Voted best in category in the Users' Choice awards.
Voting is open
@BoneyM It may have been answered already but I might have missed it and I need to rush to get to class on time. But does the amount of blood in our alcohol system after last nights... events and celebrations, have any impact on our spell casting ability today or was it all for flavor? Because Mathilde seems self-aware enough to realize that reprimanding our Jade undermining for casting while exhausted probably also applies to casting whilst drunk/hungover.

Additionally, if the money from last nights events, isn't already owed to the bursar, they probably already know I mean this is a system that is able to enforce its student loans collection via magic, does it make sense to anybody else to share some of it with Belagar, so that when they are reimbursed later, it looks to everyone, or maybe just the men, that King Belegar, the dawi we all signed up with to right ancient wrongs, came down and interacted with all of us normal people. Look see he, and via proxy other dawi, aren't so different from us after all, and foster closer relations in the long run like that?
 
For people who plan to use fire, answer this. How does Mathilde start the fires?

I've read through the thread up to now and no one has properly addressed the question.

And no, dwarven ale isn't flammable, as if it were that strong, Mathilde would be dead from drinking it. She also has no way of carrying large amounts of it. We don't have access to high density incendiary explosives that we can set to start fires, and also have no timing mechanisms, so as soon as we start the first fire they'll know they're on the clock and start moving before we have time to set more fires. At that point they can just run up the steps to the Citadel, when the entire point of the exercise is to prevent exactly that.

Matches and lighters also probably don't exist. Flintlocks to light fuses do exist, but you then need fuses to light, as they only make sparks.

Also, this isn't a medieval city. They were very flammable because they were made of wood that had been dried out by internal hearing and used wooden roofs and soaked wood in very flammable pitch to stop it rotting. They also ha fires building inside multiple buildings, as as soon buildings started to collapse and people started to panic those fires would themselves go out of control. Grobi-Town is very unlikely to be as easy to burn, as it won't be dry as it won't have waterproof construction and internal stoves.
 
Last edited:
[ ] Plan be sneaky - at first
- [ ] Mathilde starts a fight between the greenskins on the far side of the caldera - try to make sure it sticks and that other groups are being lured in
- [ ] Rangers and hobbits start fires between the citadel and the hopefully fighting greenskins, and set up the artilery overlooking the entrance
- [ ] Attack the citadel with the mercenaries(faster runners so they'll arrive a little ahead) and dwarves with ranged support to suppress any greenskin archers.
- [ ] Dwarves push the attack further inwards while the cavalry disrupts attempts in the caldera to circumvent the flames
- [ ] Rangers and a reserve to either delay (if the greenskins in the caldera get their act together, muster, and go through the fires) or take over the attack with the resting mercenaries when the attacking force starts to flag.

This is pretty similar to set everything on fire, but I like using the orc's nature against them and having contingencies in place if they get their act together.

I also don't think it's a good idea to set fires too close to the citadel, the army needs room to maneuver.

Fell free to modify it though, or let it be eaten by the pyromaniac's plan.

T'was a sily plan, too many moving parts that could mess it up.
 
Last edited:
For people who plan to use fire, answer this. How does Mathilde start the fires?

I've read through the thread up to now and no one has addressed the question.

And no, dwarven ale isn't flammable, as if it were that strong, Mathilde would be dead from drinking it. She also has no way of carrying large amounts of it.

Matches and lighters also probably don't exist. Flintlocks to light fuses do exist, but you then need fuses to light, as they only make sparks.

Worst case scenario, she'll grab one of the torches undoubtedly in use. It's almost certain this is a problem dwarf engineering can fix, though.
 
For people who plan to use fire, answer this. How does Mathilde start the fires?

I've read through the thread up to now and no one has addressed the question.

And no, dwarven ale isn't flammable, as if it were that strong, Mathilde would be dead from drinking it. She also has no way of carrying large amounts of it.

Matches and lighters also probably don't exist. Flintlocks to light fuses do exist, but you then need fuses to light, as they only make sparks.
I thought it'd be something like taking some wood from an existing campfire from the greenskins, setting a hut on fire, and letting the nature of a greenskin shantytown without unified leadership do the work for us?

Like, fire is everywhere in this sort of place and fire safety is null. Without a boss to have them work together to put it out, this barely requires our help.
 
Last edited:
I thought it'd be something like taking some wood from an existing campfire from the greenskins, setting a hut on fire, and letting the nature of a greenskin shantytown with unified leadership do the work for us?

Like, fire is everywhere in this sort of place and fire safety is null. Without a boss to have them work together to put it out, this barely requires our help.

