat, Eldyra, you have him," you whisper to her, and the Asur's breath starts growing hot and hard, her free hand crushing yours all the harder. "You've cut him and kicked him and you have him by the throat. He's struggling, struggling hard, but you've got him all the same. He's screaming about his God, his precious God, about how you're unworthy…but you have him all the same."
Eldyra's lips peel back again, bared, and her eyes become an unblinking savage glare that tries to bore its way through your heart as she takes another step forward until the two of you are just shy of embracing in a hug.
Or maybe a death grapple.
"You have him and then these are the words you say to him, the last words he will ever hear," you growl to her to her, "Not in his precious Druhir, or any dialect of that ageless and superior Eltharin, but in the barbarian's tongue of Reikspiel. A primitive's tongue. A worthless creature that has stood up and taken him, that his kind think of little more than as cattle."
Her teeth, clenching so hard just a second before, seem to unlatch from one another and hang open slightly as you for the first time so far revert to your mother tongue.
"Go," you begin in a hiss, the words incredibly quiet and meant solely for Eldyra's ears alone.
And it is enough, for instead of in Eltharin, the rough tongue of Reikspiel comes staggering out of her mouth.
"Go," Eldyra rasps.
"To your precious God," you sneer with all your contempt, all your disgust, all your hatred for that foul entity's existence in your life.
"To your precious God," she is hoarse, but her words carry so much emotion she should be collapsing under the sheer weight of them all.
"As you were in life," you feel it as her grip on Brain Wounder and on your hand increases in force, astonishingly enough.
As perhaps just out of the corner of your eye, in the very edges of your peripheral vision, you see the faintest flare of glow and light from the runes of the Runefang.
"As you were in life," she barely chokes out under her hate.
"Worthless," you recite softly.
"WORTHLESS!" She screams out loud, pushing forward until her face is screaming the word into your heart, pressing the whole of her body against you without letting go of Brain Wounder or your hand.
"And then!" You thunder now, "You hold the bastard by his worthless throat, and you take your Runefang, the bloodflame of his God spewing over you, cooking your skin, but it is not enough! It is not enough from you driving Brain Wounder deep into him, parting him like silk, like cloth, like butter!"
Eldyra finds new vengeful reserves and howls all the louder, shaking hard against you to the point that you do have to actually expend a bit more work with your other hand to stop your own Runefang from slicing sideways into your neck or otherwise.
"He is burning his very existence, his very soul, making himself a pyre for his God, to become the Bloody-Hand of his God and it is NOT ENOUGH!" You roar. "Not enough to stop you from flaying the flayer, to scalp the scalper, to do unto him as he has done unto too many others! From carving his pathetic, twisted, wrinkled, weaselly face from his head, and not enough to stop you from taking your Runefang and dragging it back through his spine and past his throat to sever head from body!"
A second scream of all things comes from a much younger elven throat, for some reason, but you're still mostly focused on Eldyra as she sucks in breath like a forge's bellows buried against you.
"He dies, worthless, he dies, aflame, he dies, struggling, he dies!" You shout out, and feel it as her grip on your free hand loosens just enough so that you can move the purpled and blackened hand out and then wrap it around Eldyra's upper back to actually properly hug her.
You also must twitch and bend slightly as Brain Wounder falls from suddenly nerveless fingers so that it doesn't cut into either of you as she lets go to now wrap an arm around you and haul you closer. It's not the most dignified way for a Runefang to be treated, but you suspect that Alaric the Mad would understand. And if not, well, he was insane anyway, supposedly.
"His body falls, scrabbling, limp, burning to ash as he fails his God forevermore, and his burnt skull drops from your hand as you bring up your boot and stomp the damned thing to pieces!" You scream. "He is dead, dead and gone! Forever! For you know as well as I that such a failure will only ever be rewarded with punishment, even by his God!"
A final pained scream escapes Eldyra before coming to a sudden halt, the Asur falling limp against you. Your heart booms in your chest, your own breathing hard from the emotions and remembrance, and yet you hold her upright the whole while. Only then can you look up, and see a truly indescribable expression on Hultressa's face as she holds her daughter in her arms. Gwendolyn looks exhausted, her hair matted to her sweaty smaller body, the young killer twitching and writhing in her mother's arms as something in that pitch black darkness of her eyes seeming paradoxically luminescent. Something that is fading, even now as you watch, until the young Druchii suddenly falls asleep in Hultressa's arms, the sorceress breathing with absolute control and precision. Something that is clear enough to your eyes in this moment to be something demanding an excessive amount of her active control and attention to manage.
