Warhammer Fantasy: A Dynasty of Dynamic Alcoholism

EVA-Saiyajin said:

So how about that Jaqueline reveal, eh?

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lizatessu said:

The name wasn't really surprising, after I think it was somehow revealed back during Sorceresses, that all of the woman, and that they all came from Brettonia, I am surprised that simply just converted her female name, into a more masculine one to avoid getting ousted from any nearby Brettonians or Buyers that might get too suspicious for their own good. It's not a great solution, but it is a decidedly Brettonian one.

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torroar said:

Oh, but there is also the Torturous Rise of Ecstasy!"

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torroar said:

"Why?"

"I'm trained as a Master Engineer of Ostland. Magical defenses and wards are a large thing on this Ark. How are they about detecting black powder bombs?"

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torroar said:

The cry of Gwendolyn, child of Hultressa, accursed by the Cytharai, born of the Death Night and the Vermillion Gate of Har Ganeth, is a wheezing inexperienced one. It is not that she cannot cry, she disproves that now, but rather that she does not quite know how to.

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torroar said:

Mena chewed on her lip before looking up to the castle and then back at Magnus.

"People will talk," she said warningly, glancing aside to their forces.

"And?" Magnus said calmly.

"They might come up with rumors-,"

"And?" Magnus pressed; one eyebrow raised high

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torroar said:

But he cannot see what you can, looking upon what may well be your doom or salvation upon the Black Ark you so eagerly charged onto. See the thickly layered spells woven into the very lattice of this creature's being. Into the marrow, the bone, the muscle, the flesh, the skin. Dhar has sunk in over the course of so many centuries that it's practically formed its own locus, even with there being thick veins of Qhaysh and Hysh that have been wormed through it. A way of maintaining one's sanity and personality? It is impossible to tell. That is only what you can tell when you strain hard enough to make you bleed from your eyes, nose, and ears, peering with greater effort and focus than you've ever done so before. The only greater time when was it wasn't even you doing it, though it had somewhat been your body.

But it is enough for you to see the Whispering Darkness which fruitlessly attempts to invade those pointed ears. You know of it only as an old wife's tale amongst half-remembered stories from forgotten myths, barely told by anyone yet indelible in the memory once mentioned. It has many titles, this apparition of evil which comes upon those who touch Dark Magic with too great frequency yet visible only to those with Witch Sight. The Whispering Darkness, the Creeping Darkness, the Insane Night, the Soul Eater, amongst others. The bubbling fog of airborne oil surrounds it, clinging to it, and even though its sole target is ever the one who brought it forth inadvertendly, you can hear the faintest portion of the thousand, thousand voices it brings with it. Crying, laughing, shouting, screaming, all of them just inaudible enough to you that you cannot comprehend them.

"So you do possess some power," it speaks again, boldly stepping into the warehouse, head tilting to the side as if simply dealing with an eldritch nightmare was a matter of course. "Excellent."

Was this a mistake? To send out those cold airs in response to the signal? Even now, Roland and Jaques – or Jaqueline as she eventually admitted – grow tense despite their wounds. The exhausted Oskana begins to try to get to a standing position despite her exhaustion and the cold. The question grows louder in your mind as she raises a hand, and, with a gesture, banishes one of the greatest secret nightmares known only and solely to the wielders of magic in the Old World. The apparition gives one last mournful scream, the sound ringing in your ears but not in any of your companions, though you do hear Oskana inhale sharply from behind you. Especially given that this time you could understand the scream, somewhat. It is a condemnation, a proclamation of doom, of impending death and failure.

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