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If i remember correctly, the force we are facing is already considerably stronger than the one that almost ended sigmar.
Magnus commented on it in a matter of fact manner, even as his faith side was revolted by the idea
Warhammer Fantasy: A Dynasty of Dynamic Alcoholism
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Magnus commented on it in a matter of fact manner, even as his faith side was revolted by the idea
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Yeah, more greenskins than Sigmar faced. In hndsight this was one of the signs this Whaaaaaagh is not normal. At least if the greenskins here are elminated there will be a long reprieve from greenskin hordes this massive.
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Gotta remember, this waagh did the almost unheard of feat of taking a major skaven undercity.
Only other time that happened as far as i am aware of is nagash destroying the major skaven undercity in nagashizaar.
And the orcs after that proceeded to launch themselves at karaz a karak.
Only other time that happened as far as i am aware of is nagash destroying the major skaven undercity in nagashizaar.
And the orcs after that proceeded to launch themselves at karaz a karak.
I am saying he's going to experience very unpleasant things and that he's going to wish he had more allies.
I just hope he doesn't ruin middenland in the process.
Restalaan
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I doubt it, weakened for years to come, for sure but beaten? Not a chance.
Heck, Mr.Bloodbowl ( i forgot his name, at the moment) was from the battle of three armies long ago and he's STILL kicking. There's always gonna be more greenskins.
Now, if only we could point them to be locked in a forever war with the Skaven AKA Bonelands 3.0 again. It'll be the best outcome.
Traumatize? Or encourage?
Orcs like foightin. The bigger tha bettah.
it's not Mag Uruk Thraka right?
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I can only hope that the chaos dwarfs got what they deserved and had their city razed to the ground by the super orcs , which would be a huge net positive for the world since a sizable chunk of chaos armor and weapons are made by those runts , so between the major Skaven city and whatever they did to the chaos dwarfs the orcs have been a net positive to the world so far
Restalaan
What do you mean i am not a real cowboy?
That's their next target on the list, they're doing Karaz az Karak first as a practice (Technically) before moving to the Dawi Zharr (As well as hints for hitting the Great Bastion as they're negotiating with the Hob-gobbla Khans.).
Which is a shame, cause it would've been quite the sight.
iggyfan
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That may have happened, though not for the reason you're thinking. When Gork (or possibly Mork) broke their foot on the walls of Karaz-a-Karak all the greenskins on the Claw of Dominion went berserk. If a similar event happened in Zharr-Naggrund, a place noted to be one major slave revolt away from ruin, well ...
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It is not the Mag Uruk Thraka homage.
Warboss Gorebash, who was travelling with Wurrzag (a named canon greenskin), and a Whaaaaagh on the sea, until Wurrzag abandoned Gorebash, with half of Gorebash's Whaaaagh, on Gorebash's way to Naggaroth.
The high elf Teclis was part of a group that had called down a storm to push Gorebash's Whaaagh away from Ulthuan. Gorebash's Whaaagh is shipwrecked in the Southern Chaos Wastes, and still is, last glimpse we got of it in 2344 IC (During Da Big Kick).
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Oh this is absolutely stronger than any greenskin force ever seen. I meant it would be like that battle. It will decide who controls the world's edge mountains. Sigmar denied the greenskin migration true entry into the Reik Basin. Now any greenskin there doesn't have the Legion of numbers that reside elswhere able to call for waagh"s. Essentially I imagine orcs and goblins like the fungus that they are. These key battles make sure the infection is partitioned. The world's edge divides badland and basin orcs from their members in the east. The blackfire pass denies badland orcs the basin orcs reinforcement. The divide and conquer strategy so no one waagh would have the numbers. If the battle is lost the world's edge will no longer break millions strong migrations into hundreds of splinter groups able to be defeated.
[CANON] A Bonestrewn Path 7 - torroar
A Bonestrewn Path 7
Northwestern Vaults2343 IC
Stone trembled.
Stone cracked.
