Dragon's Word Hoard (Snippets, Ideas, & Omakes)

Dragonofelder · Mar 11, 2024

I have a lot of ideas, and write a fair bit. Decided to collate everything without it's own thread here, and also collect all my omakes for others' threads.

Threads

Active

Ankh-Mork-Gork (WHF Orc City Quest) - WHF Orc civ builder where you're on a mission from god
Forging The Chaos Dwarfs - Worldbuilding for the Dawi Zharr
The Many & The One (Riot God Quest) - "Riot your way into creating... creation." Riot God Quests are fun, so I started my own. The ultimate goal is/was to create a setting to run quests in
Da Strongest Dere Iz! - Marvel's Hulk in 40K, joining up with Orks. Narrative quest, slow posting.

Inactive

Wild Wild Warhammer - Alternative WHF setting in the Wild West.
Leagues of Votann: Discussion, Theorising, & Worldbuilding - An attempt to expand on the lore of the (newly released) Kin with my own ideas. However, like GW, I got bored of them.
40k Cult Quest - "Riot your way to rebellion, Chaos, and probably a painful death." My first quest. A 40K Chaos Cult riot quest that was a lot of fun, but suffered heavily from feature creep. One day I hope to do a sequel.

Dragonofelder · Mar 11, 2024

Rumor Mill

Royal Cathay Dragon Assassinated: Dark news from the far east as the Iron Dragon Zhao Ming, ruler of Shang-Yang, is murdered! By traders from the Empire, no less! Details are few and conflicting - some claim that chaos cultists are to blame, while others say it was a shocking accident. All are sure of one thing however; when the news reached the Celestial City, the Moon Empresses let out a cry of grief and rage that shook the earth, and turned day into night. The draconian eyes of Cathay turn westwards, and certainly not for trade!

Based on a side story by Codex, wherein Zhao Ming got shot at by some spooked Empire traders. This is what might have happened if they somehow, impossibly, killed him.

Dragonofelder · Mar 11, 2024

MAGDA WESSEN is a long-running joke in the Divided Loyalties' thread, the protagonist (Mathilde Weber) as the star of a series of dramatic novels. Please note I do not own the idea, I just found it very funny and inspiring.

Hovering above a iron column, held in place by a stasis-field, is a copy of The Lady Sigillite 1: I'm Helping Conquer The Galaxy? The blurb reads;

LADY MAGDA WESSEN, WIZARD-KNIGHT, led an assault on an INSIDIOUS CULT'S LAIR, but in the fighting was thrown into a DARK PORTAL, leading into the maddening alter-world of the TWIST! Defying the RUINOUS GODS, she fought her way out, but found herself FAR FROM HOME....

Now, she is MARY VON GREY-WEST, LADY SIGILLITE, one of the highest positions in the DOMINION OF HUMANITY. Her lord, THE GOD-KING HELDENSTAR, is beginning his COSMIC CONQUEST, to bring all the STARS under the control of MANKIND! At his side are the ARCH-LORDS, his sons and generals in this great war. But while he is busy with matters of GREAT IMPORTANCE, managing these UNIQUE and FORCEFUL personalities falls to MARY!

Some, such as the CHARISMATIC and DUTIFUL GULLIAN SAIL welcome MARY's sound advice, while others such as the WILD and BARBARIC RUFF ULRUN show her only disdain. But MARY will have to use all her CUNNING and WILES to HARNESS these ROUGH warlords, as the galaxy is infested with FOUL ALIENS and REBELLIOUS COLONIES! Can she help GUIDE HUMANITY in a new GOLDEN ERA? Can she find her way home to her LOVED ONES, or will the ALLURE and WONDER of this STRANGE FUTURE convince her to stay FOREVER?

On a intricate carved shelf rests a well worn bamboo scroll. A tag attached by twine bears the title, Journey To The Dragon East 1; Dream of the Grey Chamber, and a blurb;

LADY MAGDA WESSEN, WIZARD-KNIGHT & RENOWNED DIPLOMAT has to been dispatched to FAR OFF, MYSTERIOUS CATHAY, by order of THE EMPEROR HIMSELF. Officially the IMPERIAL AMBASSADOR, she has SECRET ORDERS to investigate the ATTEMPTED MURDER of ZHAO MING, DRAGON CHILD of the ANCIENT DRAGON EMPEROR, reportedly by IMPERIAL TRADERS!

In her search for answers, MAGDA becomes ENSNARED by the DANCE OF THE DRAGON COURT, and the PETTY FEUDS between the DRAGON SIBLINGS. The mighty scholar ZHAO MING, focus of her SECRET STUDY, seeks to learn IMPERIAL CULTURE from her; but does he really HUNGER for MAGDA'S expansive MAGICAL KNOWLEDGE? The tempestuous beauty MIAO YING scorns MAGDA for the DISHARMONY she has seemingly brought, but also believes she maybe a VALUABLE ASSET as DARKNESS STIRS from beyond THE GREAT DRAGON WALL! And THE DRAON EMPEROR AND EMPRESS both REFUSE to look upon MAGDA, yet display a GREAT CURIOSITY about her life and MANY GREAT DEEDS! MAGDA will need all her CHARM, WIT and MIGHT to complete her mission, but will she return a CHANGED WOMAN?

The scroll includes a number of paintings, done in a traditional Cathayan style. One is titled The Ambassador Comes Before The Dragon Throne, and depicts MAGDA WESSEN first meeting the Dragon Court.

MAGDA is depicted as a young and slim woman, with an ample bosum under grey robes. Her face is half hidden under a wide brimmed hat, showing one grey eye that sparkles with mischief and secrets, and her red lips are curved in a soft smile. Her long hair is braided in two separate plaits across her front, while loose threads behind her head seem to float. She holds, planted into the ground, a long sword nearly her match in height, which blazes with strange runes. She also has a stocky pistol holstered at her hip, and a long wooden staff, tipped by a grey crystal leaking mist at its head. MAGDA'S shadow twists unnaturally, seeming to cackle with a wide smile.

Zhao Ming is depicted as a large, barrel chested man with bronze skin, firmly shaped legs stood at shoulder width and broad arms crossed over his hairless chest. He wears only a silver loincloth, and his bulging muscles gleam with sweat. His pointed onyx beard frames a handsome but harsh face, and his pure white eyes gleam with hunger & greed. Behind his back are a pair of bronze and steel wings, that seem more like the work of a clock-maker.

Miao Ying is depicted as a beautiful but harsh woman, with long pale white hair, her large bosom contained by a intricately designed steel armour. Her hands, held by her sides, end in sharp claws. Her stunning face is carefully blank, but her pure blue eyes show a burning anger. Behind her back are a pair of sharp iron wings, crackling with lightning.