Wet seasoned wood won't burn just because you throw a torch on it. It will char and then the torch will go out.

You need dry wood to ignite easily, preferably kindling in small pieces. Have you ever tried to ignite a wet log? You need a blow torch and patience or to throw it on an already well established bonfire and even more patience.

It's like forest fires. In order for them to light you need kindling (in the form of dry undergrowth/deadfall) and the trees need to be dried out until the fire is really fierce.

The nature of a goblin shantytown makes it much harder to burn than medieval human human city, because it'll be much wetter and there won't be loads of other flammable fabrics and furnishings around, along with banked stoves/fires inside many buildings.

In this situation, Mathilde needs powerful accelerants like petrol, and plenty of it, more than she can carry, or something like modern incendiary grenades which burn very, very hot in a small package.
 
Last edited:
Wet seasoned wood won't burn just because you throw a torch on it. It will char and then the torch will go out.

You need dry wood to ignite easily, preferably kindling in small pieces. Have you ever tried to ignite a wet log? You need a blow torch and patience or to throw it on an already well established bonfire and even more patience.
I expect this place to be dry. It's a town. Has it even rained recently? Also, we can probably take advantage of something more flammable if we find it. What do they use in place of straw? This really isn't so hard, human cities have burned down, this a town of greenskins that is currently at war with itself, we can probably get them to help us spread the fire towards their rivals or interfere with their fire-fighting efforts just by planting the idea while in disguise.
 
Last edited:
I think Plan Burning Shadows's plan to deal with enemy spellcasters by asasinating all of them is incredibly overambitious. Assasinating even one hero unit like a shaman is A Big Deal and not at all something we can be certain of. Both times so far have involved multiple rolls that we managed to succeed at. Plan Burning Shadows dedicates an entire night to our attempted assasination purge, so if we run into trouble we don't have anything planned to fallback on.

Besides, I really dislike a plan that pins everything on Mathilde. She is not the Designated Protagonist and very much can fail quite hard if things go badly. Always fear an over-inflated ego.

[X] Plan Light Everything On Fire And Kill Things
The halfling shrugs.
[ ] "Fire has taken a quarter of the town, why not give it the rest? Some fire arrows from here, and over the walls around the rest of the town, and we can consider the town pacified once the fire burns itself out."

This was our second-most destructive option for taking the town of Drakenhof, short of setting a dragon on it. This time we've got dwarven alchemy to back us up in addition to the halfling's fire arrows and whatever else we can scrounge up. We can do this.
 
One thing to keep in mind is that since it is a Greenskin settlement it's probably filled with refuse and other things like rotting cloth, various piles of broken wood and more. So there should be a lot of random flamable junk just laying around.
 
Though it had been merely days since the capture of Karag Lhune, it has already begun its transformation. When last you saw the Hall of he Moon it had been strewn with corpses and wreckage and hovels, and even the floor had been caved in to form a crude slave pit. But the hard work of hundreds of Dwarves had cleared away all signs of greenskin habitation and begun the process of rebuilding the floor, block by block. It was not quite a throne room fit for a King, but it did make a suitable place to confer privately with King Belegar and Kragg.

[Telling Belegar and Kragg: Diplomacy, 25+10=35.]

The two are fixing you with looks, one curious and one disapproving. You take a deep breath and plunge right in. "The Black Orc Priests were trying to separate Gork and Mork - Gork for Brutality, Mork for Cunning, and no crossover. Mork ended up using me to kill the Boss. In the sort of... possession or avatar kind of sense."

[Belegar's reaction: 49+15(Benefit of the doubt)=64.]
[Kragg's reaction: 20-10(Disapproval)=10.]

Kragg's reaction is instant, taking a step to the side to interpose himself between you and King Belegar, his hand moving to the hammer on his belt. You're very careful not to move, and after a long, tense moment, he un-tenses only very slightly. For his part, King Belegar remains unmoved, his gaze on you thoughtful.
This is pretty interesting, since I'm pretty sure Kragg is a hell lot more valuable than Belegar speaking as a strategic asset.

Granted, people don't tend to think in terms of point costs and value.
"You thought I'd tell you all about it and then attack?"

"Aye. It's the sort of thing they'd do." Though he no longer seems to be on the verge of attacking, he's still very much ready to defend. and remains in place between you and King Belegar.

You consider that. "Okay, granted. But I'm not, though."
Truth. It'd be Brutally Cunning.
Kragg scowls, and fires off a staccato salvo of Khazalid, and King Belegar continues to stare.