Then with a mighty heave that should have been accompanied by great gasps of effort and rumbling roars of strain the stone came tumbling down. That which had not been touched by light from the sun or either moons in over three thousand years was once more illuminated. It was just unfortunate for most who lived in the Old World that tonight was one lit most highly by the worst of all the celestial objects known to them. The leering green face of Morrslieb shined down upon the land, and where its fell emerald light touched all that was unclean and unwholesome was invigorated while the opposite was sickened and made uneasy. At farms across the continent, cattle and animals were shut up in their barns with all windows and entrances made securely shut. Few were those brave enough to walk in the streets of the cities openly, while most preferred to stick to the shadows and buildings that they had the opportunity to enter. A man was vomiting out blood and shreds of organ matter after tiredly opening a window to see who had been knocking at his door. A homeless beggar in Marienburg moaned in pain as his eyes rolled back into his head, then back further still, before finally rolling and bulging out of the sockets as his meager few stolen planks of wood proved ineffectual protection. The two swollen orbs began to mutate further and further, until they were as extended slugs of rheumy white shot through with pulsating red veins, drifting slightly back and forth as the man screamed clutching at his face from which they now protruded.
At which point he collapsed, his heart giving out from the pain and fear, and with him the two entities which had not yet sufficiently grown strong enough to live independently let out fearful shrieks that sounded like that of a newborn and unremarkable human babe being smothered in the cradle as they too died.
On and on, such things went across the Old World as Morrslieb drew close. It was not full, not quite, not as it was on two of the most dreadful days of the year, but it had waxed dangerously, nonetheless. Graves began to stir in graveyards insufficiently well-kept by the servants of Morr. Wailing spirits started to flicker into solidity, though many remained unaware of the difference from being imperceptible shades and translucent victims of the world. Elsewhere, eager and cackling vampires who had remained hidden from the recent crusades through the Empire arched backs and raised hands high as they began to perform great and terrible works of their own. Skittering, sniffing skaven cocked their heads as they scampered about in the open, some of them raising gleaming red eyes at the sky with nothing but greedy desire in their hearts as they beheld that greatest bounty of Warpstone in all of existence. Beastmen chanted and raved to each other, snarling and biting, while their shamans called upon the Dark Gods in their own hideous rituals.
So to was it that here, deep in the Vaults, intersecting the path of the Black and Grey Mountains, that the eldritch green light of Morrslieb shined down and revealed treasures aplenty within the now opened barrow. There, shining, in great piles, were the gathered up detritus of the ages ripe for the picking. Coinage was quite prominent, whether gold, silver, or copper, all of which was etched and marked with primitive symbols and sigils for a tribe so dead and gone that none alive remembered them. There were archaeological wonders to be found as well, great examples of ancient craftsmanship in urns of bronze and clay while a faded mural made of once-bright pigments had been painstakingly put in place on one of the walls of the barrow tomb. A mural to illustrate glories, triumphs, and tragedies, yet time had taken its due here as well. Such was the actual work that had been put into constructing the barrow, and just as importantly the crude talismans made of bronze and bone which hung from the ceiling and had been placed into the inner walls, that there were no tedious vermin to be found either. No flooding of rats along the ground towards freedom, nor the flapping of wings from a group of bats as their home was invaded. But an invasion it was, all the same, and though it had been so very long, this hallowed place did have some protections put into place by those who had built it.
The ancient talismans began to glow, to find themselves invigorated actively for the first time since they had been placed, and through the opening out into the world the Winds of Magic began to swirl and drift. For those ancient priests and shamans of the old days, who had teased out secrets and knowledge from painful and often horrific trial and error over the many generations, who could call upon Gods that were either now long dead or otherwise so changed and evolved as to be unrecognizable to those ancient calls, had not been powerless in their time. The old wards started to come to life, and for all of their primitive natures, they were not pointless. No, not at all. A few motes of essence of holy power from long lost entities began to burn alight, as the protections fully activated with the cracking open of the tomb, and the moment a single boney foot stepped forward, they reacted, lashing out with a mixture of misty whites and blues of lightning and fire.