The Dragon Emperor and Empress are depicted as white and black Cathayan dragons, floating above their ornate Dragon Thrones, their serpentine bodies coiled together, wrapping around the painting to form it's boarder. Both are hiding their eyes behind clawed hands, but while the Emperor has a look of shame, the Empress has a look of joy.

In a white-stone tower above a bustling city, there is a finely decorated study, covered by bookshelves and magical paraphernalia. The untidy desk has four visible draws; and a fifth hidden one. Inside is a roughly made book, with the title written in Reikspiel; Romance of the Ten Kingdoms 1: The King & Scholar. There is also a patch, adhered to the cover, with words written in Eltharin; Banned & Burnt in 8 out of 10 Kingdoms!. The blurb on the back, again in Reikspiel, reads;

Every 500 YEARS, the LOREMASTERS of ULTHUAN call upon the Empire's COLLEGES OF MAGIC to deliver a BRIDE-FEE to their FOUNDER & MASTER, TRION the WHITE. This time, the RIVALS of KNIGHT-WIZARD MAGDA WESSEN, JEALOUS of her IMMENSE MAGICAL SKILLS & MANY GREAT DEEDS, have MANEUVERED events so that SHE is CHOSEN for this SACRIFICAL ROLE! Before she can say goodbye to her FRIENDS & LOVED ONES, she is BOUND IN CHAINS and taken to MYSTERIOUS ULTHUAN, where her DESTINY AWAITS!

Arriving in MAGIC INFUSED SAPHERY, MAGDA is brought to HOETH HALLS, greatest SCHOOL OF MAGIC in the known world! There she meets her HUSBAND-APPARENT; but instead of a PROUD SORCERER-KING, she finds TRION to be a HUMBLE SCHOLAR, SCARRED by CHILDHOOD ILLNESS. TRION himself sees the tradition of the BRIDE-FEE as an EMBARRSING FORMALITY, and Instead he wishes MAGDA to be his COMPANION as he STUDIES the MYSTERIES of MAGIC! In truth, MAGADA has little choice; a MORTAL cannot see the KINGDOMS of ULTHUAN and LEAVE ALIVE!

Still, there is DANGER wherever MAGADA goes. Tekkile, TWIN of TRION, & FAMED WARRIOR-KING of LOTHERN, is SUSPICIOUS of MAGDA and her RELATIONSHIP with HIS BROTHER. The other KINGS OF ULTHUAN, such as MRIK the DRAGON-KING of CALEDOR, wish to use her in their POLITICAL GAMES, played out in the PHOENIX COURT. And in the SHADOWS, perhaps more SINISTER FORCES walk. In the LAND OF IMMORTALS, MAGDA has never been so CLOSE TO DEATH!!!

A clearing in a damp jungle, with the buzz of insects in the air and the silent movement of predators behind the trees. A leather backpack, seemingly discarded in a hurry, lies on the floor with its contents spilling out into the grass. One item is a book with the title; Queen of the Golden Cities: Mystery of The Jungle
The MYSTERIOUS land of LUSTRIA holds many SECRETS; but rarely do they leave it's JUNGLE DEPTHS. Times are changing, it seems; a STINK PRIEST, one of the ANCIENT RACE known as LIZARDWOMEN, has come to THE EMPIRE to BEG the aid of MAGDA WESSEN, KNIGHT-WIZARD!

Joined by her closest companions, CONSTANCE BREW & JACOB GOLDENROD, MAGDA WESSEN travels to the ANCIENT TEMPLE CITY, NEX-A-LOTAL, home of the POWERFUL SLUN MAGDAMALDI - or it SHOULD BE, for MAGDAMALDI has been MISSING for MANY YEARS! By reading the ENIGMATIC SCROLLS left their creators, THE OLD, the LIZARDWOMEN have decided that MAGDA is their LEADER REBORN! Requiring her AWESOME LEADERSHIP, they now REFUSE to let MAGDA LEAVE ALIVE!

Despite being TRAPPED in a GILDED CAGE, MADGA finds DELIGHT living her new LAVISH LIFESTYLE, WAITED on HAND AND FOOT by her attendant SARREN WARRIORS. In particular the LONGTOOTH GOQ-KUN, former GUARDIAN of MAGDAMALDI, who felt the ABSENCE of her MISTRESS DEEPLY, and now acts with DESPERATE FERVOR to prove her UNDYING LOYALTY. But ALL IS NOT WELL IN LUSTRIA! In the south the RODENT BEASTMEN of PACK ICKY brew DEVASTATING POISONS to unleash on UNSUSPECTING TEMPLE CITIES! In the north, the devious NIGHT AELFS search for BOOTY AND SLAVES! And the GREAT LEY-WEB, the MAGICAL LATTICE keeping DARK FORCES from entering the world WEAKENS!

MAGDA will need all her SKILL, KNOWLEDGE & WIT to NAVIGATE this BIZARRE SITUATION she finds herself in! Can she HOLD BACK the THREATS to this ANCIENT CIVILISATION? Can she SATISFY her new SUBJECTS without REVEALING herself as a RELUCTANT IMPOSTER? And can she UNCOVER the TRUTH of MAGDAMALDI's DISAPPEARANCE and her own MURKY PAST?

An underground chamber, lit by lanterns, and containing numerous stone bookshelves. On them rest many tomes and scrolls, the majority seeming to be of great age. Tucked into a dark corner, on the highest shelf, sits a leather-bound book of relative newness. Written on the spine in gold lettering is the title: MAGDA WESSEN: CROWN OF THE GNOMI (2nd Edition)

SHOCK! HORROR! TRAGEDY! The GRAND KING of the GNOMI DOMAIN, THUDJIN GRUMTAKER, has been SLAIN by a COWARDLY ASSASSIN! With WAR in the DEEPS, the Gonmi must QUICKLY CHOOSE their NEW LEADER! Yet the DIVIDED STATE cannot choose a single candidate! As a POLITICAL COMPROMISE, a candidate none can HONOURABLY REFUSE is CHOSEN IN ABSENTIA: HONORARY GNOMI, MAGDA WESSEN!

Despite her MISGIVINGS and her LOYALTY to the HUMAN IMPERIUM, MAGDA DUTIFULLY ACCEPTS, and is crowned with the CIRCLET OF WYRMS! COMMANDING the GOMNI HOSTS, MAGDA is ADVISED by the MYSTERIOUS SIGILCRAFTER KRAGIM THORO and her FAITHFUL VASSAL, LORD BELEGOR HAMMERWIELD! Yet many Gnomi are DISPLEASED with her RULE, claiming no MAGE should sit upon THE ETERNAL CHAIR! Led by the FORMIDIBLE UNDIG STEELGRIP, this DISSENTING FACTION demand that MAGDA ABDICATE after CHOOSING, OR BIRTHING, an HEIR!