"No," King Belegar says finally. "We do it here."

"He's barely into his second century-"

"I trust him."
Calling in a professional!
A young dwarf, but then the expedition is full of younger dwarfs.
Kragg sighs and assents, and King Belegar calls out and one of the Hammerers that were standing guard outside enters. A short bark of instruction from Kragg and a nod from King Belegar sends him off again. "Okay. Continue."

You take a deep breath and plow on. "Okay. I am a worshipper of the human God Ranald, whose spheres are stealth, luck, trickery, and protecting the innocent."

Belegar frowns. "Sounds..."

[Belegar's reaction: 63+10=73.]

"Somewhat like a God of Rangers. Or a human Grombrindal, in a way," he decides.
Its all in the framing. Plus Mathilde and the Rangers had done good work these days to save dwarf lives.
"When I was back in control of myself, the connection was still intact. So I invoked Ranald for protection, and he took hold of that connection and pulled."

"On you?" Kragg asks, suddenly curious.

"No, on... Mork, I guess? Or his power, if the two can be distinguished before it's used."

"Debatable. Continue."
The dwarf god way WOULD probably be pulling on their follower.
Probably most human gods too to be fair.

Ranald is special like that.
"Mork cut himself off from me fairly quickly, but Ranald still got quite a bit, and he seemed more... radiant? And the, uh, metaphor he was communicating suggested he profited a fair bit from the encounter. That is the nature of the weakening I spoke of at the meeting. I don't know how much he lost or how it will effect him, but it seems important."

"It may be." He stares at you thoughtfully, mirroring the carefully thoughtful stare King Belegar still has levelled on you, and just as the silence was getting awkward the door opened once more and another Dwarf stepped in. This one seemed little different than the thousands of other Longbeards with the Expedition, except for the two runes on his right breast: a cave and a flame. And, to your shock, with a two-handed sword strapped to his back.

"This is Gunnars," King Belegar says, "Cleric of Gazul and Hunter of the Order of Guardians. They guard the souls of the dead. And when necessary, those of the living, too."
First thought: "A dwarf greatsword user! Now we can buy the advanced Greatsword class from dwarfs when we go to campaign turns!"

Second thought: "Fire and caves, bringing light into dark places or bringing light FROM the dark places?"
The Cleric locks eyes on you as Kragg speaks to him in Khazalid. It's an impressive look, and though you've had worse looks from scarier beings, you're still a little intimidated. This Dwarf does not tend a garden as the Morrites do, nor does he embrace the fatalism of Shyish like the Amethyst College. He is a sentry guarding the entrance to the Underearth, where the Ancestors reside. He stands ready against all those that would prevent the honoured dead from safely entering, be they wraith or daemon or necromancer.
Gatekeeper?
[Cleric Gunnars: 100.]

He shakes his head firmly. "Not a possession in the conventional sense. Circumstance and affinity..." he thinks for a moment. "Like jumping from one chariot to another. Impossible, unless they're going the same way at the same speed. No long-term damage, no risk of relapse."

"You're sure?"

"Entirely. Look," he says, pointing down at your shadow, which as always was wandering freely. "Zhuf-soul. Possession is the same body, same mind, but replaces the soul. Still Zhuf-soul, still her."

With visible evidence that you weren't Morkishly possessed, King Belegar releases a small, relieved sigh. "My thanks to you and your Order."
Its a good relief.
You just know the idea would keep Mathilde up late at night otherwise.

That little niggling voice that wonders if it could happen again
Cleric Gunnars nods, and turns and leaves, and Kragg's gaze follows the Cleric out the door.

"Affinity," he says thoughtfully. "How did you kill the Priests?"

"A, uh, knife to the back of the neck for the first one. Sword to the throat for the next two. The fourth-"

"Escalating brutality," he interrupts.

"I suppose."

"A Temple trying to separate Cunning and Brutality. You perform an act of Cunning, sacrifice a Priest of Brutality. Then acts of both Brutality and Cunning. You accidentally performed a counter-ritual. That's what opened the way for Mork." He sighs in annoyance. "The only thing manlings are better at than finding stupid new ways to die is somehow surviving them. As long as she doesn't jump into the middle of any other godly squabbles, she'll be fine. So I fully expect her to do it again by the end of the week."
Kragg applies his massive Lore stat. Its super effective.
Counter-ritual makes sense. Hmm...I wonder if we took the ritualist training we'd be better able to avoid doing this by accident?
And be better at doing it on purpose I suppose...