Yet though they broke apart that hapless single skeleton, burning it to ash in an instant and leaving the old moldering armor it once wore empty save for hot bone dust, it would not be enough. Not nearly enough as a far greater swelling of dark power, of magic tainted and blackened by that which many would call evil drew itself to the fore. The ancient talismans began to flicker, began to fade, while others of them started to shatter apart from the sheer power that they found themselves contesting. Then the presence came closer, and closer still, and where the hapless skeleton had fallen, the wight king that stepped through afterwards was not nearly so feeble. No, this being stood so much taller, so much wider, a figure that had been quite inhumanely powerful in life through the blessings of the Dark Gods themselves for their great and terrible champion, then transformed all the more through the First Necromancer, and was now sheathed in armor that had cost the sacking of the Sorcerer Islands of Araby and many another plundered tomb.
Krell the Lord of Undeath himself stood within the bounds of the barrow, and by his presence alone and the sheer power of the necromantic energies suffusing his body, strangled the talismans and protections of the tomb to their own destructions. The sockets of his eyes burned with terrible blue-black fires, but that was all that could be seen of him. The infamous black plate and axe that had once been laid to rest with him in his tomb had been stolen from him, but the replacements granted to him were no less fearsome. The ancient elaborate plate of Chaos Armor had been replaced with armor that now blazed anew with unholy power, forged in the depths of the Black Fortress with the fires of Hashut himself. It no longer bore the marks of Chaos, for Krell was now a slave and servant to another darkness entirely. Though it had been a near thing, the negotiations and riches assembled for payment had been enough, and so instead it was with necromantic symbols and energies with which the warpstone-infused black steel had been shaped and brought to bear. The death mask and helm that Krell now wore was an especially fearsome one, modeled similarly to those of the Infernal Guard of the Dawi Zharr, while he once more held a double-headed axe of devastating design and power.
Such was the necromantic power that suffused and billowed outwards from the Lord of Undeath, as well as the lodestones of Dark Magic that had been placed within the innards of his skeletal form, that the honored dead within the barrow began to twitch. Ancient champions and guards, or at the least their bodies, began to move and shamble off of their stone biers, began to push open their coffins, and began to shamble outwards in accordance to the dominating will now commanding them. Not Krells, of course, not entirely, but rather that which guided him and now brought their own will and power to bear within the tomb from afar. At the very center of the barrow, a long dead king let loose a rattling hiss as air and Dark Magic was sucked down past the skeleton's jaw to begin swirling below the ribcage. Ancient armor clanked as the being rose up, old soul returned forcibly to their body through no design of their own. Confused, bleary, the dead king did not have much time to begin to contemplate the newfound horror of their existence. The fact that they could not take a breath, that they did not blink, that they saw the world through their own empty eye sockets and the magical flames which now burned there. A scream that came from within and required no lungs to express began to build up and out, yet before a single note of it could escape, the dead king found himself unable to do anything. Do anything at all. He was not blessed with the magics of the old shamans, yet now in his new state could see the Winds twist around him. Twist, and curdle, and loop about into not merely threads but an infinity of ethereal chains.
"No-,' the dead king began to cry out before even that was stolen from him too.
The power that fell upon him was too great. The bindings too complete, too powerful, to be denied. In an instant, a sovereign who had once ruled over a mighty tribe and guided them gloriously in a blood-drenched world beset on all sides by rivals and monsters alike, was dominated utterly. The wight king stilled in its protestations, and its arms fell to its side, the mind within screaming before it too was ground down, shredded, and reformulated in accordance to a spell being whispered by the a trembling figure at the entrance of the barrow, leaning heavily on Krell to the point that it was the only reason they could stand at all. There, as the newly bound wight king marched forth to assemble out under the green moonlight, the invader and conqueror of the tomb was revealed. The vast power that bloomed from him was terribly at odds with the figure there, who nodded once at his new bounty of servants before slowly sliding down the outer wall of the barrow and groaning and moaning in pain.