As the PERFIDIOUS RATSPAWN rouse their MONSTROUS CREATURES, and the MURDEROUS URKS gather their HORDES, MAGDA will have to BALANCE her LOYALTIES and her FRIENDSHIPS, least DESTRUCTION come to the UNDERLANDS! Will she FOLLOW her HEART, or HER SOUL?

Historical Note: After poor sales, the publishers of MAGDA WESSEN had CROWN OF THE GNOMI rewritten with a romantic subplot, removing much of the political drama the original version was derided for.

View: https://youtu.be/k2N5OjudzLw

I paid money for this. Why? For the lols.

Dragonofelder · Mar 11, 2024

There are many mysterious beings, origins and truths hidden, that walk the Mortal Realms, and many of them dwell within the mists of Ulgu. But only one seems to command those very mists. To the Duardin, she is Azrildrekked, although they have long forgotten what deed earned her such a title. To the Aelves and Sylvaneth, she is the Grey Loremaster. And to Humans, she is Dämmerlichtreiter, The Twilight Rider.

Clouded by shadow mists wherever she goes, the Rider falls upon the foes of Order from the rear, or other more unexpected paths. Many battles, thought lost, have been won with the intervention of this shadowy figure. She commands the winds of Ulgu with a skill no mortal can match, slipping between the enemy's ranks without notice, or causing any touched by her dancing shadow to disintegrate. Her blade is an ancient Duardin creation that can strike with enough force to send Ogor flying, and by her side prowls a massive wolf, with teeth and claws that can tear through the strongest of armor. Should a foe too great to defeat challenge her, The Twilight Rider, her mount, and her companion fade away, like mirages in heat.

There are those that say that the Rider is a Chosen, being selected & empowered by a god to act as their foremost servant, but of which god or gods have blessed her, none can say. It is surely not Malerion, for he views her as an irritant, a thief of his power. Others say it is Morrda, the Pale Rider, but there is truthfully little to link the two. Some among the most learned claim that the Rider is the lost disciple of a dead god, whoses final act was to save his most loyal servant from the end of The World That Was. There are perhaps only two that know the truth of this; Sigmar, who refuses to speak of it, and The Twilight Rider herself.

Description
The first any know of the Rider's approach is the ever present cloud of mist that surrounds her. Even in other Realms such as Aqshy or Hysh it is present, like a sliver of Ulgu itself has been bound to her. Sometimes it can be seen from miles away, a warning and a threat for those that know what it signifies. Sometimes it is suddenly around you; between one blink and the next the grey fog swells, blocking out all else. Whispered secrets and mocking laughter haunt you as you stagger about, trying to free yourself. Finally, after what seems like years, you hear the sound of hooves and turn to find the The Twilight Rider already towering above you.

Her horse is a thing of mist and shadow, and she is bound so tightly to it you could mistake it as part of her body. She herself is clad in black, worn robes, with a belt of silver links around her waist, atop a sash of torn green fabric. At her hips are two blackpowder pistols of archaic make, while across her back is a greatsword, with three unrecognizable runes upon the blade. A gnarled staff, around which mist spins in a silent dance, is clutched in one hidden hand. As your gaze rises higher, you see a talisman on her chest; a broken coin. Finally you see her wild black hair, and underneath the wide brim of tall hat, her face…

You wake, as if from a walking dream. The sun shines. There is no mist, no shadow horse, no silent lady. You try to convince yourself it was nothing but a fantasy. But as you look down at the road, you see them. Four hoofprints. And the imprint of a massive paw.

In Battle
The first a commander will know of The Twilight Rider's presence on the battlefield is more often than not when her blade slits their throat - but often they never even know that before they find themselves in death's embrace. The Rider can pass through ranks of elite warriors with nary a whisper, leaving them to fall as their wounds suddenly show themselves.

As said above, the Rider is a master of the Grey Wind, beyond the skill shown by any living being, save those touched by the gods. Mist rises to cover ranks of charging berserkers, and when it drops only desiccated corpses remain. The Rider's shadow seems to be its own entity, dancing on its own. When it covers a being, they simply turn to ash, blowing away in the silent wind. Knives of pure shadow fly through the air, striking down many and leaving no trace. She uses her magic to aid her allies as well; weapons suddenly glow with a dark light, cutting deeper then they should, or the mist covered ground seems to flatten, allowing even the most unsure steed to travel at full pace. Those that try to use magic directly against the Rider have their minds torn apart; if they survive, they have no knowledge of the spell they had used.

The sword of the Rider is known as Branulhune (Moonlit Wit) and is an ancient greatsword of Duardin make. The three runes that blaze upon the blade are unknown, even among the oldest of Longbeard, but their effects seem to be spectacular. Anything struck receives a massive blow of force, comparable to "a giant's kick", and are often shattered into many pieces. Magic flees from the sword's touch, leaving any warrior relying on magical artifacts or spells exposed. The Rider also seems to be able to turn the sword into mist, before instantly reforming it. In this way she can easily pass through an enemy's guard without striking their weapons.

The Rider can also strike at a distance using her blackpowder weapons. No matter the distance, cover, or spells of protection, it takes but a single bullet to kill the foe, with none of the sound that usually heralds the firing of such weaponry. Sometimes a leader of a warband is the only one killed, felled from some unseen foe, which sends the now leaderless mob into a frenzy.

The Wolf of the Rider bears mention, for it is a terrifying foe. Like a being of shadow itself, it springs from the mists, tackling stragglers and dragging them away before their fellows can act. Those that try to strike it simply fail to; something about the beast causes blades to slip past it, bows or guns to misfire when aimed upon it.

History
Time within the Mortal Realms is often… difficult. What is known, in relation to The Twilight Rider, is that she has been present for as long as any can remember, a silent silhouette on the horizon, only rarely approaching. As the Age of Chaos began, such vistations became rarer, until the Rider is now only seen when she rides against the forces of Chaos, Destruction & Death.

Age of Myth
"I wish she… I wish all of them could see this. Maybe they can. Somewhere"
There are many stories of The Twilight Rider during the Age of Myth. She was never confined to a single Realm, going where she willed, but she often avoided Hysh and Azur. While solitary, she was known to enter towns and cities; most of the time she merely observed, but sometimes engaged closer. One story tells of her entering the Blade Festival of Schwert, a town in Chamon famed for its blademasters. She defeated every warrior that challenged her, often in mere seconds, but abandoned the tournament before the final set of duels.