We had practice. A Master Wizard is effectively a master of not dying while doing things every day which should normally kill them!
"With that established," you press on. "While it was happening, I got some spillover from Mork. I saw the original creation of the Black Orcs-" King Belegar winces, and Kragg looks like he just bit into a lemon. "You know that part?"

"We suspect," he says shortly.
And for all the drama...of course they know. In hindsight, the original batch of Black Orcs are going to be using dwarf made weapons, made to dwarf standards, and sized for orcs.
The orcs might have looted it, but theres nobody of the same build as a Black Orc Warboss armed with dwarf made armor and weapons of the right size for a Warboss that the dwarfs WOULD make equipment for.

Supply may have dwindled since, but the dwarfs would remember dwarf work.
"Either partly or wholly, the entire thing seems to have been steered by, uh, the plotter of the Four."

Kragg rattles off a string of Khazalid obscenities, and King Belegar closes his eyes as he absorbs it. "That," he says slowly, "may be easier to bear. Puppets, rather than willingly..." he sighs. "Though that weight will never be less than backbreaking, not while they still scheme out there."
And it turns out it LESSENED the shame. Willfully turning against everything their race stands for is vastly more shameful...but as we learned about Grudges, if a grudge was caused through the misdirection and manipulation of a third party, the third party is the shitlord.
And the misled party still needs redress if they continue to do wrong of course.

We did good!
We didn't plan it, we winged it, and it could have been a hell lot worse if the dice fell the other way, but we did good!
Ranald.txt
As King Belegar heads off to pen a letter to the High King, you make your way back down the aggravating amount of steps to the Eastern Valley and back to the East Gate.
And it will be brought to the highest authorities of dwarfkind.
Belegar likely has a hell of a time writing this.
Explaining how he learned would be something like "A trusted manling expert in doing unpredictable ridiculously risky Manling things had her unpredictable, risky and lucky manling god pluck the knowledge from Mork while he was doing stupid and risky greenskin things learned that the Lost made the Black Orcs under the wiles of the Schemer...""

The Dwarves have begun to move into Karag Lhune, and plans are underway for a barracks of sorts in Karag Nar for the manlings, but the Halflings are happy enough camping behind the high walls of the East Gate, at least until the Eastern Valley is properly secure and they can start building idyllic little cottages.

But what they consider good enough for temporary residence is a much lower bar than what they consider the bare minimum for proper cooking, and so a kitchen has been carved into the southern flank of Karag Nar and has been bustling with activity ever since. The morale effects of proper meals cannot be overstated, and you would not be surprised if the Halfling noncombatants have contributed more to the success of the campaign than the Fieldwardens.
Oh yeah, Halfling army cooks means an army which might have been better fed in the army on campaign than they could get at home.

...probably got some masons to do that construction in their spare time with a bribe of the first meal cooked in that kitchen. :p
For a second time, you pause and watch Panoramia's interactions with the Halflings. Even a Journeyman of the Jade College can make any nascent farming attempt into bumper crop after bumper crop, so they've got more reason than her sunny personality to try to win her over. But though you're suspicious enough to question it, you don't quite have the knack for analyzing interpersonal relationships. Titus certainly seems genuine enough, his bow put aside in favour of an apron as he carefully rakes the coals underneath a haunch of what looks like goat, and likewise Panoramia seems to be having fun as she rummages through hand-labelled jars of spices, stocked up on when the Expedition passed through Barak Varr.

When she finally notices you there, Panoramia is only slightly and momentarily terrified, but she quickly rallies with an impressive facade of happiness that slowly turns genuine as it becomes clear you're not here to traumatize her.
Diplomacy yet remains our weakest skill after all.
The only emotions we can induce on demand, reliably are confusion and terror.
Titus seems happy enough to see you, and you reflect that even though you haven't spoken much, you've known and fought alongside Titus for longer than anyone else on the Council of War. Titus has been sipping his fair share of the cooking wine, and it doesn't take him long to start reminiscing about former battlefields, and Panoramia makes no attempt to hide her curiousity.

"It could have been any of them," Titus says, lost in memory. "At first we thought it was just fresh zombies, but no, they went straight from normal human upright and talking to horrible murderous corpse like the snap of your fingers."

"They burned out quick and then were basically normal zombies, but during that first burst of energy they were vicious," you remember. "I was interrogating one of the castle staff at Wurtbad and caught him in a lie, and next thing he was going for my face. Barely managed to get my greatsword in the way."

"I was curious," Panoramia says. "Why do you use a greatsword?"