There was no hat to guard his head, revealing a surprisingly thick and long mane of white hair that fell down his head and back in messy sweat-drenched strands. One eye was bloodshot yet otherwise clear, dancing about across the small clearing as if waiting for some sort of assault. All that would be seen, instead, were the other barrows that had been broken into this night, and the growing army of undead that was assembled there, amongst the old trees and shrubbery of the mountains. Cold air was inhaled and exhaled with wheezing breaths, heavily labored, as if the very act of breathing itself was tiring in some way. His robes were tattered things, the human skin that had once made up a good bit of the clothing ruined, ripped, and burned. His other eye was an unseeing milky-white thing that visibly wobbled in the socket from time to time, a deep and heavy scar riven down the left side of his face that scarred him from jaw to hairline from a sword stroke that had nearly ended his life. Even though it had not, the after effects of the damage done to his body, the spells cast upon him, the near sundering of his very twisted soul, all still lingered as he huddled there, holding himself before vomiting a watery sputum onto the ground next to him.
"Damn you…," Heinrich Kemmler muttered to himself, rubbing at his temples before letting loose an open groan of pain as another wracking spasm struck his body, "Damn you Arkhan!" He finished his outburst, chest heaving with the effort of it.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Every time he thought himself ascendant, truly so, he had been proven wrong. Every time now, he had found himself brought ever closer to the very brink of death. The very thing he had delved into the depths of necromancy to avoid! He, the one who had conquered so many, who had in his possession no less than four of the Books of Nagash, was the one who was being just shy of killed! It should have been enough, that was what he told himself, that it should have been enough. His preparations, his power, his knowledge. But then the greenskins that had apparently been screening him from any incursions from the south in his temporary bastion in the ruins of Mourkain had decided to all go off and actually get moving en masse. Enough of them gone that bastard servant of Nagash had come for him. Of course Heinrich had known that his power would bring rivals, for it was the power of others that had made him come for them. But the so-called Liche Lord, despite having only one Book, had been a student of Nagash when the First Necromancer had lived. Yet with all his defenses, all his power, Heinrich had actually thought he might have a chance.
Yet now here he was, huddled away in the Vaults, trying to scrounge together another army, having barely managed to escape with his life and most important possessions, all with Krell still under his command. Something that, until Arkhan had attempted to wrest command of the once-servant of Nagash to his side once more, Heinrich hadn't even considered possible! That battle of dominance alone had nearly killed him from the effort, let alone the destruction of the rest of his servants. The comparatively younger necromancer seethed at the very thought of it, even as he turned his remaining functional eye with paranoid suspicions towards the unmoving and unspeaking Krell. His great servant, his great and powerful servant. How powerful? How great? Enough to resist? Enough to go elsewhere? He could not be sure anymore, and that was an affront that Heinrich would never forgive the Liche Lord for. But at the same time, in that battle, he had witnessed the sheer power and breadth of necromancy that he had not yet reached, and he hungered for it all the same.
That was what he needed, yes!
More knowledge. More power!
"I will have it, oh yes," Heinrich muttered to himself as he tried to be invigorated by the power of Morrslieb. "I will have it. Just you wait, you fool, you blundering oaf. You didn't – you couldn't kill me, could you? Oh no, no no. But I will not make that mistake," he spat to himself and the world and his new and most hated enemy. "You will die, Arkhan," he promised as he shuddered and spasmed once more, "You will."
Another pulse of his will drew forth a shambling undead ogre, and the servant pulled open the drawstring door that had been made of its stomach to reveal a pristine and dry series of bookshelves filled with a vast amount of tomes, all of which were so powerful that now revealed released a more invigorating aura of undeath and Dark Magic. Trembling, drool dribbling down his lips, Heinrich pulled himself upwards and dragged some of the books out of the mobile library before landing in an undignified heap once more upon the ground. Feverishly, angrily, he began to read once more, muttering to himself words of power and destruction and death. He had more studying to do. More knowledge to gain, to understand, to utilize. He had been defeated, but not slain, and so long as he lived - he would live, he would live forever for that was the cause and pledge of all necromancers - he could claw his way back.
"Perhaps I'll make you my own slave," he whispered, chuckling darkly to himself. "Oh my, yes. A footman? No, a footstool, perhaps...heheahahahaHAHAHAHAH!"
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well, I can't deny ambition.