Age of Chaos
"Even after all this time… you won't let yourself rest…" - Daemon of Chaos
When Sigmar retreated to Azyr, many left behind in the other Mortal Realms followed his lead, and hid instead of actively fighting against the seemingly endless tide of Chaos. No so The Twilight Rider. She struck the forces of Chaos wherever she could, ambusing armies on the march and sneaking into their fortresses to assassinate leaders and steal items of import.

The Rider once led of Slaaneshi warhost on a dance through Ulgu. Everytime the mortal servants of the Pleasure God grew bored with the chase, she would strike them from afar, goading them again. Finally after many days the host believed they had her cornered with a deep gorge - but as they approached the Rider to slide into the shadows and escaped. To their horror they then found they had been led into the path of a great Shade-storm. Magnified by the gorge, the storm devastated their ranks, who fled best they could, cursing the Rider's name.

It was at this time that the Rider began to cloak herself more deeply in shadow, creating the ever present cloud of mist that now surrounds her. In this darkest age she herself grew darker, retreating into herself, nothing more than the shadow of death.

Age of Sigmar
"The Dämmerlichtreiter rides with us!" - Freeguild Captain
As the Realmgate Wars began, the Twilight Rider only amped up her assaults on the enemies of Order, often striking in tandem with the remergent Alliance of Order, even if they never knew of her presence. It is possible in fact that she took part in many important battles, without either side knowing of her.

It is known that she advised many Fyreslayer Lodges and Kharadron Sky-Ports to join the Grand Alliance, where they might have stayed neutral instead.

During the Soul Wars, The Twilight Rider led a Kharadron Sky-Fleet into a series of lightning fast assaults on the borders of Nagash's empire in Shyish, destroying several castles and fortresses of Vampire Lords, and fleeing before a counter attack.

She has been encountered by Soulbound parties, and often guides them on their journey, giving advice or important knowledge to aid them. When asked why - if any are brave enough to ask - she simply responds that she once took part in her own great quest, and sees some kinship with them.

Known Relationships
Sigmar
"You failed him. He was loyal, he fought in your name and you failed him. You let him die. You could have saved him, but you didn't. I'll never forgive you for that."
It is said that the God-King Sigmar, in the earliest days of The Age of Myth, wandered the realms, meeting many strange beasts and peoples. It is said, during his exploration of Ulgu, he encountered a lone woman sitting beside a stream. It is said, when the woman realized who he was, she tried to cut off his head. And shot him. Repeatedly, it is said.

It is unclear if this woman was truly the Twilight Rider, but is known for a fact that she holds some grievance with the God-King. Some stories tell of her visiting the ancient cities of Men, Duardin and Aelves but never those sworn strongest to Sigmar. When the forces of Chaos began to invade the Mortal Realms, it was suggested to Sigmar that the Rider be invited to the councils of war, or at least be asked to join His armies, but he refused, stating "I once took something dear from her, and she has never forgiven me. She has no love for me, or my works."

Stormcast Eternals
Despite such a claim, since the first deployments of the golden warriors of lightning, the Rider has been known to observe them from far off distances, fleeing when any approach. She seems most interested in the Vanguard-Hunters…

Collegiate Arcane
In the Tower of the Grey Wind, one of the floating colleges of the Collegiate Arcane, there is a sealed set of rooms that has never been claimed. Despite this, sometimes movement can be heard from within.

There is also an open seat on the Grey Council, although none can remember who sits there.

Duardin
The Duardin say that the Azrildrekked was a great friend to the earliest Karaks, visiting a great many times. She was also, mostly strangely, known to freely enter the private sanctums of the Ancestor Gods; in particular Thungni, Morgrim, and at least once Grimnir. It is unknown what was discussed between such figures, but it is said when the Rider left the company of the fiery war god, the mists that surrounded her seemed to be a cloud of sorrow, rather than a mantle of mystery. In the Age of Sigmar, while she freely gives aid to the Kharadron Overlords and Fyreslayers, she seems most fond of The Dispossessed, those Duardin who still hold onto the traditions and values of their ancestors.

An odd claim by some Duardin is that the Twilight Rider is, in fact, one of them. Despite looking like a human, they say she carries an ancestral soul, one stolen from their afterlife long ago. There is little proof for this claim however.

On separate occasions the Twilight Rider has commanded Duardin forces, either by purchasing their loyalty or using ancient pacts. She has lead them to great victories many times, often making use of the overwhelming firepower deployed by the Dispossessed and Kharadron Overlords. For this, she (perhaps unofficially, perhaps not) is known as a Thane, or even an Arkanaut Captain.

Aelves
The Aelves of Hysh know The Twilight Rider as The Grey Loremaster, for this was the name given to her by Teclis, their Mage God. When the two first met, it is said Teclis greeted her as an old friend while the Rider greeted him as a student would their master. Again, none know what they discussed, but the Rider would return many times, a shade standing out against the eternal light of Hysh.

She is less well regarded by Malerion; it is said the two have never truly met, but The Shadow King calls her only thief, saying she wields power stolen from him. Morathi supports her son in this, and the Daughters of Khaine are often hostile to The Twilight Rider.

Sylvaneth
"You. I know… I know you." - Drycha, first encounter with The Twilight Rider
The children of Alarielle mostly follow the Aelves in their interactions with the Grey Loremaster. The exception to this is Drycha Hamadreth, who hates her with a burning passion. The two mistresses of shadow have dueled at least three times; the first time Drycha forced the Loremaster to retreat bloodied, the second the Handmaiden was cut in twain, and the third fight ended when they were joined forces to fight a Nurgle Rotbringers assault. After this, they made a tentative truce.

Orruks
"Zog dat" - attributed to unknown Ironjawz Megaboss
Orruks are, as a general rule, hard to frighten. Even when faced by a force many times their greater, they are likely to still "giv' it a go." Which is why stories of full WAAAGHs turning around merely at the sight of a lone rider are often met with incredulity. Yet, there is truth to these stories. It is theorized that at some point, perhaps beyond any memory, the "'Spooky Lady" took part in such an overwhelming slaughter of the children of Gorkamorka that it caused spiritual wounds in the entire species. Or maybe, more simple men say, orruks are smart enough to know when a fight isn't worth it.

Skaven
"Big good-obedient little ratling, or misty warlock swallow you up-up!" - Overheard in a Skaven den
The "Shadow-Fog Deathmaster" is a figure of fear, dread, and surprisingly admiration for the Skaven, especially the clans of Eshin. To the shadow masters, she is worthy of respect, given her evident prowess, and ability to detect, trick or kill even their most-well trained Deathmasters. To say you survived an encounter with the Rider is a badge of great honor, although few rats are quick to claim it. She has a record of tracking down those who boast of besting her… even following them in Blight City itself.