You reach back and pat the comforting weight of it on your back. "Swords are the symbol of the Grey College, but honestly it was opportunity. I was at Eagle Castle, they were at Eagle Castle, so I went up and asked them to teach me. My teacher ended up being Sir Markus, the Champion of Stirland." You smile at the memory. "Ended up going into business with him and Wilhelmina, the steward, and we founded the EIC."
Panoramia takes notes as she observes the halflings' bows and the dwarf axes.

"What are you doing?" Panoramia asks suddenly, knocking you from your reminiscence just as you start to veer into sadder memories.

You look down at the bundle of twigs you'd been fiddling with, which was tied at one end and in the middle. "I have no idea. What is this?"

"Haven't you seen a whisk before?" You give her a blank look. "Oh, come on. Even the Grey Order needs to eat."

"I went straight from the College to Eagle Castle." You rotate the whisk in your hand, considering it. "Never had to learn. Is it some kind of pestle?"

"No!" Panoramia stops, and considers. "Well, I guess actually yes, sort of." She takes it from you and focuses on it. "You can use birch if you just want to have a permanent utensil, but fresh fruit tree twigs can add some extra flavour. Peach is nice, or apple. Of course there's none of those around here, but if we cheat a little..." She concentrates, and you can see the slightest stirring of Ghyran within her, and the twigs lighten slightly in colour as the wood forgets it no longer has a tree to provide sap. "There! Perfect for a lovely pie."

Titus almost overbalances as he suddenly tears himself away from his still-roasting haunch. "We're making pie?"

---

You now know that a good pie is supposed to cook for at least an hour, but as you've just discovered, if you cover the pie in cooking brandy and set it alight after a mere thirty minutes... you get a soggy brandy pie half-cooked on the inside and burned on the outside. You'd still eaten your share, and been very sternly cautioned not to follow it up with anything strenuous.
Genius!
The whisk trick that is, not the pie.
The pie is almost an abomination.
You had very gravely informed Titus that it was your solemn duty to check that the ale was still good, and with equal solemnity he had informed you that the task was grave enough that an exception would have to be made.

You expected to find Skaroki surrounded by Longbeards, each taking it in turn to expound on how the ale wasn't anywhere like as good as the ale you used to get. Instead he's about a third of the way through a very close inspection of a barrel of Goat-Kicker Ale, easily recognizeable by the silhouette of its namesake stamped on the barrel, with two compatriots with beards barely long enough to cover their necks. "Mhornokrul!" he calls in greeting, and you haul yourself atop the wagon he and his companions have colonized. "Pull up a plank. These are my lads, Thorgrim and Thorek. Twins, and enduring proof that fortune still sometimes smiles on our people. These callow striplings are a mere two-and-thirty, and they had to swear many solemn oaths to stay well back before I even let them on a battlefield with a crossbow." You turn your eye to the 'youths', who stare back at you with unabashed curiousity. Three years your elder and still coddled. A Dwarf wasn't considered an adult until thirty, you've heard. Did they mature slower than humans? Are they taught slower? Do they set a higher bar for maturity? You barely manage to suppress your curiousity.

"Wandar, huzkul?" you ask, and are gratified to see twin looks of outrage.
Ooo, halfbaked dwarflings!

Skaroki chuckles and ruffles the hair of the nearest lad. "Never underestimate them. If you want something done right, get a Dwarf, but there's none for getting it done fast like the manlings. That goes treble for this'n. Go get the lass a tankard, there's a lad."
This one is a Water Park Ride Master.
Going fast is a must!
Thorek (you think) scoots off and Skaroki takes a pull from his own tankard. "As my choice of names for these lads demonstrates, I've believed in the Age of Vengeance since the High King rediscovered our Norscan cousins, but it's almost unbelievable actually seeing it happen. Not just spending lives to shed Grobi blood, but actually recapturing the Karags!" Thorek (maybe?) returns with a tankard, and without hesitation you pry up the lid and dunk it in. The ale seems at first quaff to still be good, but you'll need to perform a more detailed study to be sure.
How much do we know IC about the Norscan dwarfs?
"It never occurred to me to ask, but what brought you to the Expedition?"

You try not to let your smile fade. "Adbarazi strollendreken." I fulfilled my oath and now I wander to find a purpose.

He nods solemnly. "Ah. Heard something of that. The zangunaz?" Vampire.

"Uzkulokrit." Petty necromancer. "Our charge succeeded, but everyone else's failed. By the time the Dwarves of Zhufbar reached us..." You sigh, and drink deeply. "So I killed Castle Drakenhof."