Then there is a sob from your chest, a shuddering, choking thing, which accompanies a slow but steady release in the crushing of Eldyra's arms against you.
"He's dead," you murmur to her again, and receive another shuddering sob, and then another. "He's dead."
You just stay there, holding her, until you can feel and hear muffled words.
"He's dead," you repeat, and this time you can track the syllables she's mumbling to herself, in Reikspiel and not Eltharin.
She is repeating those two words again and again.
"He's dead," you repeat once more, and then all of that strangled animalistic energies which so suffused her dissipates entirely.
At which point you're not simply embracing but outright keeping Eldyra upright before taking a few careful steps back and then sitting back down onto the same recliner where she started this mess.
"He's dead," you can finally somewhat clearly hear her say as you separate slightly. "He's dead. He's dead. He's dead. He's dead."
"Yes, yes he is," you reassure her.
And then you reach out, and just like you did, so long ago in Laurelorn when you inadvertently introduced her to harder drinking than she ever learned under Tyrion, you begin rubbing small circles in her back. Nearby, you see an exhausted looking Hultressa sit down heavily in a chair, holding the now quietly slumbering Gwendolyn against her. Wordlessly and silently, she gestures, and a bottle of wine comes sailing out of the air to land in her grip. She does not bother with a wine glass this time, and simply drinks. None of which makes Eldyra twitch or react, as she just keeps repeating 'he's dead' to herself again and again, holding tightly to you like a lifeline in a storm. You don't know how long you all remain there, only that Hultressa manages to empty her bottle of wine at some point, and that it is some time after that point that Eldyra finally stops her mantra.
"…you're real," she whispers, still curled up against you. "You're real. It's not a lie. It's not an illusion. You're here."
"I am," you say calmly, still rubbing the circles into her back. "I'm here. You're here. He's not. Sorry I'm not Tyrion."
She hiccups a mixture of a sob and a laugh, and only then does she look up at you.
Blessedly, her grey eyes are once more in prominence, though you cannot miss the fact that there is still a notably darker hue to that grey than you remember. Even the whites of her eyes are no longer so white.
"I'm here," you tell her again. "And so," you reach down and then her darker grey eyes widen as you bring up Death Thorn into view, "Are you."
Eldrya bursts out sobbing all over again as she reaches out and clutches her father's blade close, rocking in place. When you look up, you see Hultressa rolling her eyes and then summoning forth another bottle of wine to drink.
"T-thank y-you," she weeps uncontrollably. "T-hank you…,"
"Anytime," you murmur. "Anytime."
Now you just have to figure out how to introduce her to Hultressa properly.
----------
No immediate vote here. Been long enough since last update anyhow. Next one should hopefully not take too long.
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- Pronouns
- He/Him
AzraelvonGruber
probably should put something here...
- Location
- somewhere in France
Oh god my fucking heart
By sigmar's balls and Isha ´s tits i'm so happy Freddy managed to bring her back
By sigmar's balls and Isha ´s tits i'm so happy Freddy managed to bring her back
- Location
- 47° 09′ S, 126° 43′ O
If i remember well last time freddy did something really impresive with the elf the retalling of the event they did downplayed his role in it,now i'm realy curious if the same happen here how long it will take before eldrya beat in a bloody smear anyone trying to play that ?
Alectai
Speaks Words of Wisdom... On occasion
Yeah, I think what Freddy just showed off was something really scary to the two Dark Elfs watching.
A being who had Mastered their Inner Khaine, instead of being Mastered by it. The violence is there, but it can be used to heal and protect rather than simply destroy destroy destroy.
Literally gave someone therapy and closure by letting them vicariously get vengeance on an already dead tormentor. Amazing.
A being who had Mastered their Inner Khaine, instead of being Mastered by it. The violence is there, but it can be used to heal and protect rather than simply destroy destroy destroy.
Literally gave someone therapy and closure by letting them vicariously get vengeance on an already dead tormentor. Amazing.
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Ouch. Me heartstrings!🥲
To these two specifically it is only scary in the sense hope is scary.
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Massgamer
Advance toward the Future
- Location
- The Future
Oh man, so many emotions!