Grand Alliance of Death
"Damn the van Hals. She knows too much. She must die" - Nagash
To a soul, the servants of Nagash hate the Twilight Rider. If she enters Shyish, orders are immediately given by the Great Necromancer to his trusted lieutenants to hunt her down. Entire armies are shifted to pursue her, no matter their previous objectives. Thus far the Rider has avoided them, either by lingering in the Realm of Death for a short while, simply slipping past, or outright fighting and destroying them. Of all the Undead, The Rider seems to have the greatest enmity with Vampire Lords of all kinds, and often goes out of her way to kill them and destroy their holdings.

Prince of Cats
"You died. I saw you die!"
"And die I did! Why do you think I'm down here, hmmm?"
It is rumored that the Twilight Rider was often the honored guest of the Prince of Cats, in the afterlife for thieves and tricksters he ruled over; Latchkey Isle. Due to the forces of Nagash constantly chasing her, she was never able to stay long.

During the Age of Chaos, the power of the Prince of Cats faded as his mortal worshippers dwindled, and he vanished. The Twilight Rider no longer travels to Latchkey Isle.

The We
A little known race from the mountains of Ghur, the We are a grouping of Hive-Minds within arcarnid bodies. In the past they traded with the Duardin and Humans of the Realm, mostly the silks they produce in abundance, while they themselves purchased books and other materials for their Libraries of Memories. The Twilight Rider has long been associated with the We, and fought alongside them against Orruks and the forces of Chaos, allowing them to survive to the present day where other species may have been consumed by the Realm of Beasts.

Dragonofelder · Mar 11, 2024

You play with the coin, dancing it through your fingers. Gambler, Night Prowler, Deceiver, Protector, Father. It's not a normal habit for you; but right now you're more stressed than you ever have been. In… you glance at the clockwork timepiece on the wall, five minutes, you will complete the greatest work of your career. Success could mean changing the world for the better. Failure could, well, also change the world, but definitely for the worse.

The coin dances between your fingers, the face shifting everytime. Gambler, Night Prowler, Deceiver, Protector, Father, Gambler, Night Prowler, Deceiver -

"Mathilde?" You fumble and drop the coin, but snatch it out of the air. Dragomas has the decency to keep a straight face as you quickly rethread it and drop it under your shirt. Once done and you turn to him, he nods. "Everything is ready." You nod back, and follow him out of the tent. Showtime.

It's been the work of many years, blood, sweat, tears and prayers. It's taken so many deals, a kingdoms worth of resources, unfathomable amount of magic, hundreds of slit throats, the threat of a schism in the colleges, a religious upheaval, one or two near wars and one actual war, barrels and barrels of ale, beer, wine, brandy, vodka, something from Lustria called jora-

Anyway. It's been a lot of work. And the final project now stands before you. The main body is a seven meters tall column of finest marble, quarried from deep beneath Karak Eight Peaks. It's inlaid with various metals and jewels, and decorated with numerous styles; Runes of multiple kinds next to arcane patterns, frescoes depicting religious scenes & creatures surrounded by carved writings in ancient languages. Every detail is significant even a small chip on an edge, halfway up the side has an esoteric function.

You could spend a great deal of time thinking about the various features of this new improved waystone. How it can, theoretically, hopefully, handle twice the amount of energy as the old versions. How it strengthened all waystones connected to it. The multiple layers of defence built in; the disguising and obfuscating spells, the runic array that immediately attacks anyone that used Dhar in the area, the alarm system that can be linked to various items to warn of tampering. How a mage could now safely draw a single wind from it, or a runesmith can recharge runes faster…

Someone coughs and you quickly escape your musing. Slowly and stately you turn around, trying to pretend you were just doing a last inspection. The crowd watching you is quite large; some have travelled far to this stretch of Estalian coastline, the location of the waystone connection between The Old World and Ulthuan.

Front and center, of course, are the members of the Waystone Project. Panoramia is closest, a soft look on her face, with Wolf at her feet. Horstmann, Johann & other members of the Colleges are there, waiting patiently. Thorek is standing in front of a gaggle of lesser runepriest & apprentices, proud as a new father. Lord Hatalath & Cadaeth represent the Eonir. Baba Niedzwenka & the full Ice Witch Zlata stand in a slowly expanding circle of frost. Baba Brzeginias, axe at hip, delicately converses with a Damsel. A group of cloaked halflings. Loremaster Teclis, despite his status as a "consultant" instead of a full member, stands with his students while discussing something with the pair of Skink Priests watched over by their Saurus guardians. A collection of multi-species priests, Kasmir & Heideck among them, mingle with mundane but knowledgeable scholars. And the lone Norscan sorcerer, sweating in his wolfskin cloak, tries to pretend every second person doesn't want to do painful things to him (odd duck that one).

Behind them are the many personages of importance that had come to witness this potentially historic moment. Luitpold I watches with interest while Heidi smiles knowingly. Roswita Van Hal stands with the other Elector Counts or their representatives, glaring at the back of the Norscan's head. Multiple Lord Magisters from the Colleges stand around Dragomas, including multiple Lord & Lady Greys as well as Master Regimand, who gives you a quick smile as you catch his eye. Young Mandred, still looking awkward in his robes, stands between the Imperial Court and the Colleges.

Meanwhile, the Dwarven delegation is lead by Throgrimm Grudgebearer himself, sat sternly atop the Throne of Power. On one side is Belegar, looking ready to duck at the first sign of problems and the other is Kragg the Grim, who seems to be grumbling continuously behind his beard. On the other side of the gathering is the High Elves; the Lion Guard Captain Alastar represents the Phoenix King, the Everqueen is represented by her daughter Aliathra, while Prince Tyrion lurks behind her like a mother hen. Next to the Asur are the Asrai, including the mysterious Sisters of Twilight, and the Enoir led by their Queen. Tsar Boris Bokha stands next to a massive polar bear, both taking the heat surprisingly well. Another Skink Priest atop a Troglodon, although the massive presence floating above him suggests he is merely a view-piece. Bretonnian Dukes, Grail Knights & Damsels. Estalians & Tileans. Sundry other nobles, scholars and anyone that knew of the Project, was able to travel, and is trusted enough not to cause problems. Every nation and race of the Old World & beyond is represented, and as they realize you are about to begin, every eye turns towards you.

No pressure.