"Definitely heard of that. They say the Elders of Zhufbar combed the history books for a month to confirm it as the greatest concentration of cannon in history."
Right and properly done by dwarf standards.
By human standards possibly a mite disturbing.
You drink and chat and let the refreshed pain fade away into the background once more, and before long Skaroki is prodding his sons into telling their War Stories, which so far is only War Story, in halting Reikspiel. "We stood upon the stairs of Karag Lhune and shot bolts at the greenskins when they tried to flee in our direction," says one of them. "I got two, Thorgrim got one."

"You got two Goblins. I got an Orc."
That a Lord of the Rings reference?

You smile at their half-hearted squabbling. They're obviously disgruntled by the lack of glory, and you think back to your first 'battle'. "First time I saw combat, I had just been made Journeyman. I was exploring my Count's-" you see the confusion on their faces, and translate. "My Thane's castle, to ensure that the previous Thane had left it secure." They nod at that. "What I didn't expect was that there was a zombie- Uzkularit?" You look to Skaroki.

"That's skeleton. Uzkulikar."

"It had been trapped for a long time, so it was slow enough that I was able to dodge it. I had never trained with a weapon, but I used magic to make armour for myself - Mhornzhufklad. And while it was trying to scratch through that, I stabbed it in the face with a dagger." You're pleased to get twin chuckles from your audience. "After that, I learned how to use a sword. Next battle was proper Uzkulari... Wights?" You look to Skaroki again.

"Kalanuzkular."

"
And a few years after that, I was fighting a zangunaz called the Singing King, whose skull I've still got back home. And now here I am at Vala-Azril-Ungol, with two Urk Warbosses to my tally. Start slowly, like an avalanche."
At some point we might want a dwarf terms glossary.
Between your actions back in Stirland and your confession to Belegar and Kragg, there seems to be no remaining reason to conceal your faith, and with a battle tomorrow these men could use some godly favour. The Ulricans, of course, have Ulric, and Codrin's archers have Taal and probably, unfortunately, Sigmar. But those who received an Orc charge and made them regret it have only just developed a sense of unity, and they remain a patchwork of superstition and half-remembered prayers. You can provide better than that, and hopefully bring them a little luck when they need it most. And it just so happened that the sacrament they could offer is something they'd like to do anyway.
Everyone finds God in foxholes after all.
Mathilde found a readymade audience to convert.

The only problem is that the type of man who uproots everything to travel on an all-or-nothing Expedition like this very typically has no money to gamble with.

Titus had to be dragged away from some loud and enthusiastic dance involving a lot of going around in circles and stamping his feet and making eyes at the Halfling ladies, but memories of pie are fresh enough that he agrees without hesitating. Ulthar came back from his hunt with only a pair of game birds, and has been drinking away his shame, and is likewise in no state to resist your machinations. With him standing by you with an exaggerated scowl to add a veneer of legitimacy, you announce that every man could sign away up to half his pending payment for an amount of coins, and then in the morning they could trade the coins back and the new distribution of payment due would be duly recorded, witnessed by Ulthar, guaranteed by the Grey Order, and may luck desert anyone that tries to bilk their brothers; you hold up a pair of crossed fingers and wink and most understand instantly, and there's a hushed murmur as they explain it to their slower-minded friends.
A drunk wizard, a drunk halfling and a drunk dwarf walk into a bar....
The coins are the silver currency of the Moot, which you feel reasonably certain there won't be enough of in circulation here to meaningfully harm the system. They are stamped with the Moot's symbol of a... large male chicken, which delights the men and immediately leads to the most predictable set of bawdy jokes as they line up to make their mark and collect their tokens.
...Don't worry, I believe thats a proud representative of Sigmar's favored bird.

Dice and cards had been common enough at the start of the Expedition, but after the personal effects of the fallen had been inherited by the survivors there's more than enough to go around, and any shortfall is quickly corrected when the men realize that if they bet a Karak Norn Dwarf a tankard of ale they could carve a set of dice from wood faster than them, they'd very quickly have a very well made set of dice and all you had to do to pay is walk to the nearest barrel. As the sun touches the peak of Karag Yar, the games begin.
Thats a smooth trick.
Everyone's in a cheery mood to be sure!
[Glory Unto Ranald: Piety, Req 40, 67+21+20(Empowered)=108.]
[Completely Sober Management: Stewardship, Req 50, 44+16-10(Goat-Kicked)=50.]

The tricky part was the paperwork.