But so glad Freddy's first unofficial elf daughter is awake again.
Meanwhile, Freddy will give her all the hugs until then.
And Hultressa has good reason to be on her best behavior with her since she is the squire of the greatest high elf warrior alive and the consort of the Everqueen herself.
But so glad Freddy's first unofficial elf daughter is awake again.
Tyrion better give her a hug after all this, or else his girlfriend will glare at him while she does.
Meanwhile, Freddy will give her all the hugs until then.
That will be a challenge, but at the same time maybe not? Cause I'm sure the idea of a dark elf wanting to leave life to give her daughter a better one would really connect to her.
And Hultressa has good reason to be on her best behavior with her since she is the squire of the greatest high elf warrior alive and the consort of the Everqueen herself.
- Location
- Poland
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Eldyra's alright. That is all that matters.
Details like introducing her to Hultressa can come later.
I doubt they will come to blows anyway. Barring astonishingly bad rolls. And even then.
Details like introducing her to Hultressa can come later.
I doubt they will come to blows anyway. Barring astonishingly bad rolls. And even then.
Variations of this are acceptable and I'm sure someone else can write it better than I, but in essence there is only one proper answer;
"Hultressa, Gwendolyn, this is Eldyra of Tiranoc. Squire of Tyrion, a knight with few equals and no superiors, a sister in arms, and for all but legal intents and purposes my adopted daughter should she be willing. I think she and Gwendolyn would be good friends.".
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Those poor elf girls will have such high standards for husbands/father of their children
Frederick von Hohenzollern, Trauma Therapist specializing in Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Successful cases so far: 2.
Cases Attempted: 2.
Existentialism Specialization.
@torroar Just for a laugh. When I got to Eldyra gripping the Runefang, my playlist started on "Do you hear the people sing?" It worked.
Successful cases so far: 2.
Cases Attempted: 2.
Existentialism Specialization.
@torroar Just for a laugh. When I got to Eldyra gripping the Runefang, my playlist started on "Do you hear the people sing?" It worked.
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- Location
- Texas
Idea for how to get into the auction.
We're the entertainment, dose us with the loyalty potion that we can resist, then put us and Eldrya up with our weapons in a small arena, fake fight for a while, the squire being tortured, forced to fight against her mon'keigh friend, getting closer and closer to being forced to kill him, and when a distraction emerges, we charge out and save our allies.
We're the entertainment, dose us with the loyalty potion that we can resist, then put us and Eldrya up with our weapons in a small arena, fake fight for a while, the squire being tortured, forced to fight against her mon'keigh friend, getting closer and closer to being forced to kill him, and when a distraction emerges, we charge out and save our allies.
- Location
- Somewhere
Freddy is a Target, one that is the prime choice to kill regardless of Hultressa's influence.
This is not 40k. This is warhammer fantasy, the culture of the dark elves is different.
If Freddy hadn't done what he has done, deny them a Arcane Fulcrum, deny them Albion, deny them Dreadbringer, deny them a dragon rider, deny them Salkalten. A arena match might have worked.
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Blackangel
Preacher of the dice gods
Yay trauma! I'm so fucking happy!
Also having khaine do a baby rage in the corner through Gwen was great.
Also having khaine do a baby rage in the corner through Gwen was great.
Massgamer
Advance toward the Future
- Location
- The Future
Little worried about this, but hopefully mainly just due to the torture she was under and not calling on any dark power herself.
Either way, so long as she is alive and is safely taken back to Everqueen she can help heal up any lingering effects, and likely heal her mind too better than anything else in world.
Was Khaine getting pissed about Freddy telling story about how he killed one of his Chosen?
Elves and dwarfs used to be super best friends, so not crazy to think elves can like same things as them and vice versa, even if none of them alive will admit it.
MrRobot
In doubt there's always the Sun!
There's Just no downplaying what he did. It's a matter of pride at this point both the Humbling of the druichi and the extent his dedication got trough him. He did something that would Impress every Asur warrior to some extent. He utterly denied Khaine, not once, not twice but tree times over.
- Location
- Somewhere
"Loedrakhelthraicynath"
Loedra = ???
khelthrai = A bloody death
cynath = Chill, death, silence, loneliness
What Freddy is going through is better associated with the human version of Khaine, yet Gwendolyn, linked with the elven god Khaine, is reacting to it.
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