You begin with an edited history of the Waystone Network; their original creation by the Old Ones for their unknown purposes, the repairs conducted by the ancient Asur following the creation of the Vortex. The expansion overseen by the Dwai Ancestor Gods, the various human magical practices based around the stones. The slow degradation of the Network over thousands of years, by forces of Chaos, mortals seeking power, the simple passage of time. You talk of the founding of the Waystone Project, the many people from different walks of life brought together in common purpose, the convergence of so much knowledge, and the secrets pulled from the past. Finally you detail the creation of the new waystone design, the first of which stands behind you, and the Project's plan for the future; replacing all damaged & major waystones. Finding and destroying what few chaotic waystones, such as Beastmen's Herdstones, survived your short purges. And, once all the work is complete, the great council that would be held to decide what other projects can be done to improve the world, and fight back the forces of Chaos.

Your long, long speech finally done, you turn back to the waystone. Carefully, reverently, you pick up the final piece; a grey gem, carved into a sword. While it is indeed essential, putting this into place is not enough to truly activate the waystone. As you delicately slot the gem into its place on a depiction of the Wheel of Magic, you silently chant a spell so complex that even you, who transcribed it from a tablet carved by a nameless Old One, don't understand. The click of the gem seems to echo in the deepest parts of your soul, and as you step back the waystone begins to thrum with magical energy, building rapidly. You offer up one final prayer.

[Waystone Activation, 100+(so many modifiers, oh god so many) =4545.]

The wave of energy that washes over you is like a breath of fresh air after spending a lifetime living in the smog filled cities of the Dawi Zharr. Trace amounts of Dharr you'd never even notice are pulled to the waystone, spiralling around it as they split into all eight winds. Above the pyramidal peak, the threads combine once more, but this time turn into Qhaysh, true magic, a rainbow that shoots straight up into the sky. High above, it splits; the majority moves towards the south west, towards its final terminus, while a smaller amount moves northwards towards the previous major waystone.

Before you can turn around, a second wave of magic flares around you, this time going outwards. You're so surprised it takes a few seconds to recognise some important facts; the waystone wasn't the epicentre, you were, and it wasn't simply magical energy, it was divine magic. Quite familiar divine magic…

Fearing the worst, but not sure what that might be, you turn. The whole crowd seems to have been stunned; nobles & magic users alike swaying slightly, eyes glassy. Even the few animals seem affected. The few that are not are Wolf, who seems to be silently laughing; Heideck, who is looking awed and confused; and Heidi, who looks more smug that you think a mortal can actually be.

"Mathilde," Panoramia says, sounding out of breath, "Do you know what you've done?"

"...No?" you ask hesitantly.

"You've saved the world, Mathilde!" and her face is full of love and joy, "You saved everyone!"

Oh No.

"Soul of dawi, that one," Thorek cries over the rising hubbub of the crowd. "Despite the Umgak body she's stuck in!"

"I suppose this definitive proof that my, ah, 'experiment' is well worth it." Teclis says, and his students, some of whom held no little disdain for you, nod.

"This is perhaps among the greatest victories of the Empire, nay," declares Luitpold "of all the forces of Order!"

You desperately pull out the coin and bring it to your face, muttering denials. The dagger icon of the Protector seems to mock you. From the back of the crowd comes an unidentifiable but recognisable voice, somehow sneaking through all other sounds; "Three cheers for Mathilde the Hero! Hip Hip!"

"Hooray!" shouts the majority of the Empire natives.

Across the ocean in the deepest part of the jungle, the Temple Cities come to life. Skinks chatter excitedly while Saurus drum on their shields. Kroxigors raise their heads and howl, while the Slann raise their arms in jubilation. Even in the depths of the temples, where long dead priests rest, there is a susurration of wonder.

"Hip Hip!" This time the elves and dwarves join in, too overjoyed to be embarrassed. "Hooray!"

In the far east, the dragon children burst from their cities, joyfully crying out to each other as they twirl. The Empress and Emperor, so rarely seen, join them in flying about the Celestial City, rejoicing in a way they have not had the chance to in millennia.

"Hip Hip!" Even the animals join the cry, crying out to the heavens, as the world itself seems to shake from the celebrations occurring all across it. "HOORAY"

In the Warp, not the realms of Chaos but of the Divine, gods of all races and domains recognise this single mortal, what she has accomplished. Swords, staves and assorted drink holders are raised in salute. Even Sigmar, knowing well her hate for him, gives a solemn nod. Somehow, all these deities miss the man standing behind them, smiling the widest smile an immortal can.

"Damn you Ranald," you mutter.

Dragonofelder · Mar 11, 2024

This document is to be only viewed by those with Pendrag Level Clearance. Those without that continue beyond this point are to be considered traitors and heretics to Sigmar, and shall be pursued without mercy by his mortal agents.
This document concerns the Conspiracy of Silence. If you are a Magister of the Colleges of Magic, see memetic trigger below. Should this have no result or you are not a Magister, contact your superior or relevant authorities.

At the Battle of the Howling Hills, did von Zelt behead the Warlord.

Under-Empire Report: Skaven Cultural Insight - The Champions of Skavendom printed material
Written in the Year 2551 of Our Lord Sigmar
Written by M. J vF (-/-/-)
Consulted, among others; M. Grey (Grey), M. Johann (Gold), notes and writings of L. Quirin Waramunt (UAlt) (S·T·T·L), V. Saltzpyre (WH), O. Drakkisson (LM K8P)

This report is a brief summary of the Skaven cultural phenomenon known as "The Champions of Skavendom", a semi-regularly released printed material that serves as propaganda and educational material, targeted primarily at Skaven youth. It follows the exploits of a fictional group of Skaven, an assembly of extraordinary warriors that fight the enemies of the Under-Empire.

The media usually takes the form of scrolls or small sheets of parchment(1), although bound books(2) are available for ludicrous prices. The scrolls contain parts of an overarching narrative, named and numbered for ease of following along. The books meanwhile are collations of a single narrative piece.

The actual content of the media mimics the "cartoons" that have recently become popular in some human printed material. Regimented squares contain illustrations, usually basic although there are some surprisingly artistic examples, although they are usually bloody in nature. Voices are conveyed using "speech bladders"(3), with sound effects free floating. In truth, there is little remarkable about the material, aside from the fact it was being produced possibly thousands of years before any other races produced anything similar. The real interest is in the stories told, and the characters and events within.

History
The earliest record I have seen that seems to reference "The Champions of Skavendom" comes from a report given by a Dawi Thane, name unknown, who was involved in purging actions against the Skaven near Karak Izor, sometime around 1440. While exploring the conquered nest, a chamber was discovered that was at first thought to be a hall of records, for it was filled with stacks of parchment; but it was found each piece had roughly the same series of images and intelligible text. They were discounted as a mere curiosity, and burnt(4).

This, and many similar records that I shall not bother to list, shows that the production of this material has been ongoing for a great deal of time. Given the Skaven's lackluster historical record keeping, I doubt even they know when it was first conceived, but it is likely it was done so by a member of Clan Inkfur, as according to all sources they are the producers of the media. A Thrall Clan of the Great Clan Skyre, the clan operates mainly from Skavenblight itself, where their "printing den" is located.