Codrin has a proper roll, but he was still off on his hunt and he may not have felt like cooperating. The scheme would have fallen apart before it even started if you hadn't remembered your contact amongst the women of Karak Izor: a formidably organized eligible bachelorette by the name of Edda, with one eye on King Belegar and the other on the massive literature swap network that had grown to encompass the Halflings as well. Despite only being a third of the way through it, you surrender the greatly in demand copy of Night Falls On The Slayer Keep and thus purchase Edda's assistance.
Thats quite the impressive book club.
United in love for trashy novels across nation and race.
There's some arguing from her family when they hear she'll be spending time amongst all those manling men, but she browbeats them into merely demanding she be accompanied by several of her surliest kinfolk, which only added to how official it all seemed. Nothing says 'stick to the deal' like the glare of a deeply suspicious Longbeard. All names were properly recorded, all marks solemnly made, and disaster averted by your remembrance of the magic of delegation.
Everything just going perfectly.

The hunt had been middling, but game birds and wild goats add a smell of roasting meet to the air even when most only get a few slices and have to fill the rest of their belly with fresh-baked bread, beer jam, and carefully rehydrated salt pork.
@BoneyM
Roasting meet?
Must be pretty drunk to get there!
Once all have eaten their full there's a lull as they pause to digest, and then the games begin again in earnest. Every so often there's a round of accusations of cheating, but you need only show up and glare at them until someone backs down.
Inquisitor on cheating patrol with dwarf longbeard enforcers to boot.
That's so deliciously overkill.
Heavy ales take their toll as Mannslieb reaches its apex overhead, and men stagger off to bed. Some have become quite wealthy and others are left with no coins at all, but even the least fortunate man still has half of a generous share in Dwarven treasure to look forward to. In the morning they nurse hangovers and stagger into line to cash in their coins once more, and each entry is scrupulously recorded. When you finish, you collect half a dozen signatures from Edda's protectors, each with impeccable personal honour, and carefully seal it away until the time comes for the mercenaries to be paid.

And how did your own gambling go?

[Gambling: Intrigue, 93+17=110.]

Splendidly, of course. You were the house, and the house's typical win/loss ratio is quite well known.

The secret isn't a secret at all, it's obvious. Six thousand gamblers, free ale, insufficient lighting. It occurs to some to scour the area the next morning, either remembering dropping a coin or figuring others would have, but hours before dawn your final accomplice had beat them to it, the night's darkness meaningless for one attuned to the Wind of Metal, for whom every silver coin shines like a beacon. A great many coins signed for by the adventurers had returned to you by Maximilian. Gambling, theft, deceit... three out of four, you decide, will do. You can do some protecting tomorrow.
...by Ranald we made out like bandits.

It's only the next morning as your sluggish brain follows through on the plans your ale-fuelled self had made that you realize that tithing this is going to raise quite a few eyebrows at the Bursary.
The Bursar: "Are you sure she's not a financial wizard?"

- Your total haul is the equivalent of the shares of 350 men. Before it is collected, there will be an opportunity to decide what to do with it, if 'actually have a pile of treasure to sleep on like a dragon' seems insufficient.
So pay off the EIC debt, probably outright commisson a lab in Eight Peaks after cashing in some residential rights, and hmm...

...I reckon we might actually have enough money left over to start some cottage industry on our fief. If you can't farm shit, you can't mine shit, and theres no lumber worth mention, you can MAKE stuff.

Import tools, import trainers, invite in more shrines(Shallyan would go well anywhere) heck, maybe pay to train up some writers to scribe trashy novels for the book club...
 
I'm inclined to give the Kragg belt the benefit of the doubt, until proven otherwise, re:smoke.

It feels like when one of the examples we got about it is that we could swim through lava, we'd get like a "But don't do that, the toxic fumes and ash going up your sniffer will immediately kill you."
 
One thing to keep in mind is that since it is a Greenskin settlement it's probably filled with refuse and other things like rotting cloth, various piles of broken wood and more. So there should be a lot of random flamable junk just laying around.

Rotten cloth would tend to put a fire out, not act as fuel, as it will be wet.

and as far as I'm aware it hasn't rained recently, so the wood won't be terribly wet unless its literally holding standing water, in which case you move to the hovel next to it.

What makes you think the place would be dry? It's at the bottom of the caldera with all the runoff from the surrounding mountains pouring into/through it. The place will almost certainly be sodden. The geography basically requires it, as water flows downhill, and the mountains are tall enough to have a year round snowcap.

Based on this, we should expect Grobi-town to be a literal swamp.
 