(and at least he will be busy elsewhere)
(and at least he will be busy elsewhere)
Massgamer
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Damn, well he has high hopes at least, and not dying is a good start to see it through.
Welp, now we have confirmed action on who was in the bonelands for turn 39 then. And what happened their, at least in part anyway. And damn, I didn't think Kremmler would already get half of the books, with a confirmation on the 5th one is. And, from what we can gather from Tor, likely the 6th one is located within the Vaults of Karak Zilfin. And where he managed to get a new army to make for himself in the process, the man is truly the necromancer's worlds version of a undead cockroach.
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At least he's busy recovering once more, and can't add more issues for the Empire at this time.
Boy I'll tell ya one thing, I certainly feel like death these past few days. Just keep losing energy, and not recouping it at all. Like I'm still shambling around, but I just keep feeling fuzzier and fuzzier, my brain and emotional energies just going through the floor.
Perhaps it is that which compels me to say that the Ziflin thing isn't Kemmler.
There are more necromancers in the world than Kemmler.
He's in the Vaults, above ground. Yes, the Sorcerer Islands had another Book of Nagash, which he was delighted by, as he'd mostly gone there for the wealth ransacking to sell back to the Chaos Dwarfs. He is not near Ziflin at all, atm.
But Arkhan basically kicked his ass up between his ears, and nearly killed him super hard core, like, the worst he's ever gotten it, even with the previous Liche who had another Book who's lingering curse was literally dissolving Heinrich for a bit.
Perhaps it is that which compels me to say that the Ziflin thing isn't Kemmler.
There are more necromancers in the world than Kemmler.
He's in the Vaults, above ground. Yes, the Sorcerer Islands had another Book of Nagash, which he was delighted by, as he'd mostly gone there for the wealth ransacking to sell back to the Chaos Dwarfs. He is not near Ziflin at all, atm.
But Arkhan basically kicked his ass up between his ears, and nearly killed him super hard core, like, the worst he's ever gotten it, even with the previous Liche who had another Book who's lingering curse was literally dissolving Heinrich for a bit.
Massgamer
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Hope you rest and feel better soon bud.
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Kemmler! Nice to see him again.
I'm a little disappointed we don't see the attack on the Sorceror Islands, but understandable. On the other hand, reading Kemmler's PoV and his thoughts on power are fun. Great writing QM.
Still... 2343 IC now, the last interlude we saw him was in 2337 IC approaching the Vampire Coast representative. The attack on the Sorcerer Islands happened in 2339 IC, (Turn 35 Rumor Mill).
I'm a little disappointed we don't see the attack on the Sorceror Islands, but understandable. On the other hand, reading Kemmler's PoV and his thoughts on power are fun. Great writing QM.
Still... 2343 IC now, the last interlude we saw him was in 2337 IC approaching the Vampire Coast representative. The attack on the Sorcerer Islands happened in 2339 IC, (Turn 35 Rumor Mill).
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Oop! That's my bad, it should be 2341, not 2343, sorry. Bleh, my brain.
I've been trying! I don't know what's going on with me. It's like watching myself slowly fall off a cliff, like I'm aware that things are declining but I can't seem to actually stop it. Sucks. Hopefully it won't last too long, though.
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Yeah, hopefully just temporary feeling. Either way hope you feel better when you can and things get more manageable.
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take more naps and maybe go to a doctor to make sure it's not something major just in case
E: Oh and drink lots of water plus fruits and vegies too , and don't forget the naps
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Kemmler is probably the greatest living mortal necromancer by this point.
The interesting thing is that he isn't that well known.
His constant hunt for the books of Nagash take him to far off corners of the world where few can witness him.
I doubt he is known of as more than rumors to other necromancers.
The only beings that have seen him alive recently are Chorfs, some vampire pirates and Arkhan.
The interesting thing is that he isn't that well known.
His constant hunt for the books of Nagash take him to far off corners of the world where few can witness him.
I doubt he is known of as more than rumors to other necromancers.
The only beings that have seen him alive recently are Chorfs, some vampire pirates and Arkhan.
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