I have found references to instances when rival clans, or even Clan Skyre itself have somehow taken over production of The Champions, but few lasted long. Despite its small size, Clan Inkfur wields enormous amounts of influence in Skaven society. There seems to be two reasons for this; given the popularity of The Champions, how a person or group is depicted in it's pages can affect common views. The popularity of the media, even at surprisingly high levels, also means any problems with it's production will cause outbreaks of violence until the situation is rectified. Clan Inkfur seems skilled at directing such events to manoeuvre themselves back into a favourable position, although they remain a fairly low standing.

The Champions
"The Champions of Skavendom", for whom the material is named after, are a group of fictional (see note) Skaven that act as the Under-Empire's foremost warriors, defenders and leaders, gathered together by the Council of Thirteen, and serving under their direct purview. The group dwells, between missions, "at the top of the tall-highest tower" of Skavenblight. They include members from all the major clans, and some minor clans. Their missions take them across the world (and beyond) to locations real and imagined, and has them face caricatures of the Skaven's enemies.

The media shows what might be, for a Skaven, the idealized version of their species. While political and social manoeuvring is rife, even amongst the Champions, this is seen as the proper way to do things, and is often applauded, even by those disadvantaged by it. Open conflict between the clans is minimal. The Council of Thirteen is united, often shown speaking in the same voice, and sees all that occurs. Other races, as mentioned above, are parodies of themselves, usually dim-witted and ineffective.

The leadership of the Champions changes between issues, but is usually one of four main characters; Chieftain Blackfur of Clan Mors, Master Molder Frankrat of Clan Moulder, Warlock-Engineer Evildson of Clan Skyre, or Plague Priest Coronas of Clan Pestilens. Regardless, the Grey Seer Strangefur acts as an advisor, and often seems to command the group himself.

Chieftain Blackfur of Clan Mors is bloodthirsty to the extreme; contrary to the Skaven's natural cowardice, he is all too eager to get to grips with the enemy. However Blackfur also shows a grasp of tactics; although basic by any real standard, the media presents them as masterful, and are often the cause of the Champion's victories. Blackfur is shown to have proficiency with all weapons he encounters; but he primarily uses a shield made from a apparently(5) fictional alloy of warpstone and gromil(6). Although normally a defensive item, Blackfur is adept at bludgeoning his foes with it, or performing impossible throws to hit distant enemies.

Grey Seer Strangefur is the sorcerer of the group, wielding powers of ruination and plague. He carries the Eye of Arrgh-a-lotto, supposedly the actual eye of a demon, that allows him to perform magic in excess of anything any Skaven has been seen to(7), up to destroying cities single handily. Remarkably the level of Strangefur's abilities can fluctuate between instances; the reasoning I have decided on is that otherwise he would be able to solve any problem encountered alone, making the other Champions superfluous.

Master Moulder Frankrat of Clan Moulder is a fleshcrafter of peerless skill, having a boundless curiosity that often borders on the malicious. Carrying various cruel tools and mysterious substances, his role is mostly one of support; torturing captives for information, sealing the wounds of other Champions, or injecting them with stimulants, to mixed effects. He is always followed by a Rat Ogre of his own creation; although often dying in their adventures, a new one eventually appears, all instances sharing the name "Ignaw".

Warlock-Engineer Evildson of Clan Skyre is in many ways similar to Frankrat; thus the two have a deep rivalry. Evildson is equipped with varying inventions, many of which I cannot confirm as real, and generally has a machine for any problem, although they often break down. He wears a harness powered by warpstone that grants him unnatural strength, as well as being equipped with miniature ratling guns. A common theme is one of Evildson's creations (such as the slightly horrifying self-replicating Scrap-Rats) going wild and causing more problems than they solve.

Plague Priest Coronas of Clan Pestilens is something of a split character. Sometimes he is a rival of Strangefur, using his own plague magics and spreading noxious gasses to descimate the Champion's foe's; and sometimes he's more like a witless jester, existing primarily as a punching bag. Such periods seem to correspond with times of Skaven history where Clan Pestilens is in opposition to wider Skavendom.

Clan Eshin is represented by a character known as "Deathmaster". Of all the Champions, I would say he is the most competent; indeed, I can't find a single instance of Deathmaster acting foolishly or failing a task, unlike the other Champions(8). Of note is that panels including him often have differing styles to others, becoming more angular and dramatic.

Claw-Captain Ack Beard-Beard, of Clan Skurvy, is a mostly supporting character, appearing in a limited number of stories. Primarily he appears to offer transportation with his boat(9), "The Grimy Pearl". He is overly fond of drinking and stealing, often stealing alcohol to drink from dwarfs and humans.

The source of which is usually, as standard for the race, Skaven.
I discovered a number of copies over the course of this investigation, of various age. Most have been handed over to relevant authorities, but I kept a few for my own amusement
A term taken from human cartoons. Someone should workshop a replacement
Apologies for the lack of specifics. This report only came to my attention thanks to a Dawi recordkeeper that had read it as an inquisitive beardling, and was much degraded once I received it.
Hopefully
Only ever referred to in the media as "Star Metal"
Although the media might just be exaggerating, as Skaven are want to do
I suspect the threat of shadowy death is enough to prevent such being depicted
I hesitate to call it such, in truth. The skaven artists seem to have little idea of how a boat works

Dragonofelder · Mar 11, 2024

Birdseye view of green forest. View shifts to over a Umgi peasant village. Zoom down to street level. It's farmer's market day, Umgi farmers selling their wares, younglings playing in the streets.

Suddenly a cry goes out. View jumps to young lad, clad in hunter's garb, running into the village from the forest. He cries "Greenskins!" before a brace of arrows strike him down. The view zooms past to show ranks of orcs, wearing shoddy armour and big choppas, marching from the trees. Shots of general confusion, men and women running around in panic, children crying. Orcs begin to cut people down, setting fire to buildings. The church bells begin to ring out.

Shot zooms straight up, bell rings echoing. Black shape resolves into a Gyrocarriage, shot moves to show side door. Opened by gromril clad dwarf, he pulls a large hammer from inside before stepping out and going into free-fall. As he falls, the shot rotates around him, showcasing the heavy shield slung across his back, narrow eye slits on the helm, the reinforced and runed gromil boots. The falling dwarf strikes a pose, hammer ready, feet first.