Last edited:
One thing to keep in mind is that since it is a Greenskin settlement it's probably filled with refuse and other things like rotting cloth, various piles of broken wood and more. So there should be a lot of random flamable junk just laying around.
There's also the question of what their roofs are made of. Thatch? Thin branches woven together to be semi-waterproof? Leather and hide? Slate? Some of the options are pretty flammable, some really aren't.
 
What makes you think the place would be dry? It's at the bottom of the caldera with all the runoff from the surrounding mountains pouring into/through it. The place will almost certainly be sodden. The geography basically requires it, as water flows downhill, and the mountains are tall enough to have a year round snowcap.
Which would at worst probably mean the ground is muddy(which I don't recall being stated anywhere), and the lower half of the walls would be rotted, but may or may not be currently wet depending on where exactly in the caldera we're talking about, especially as the primary target for setting on fire is the buildings near the edge of the caldera, thus ones that would not have standing water, just water going past them. Furthermore, the ground probably won't be perfectly flat, high spots will be dryer, and any building more than a couple feet tall will have the upper parts left perfectly dry from said run off. will there be spots too wet to ignite easily, sure. But I highly doubt you'll be unable to find a dry patch of wood, currently burning campfires, and various sorts of tinder to use for starting the blaze, and once you get a house or two going the rotten wood won't much matter as the fire will just keep spreading.
 
[x] Plan Light Everything On Fire And Kill Things

The deal-breaker for me regarding the burning shadows plan is the delay in the assault. I think it could be done, especially if we can use Black Lotus to pump up the potency or make it easier to cast on such a large object, but I'm not willing to wait for another day to try and assault the citadel.

I believe that we need to do it now if we want the highest chances of success.
 
There's also the question of what their roofs are made of. Thatch? Thin branches woven together to be semi-waterproof? Leather and hide? Slate? Some of the options are pretty flammable, some really aren't.
Which would at worst probably mean the ground is muddy(which I don't recall being stated anywhere), and the lower half of the walls would be rotted, but may or may not be currently wet depending on where exactly in the caldera we're talking about, especially as the primary target for setting on fire is the buildings near the edge of the caldera, thus ones that would not have standing water, just water going past them. Furthermore, the ground probably won't be perfectly flat, high spots will be dryer, and any building more than a couple feet tall will have the upper parts left perfectly dry from said run off. will there be spots too wet to ignite easily, sure. But I highly doubt you'll be unable to find a dry patch of wood, currently burning campfires, and various sorts of tinder to use for starting the blaze, and once you get a house or two going the rotten wood won't much matter as the fire will just keep spreading.

I think that the problem here is that people are assuming that Greenskin construction will be like medieval human construction in real life where this scenario would be plausible.

Timber framed buildings were incredibly flammable because the seasoned wood they were built with was treated with pitch, they were often very dry thanks to being weather proof and internally heated, and they were full of very flammable fabrics and furnishings. They were also often roofed with flammable pitch coated wooden shingles.

None of that will be true for goblin construction. They will have been built with green wood, probably not in planks but in logs, that have never been dried out and will be either standing in sodden earth or connected to wood standing in sodden earth. They won't be full of flammable objects or have a roof made of flammable shingles, or walls made, basically of kindling (the lathes in plaster and lathe construction) that can catch first and then set the rest of the frame on fire, which will collapse and spread the fire. The lack of flammable contents and roofs also means that the clouds of burning embers that spread the fire will be much reduced.

This will be probably be like Mathilde trying to set a wet forest on fire with matches. It just won't work. She's a shadow mage, not a fire mage.

If it was possible for Grobi-Town to burn as easily as you suggest, it would already be ashes, as Greenskin fights and carelessness will accidentally start many more fires everyday that Mathilde has a hope of starting deliberately.

Doing something that should be lost in the background noise of normal Greenskin stupidity is not the goal this time.
 
Last edited:
I think that the problem here is that people are assuming that Greenskin construction will be like medieval human construction in real life where this scenario would be plausible.
You know, you have a point and might be right, but there's a simpler way to solve this problem than back and forth arguing. Cause if you're right Alratan, this is information we should have in character, not merely "its probably this or that." The leading plan being impossible due to details that we should know IC is something we should damn well know as voters.

@BoneyM
1) Could you please describe what the greenskin construction is actually like?
2) Could you please tell us if IC Mathilde thinks she could set it on fire
3) Could you please tell us if the Dawi have any incindiaries we could use, or if Mathilde at least thinks they do.
 
Last edited:
Frankly, I'd expect a Greenskin town to be covered in fungus. I don't think that burns all that well.
 
Voting is open
Back
Top