View changes to pack of orcs. They pause as a whistling sound is heard, looking around in confusion, before they look up. Shot of their horrified faces. Shot from behind them, the dwarf falls into their midst, and the shot slows down as it rotates around again. Shows the ground cracking as the dwarf impacts it, forced into a three-point crouch, as a shockwave of energy bursts out from him. The surrounding orcs are sent flying, their shoddy armour cracking.

Time resumes. The orcs closest are down, and the others turn to face the dwarf, hate evident. The dwarf unslings his shield and slams his hammer on it twice. "Come on then, Urk! Try me!" The orcs charge and the dwarf starts swinging his hammer as the view moves up. More silver blurs impact the ground, causing greenskin cries of pain, as a mountain range is shown beyond the forest, a fleet of low flying Gryocopters approaching in formation.

Film ends
Cousin Okri: "Well? What do you think?"
Karak-Eight-Peaks Council:
Cousin Okri: "It's only a proof of concept at the moment; having some trouble with the Runesmiths. But I reckon I can have a full squad of ADIH in a decade or two."
King Belegar: "...ah... A-D-I-H?"
Cousin Okri: "Aerial Drop Iron Hammer! The pick-edge for rapid force deployment! Once we have a good few veterans, we can see about some ADIDs, that's Aerial Drop Irondrakes."
Karak-Eight-Peaks Council:
Cousin Okri: "Had some ideas about getting them back up as well. Call em Blast-Packs; imagine a Drakegun, but has enough kick to lift a dawi into the air -"

Later, King Belegar writes a letter to Loremaster Weber: Come take back the position, please. I'd take your magic nonsense any day over this.

Dragonofelder · Mar 11, 2024

NOTE: This omake contains content taken directly from the actual quest

The Karag Dum Expedition, Part 8: The Battle of High Pass (Alternate Version: KALDOR DRAIGO)
"It's starting then," Hubert says at your side.

"Seems that way," you say. "We've stacked the deck as best we can, all there is to do now is see what the daemons decide to do."

[Rolling...]
[Rolled: 66]
[Shenanigans? Roll: 100 = YES]

A few minutes later Deathfang returns to sight and beelines towards you, raising your anticipation a notch. You'd worked out a system of signals for Asarnil for the most expected scenarios, so him coming in to deliver something in person indicates something unexpected or complicated. Deathfang alights atop the cockpit, his landing light enough and the steam-wagon sturdy enough that there's barely a creak of protesting metal, and Asarnil clambers down gracefully. "Four factions," he reports, "Khornate, Slaaneshi, Tzeentchian and what seems to be a Undivided Chaos Warrior or Champion busily tearing chunks out of each other. There's a Bloodthirster down and being torn apart by Daemonettes, and a Lord of Change in a magic duel with the Warrior"

You take a moment to digest that. "Okay, then... so we're still facing Slaanesh daemons, if anything. Do they have a Greater Daemon?"

"Perhaps. Something like an overgrown Fiend. Could be just that, could be a Keeper of Secrets or a Daemon Prince of some sort."

"Composition?"

"Almost all Daemonettes, some mounted. Though there's some sort of sorcery at play that could be concealing something, I couldn't count them without the numbers getting jumbled. But by appearance it seems to be in the low hundreds."

"What about the Chaos Warrior? Any identifying marks?"

"He's large, wearing silver armour, and has a banner displaying a sword and a book on his back." You look at Asarnil, silently asking for more details, but he just shrugs. "There was a great deal of magic flying around, and a large number of Horrors swarming him. Not the easiest to get a look at."

You can only nod, and think quickly as Deathfang flits away. The only Chaos Warriors that you know of to wear silver armour are the Mirror Guard of Sigvald the Magnificent, which would mean they would be Slaaneshi. But only Tzeentchian Warriors had any great skill in magic. So why would it be fighting the Lord of Change? After a few moments you shake your head and move to tell Hubert a much more concise version of Asarnil's report to pass on to the other leaders. It either would be a problem, or it wouldn't. Not long now.

---

The Daemons make slower progress than you expected, but you first catch sight of them as the sun begins to dip in the sky, an oncoming horde of bared flesh and sharp edges led by something that looks like a giant woman from the waist up and a giant snake from the waist down. You brush aside the haze of temptation and focus on the snake lady. She's missing an arm, waving a ravaged stump, and this causes you to notice other details. She's throwing glances behind her, as if looking for something. The lesser Daemonettes look ragged, somehow managing to seem alluring nevertheless, but some bear heavy wounds and move with less grace then they should. And you can't see any silver warriors anywhere. You push these observations from your mind, and prepare a spell.

---

The following battle was at once quick, but also busy. The reveal of the Slaaneshi slayers, followed by their slaughter of their uncorrupted brethren. Your beautiful decapitation of the higher demon, with the amusing face it made as it realised it didn't have enough arms left to defend itself. Once the Expedition has finished licking its wounds and loading the dead and wounded aboard the Urmskaladrak, the next priority is Karak Vlag itself. Asarnil and Deathwing go ahead to scout once again; and this return much faster. Asarnil looks rattled.

"He's still there," he calls down, "the Chaos Warrior. He... communicated to me. In my mind. It hurt quite a bit actually; felt like my soul was on fire briefly."

That's probably not good. "What did he say," you ask. "Did he identify himself? Give any grand titles?"

"No, I just heard a inhuman voice asking 'Where the Grey Knights'. Deathwing flew us away as soon as he felt my pain."

You take a moment to consider this. Grey Knights... you don't know of any chaotic warband or knightly order with a name like that. After a short discussion with the other expedition leaders, it's decided you should try talking to him. If it goes wrong, Deathwing can be hovering nearby to intercede.

It takes a few minutes riding on Shadowsteed before what remains of Karak Vlag's front gates appear. Standing in front of the is the strange warrior. As you approach, you realise he's massive, at least 8 feet. The bulky armour he wears is grey, rather than silver, and is more finely embellished then a Gold Wizard. A large sword is planted in the ground beside him, one massive arm resting on it, while the other arm carries a massive shield.

[Magesight: 43+28+10(Windsage) = 81]

In truth, it's hard to see many details, because in your Windsight he's a burning beacon, so bright it's hard to look at. The winds boil around him, seeming both repelled and attracted by him. You recognise that a spell is being cast - or rather, maintained, but you can't identify it. Whatever it is, it's using a great deal of magic; and this warrior is giving it without seeming winded at all. After a few moments of simply staring at this... bizarre mystery, you remember yourself as he shifts, and begins to speak in a voice so deep, he sounds like a high society ogre.

"I am Kaldor Draigo, Supreme Grand Master of the Grey Knights. Where are my brothers?" he asks. As you watch, a cloud of burning magic gathers above his head, and you have the sudden realisation that if you don't give a satisfactory answer he'll go looking for one in your mind.

"I have no knowledge of any group or organisation called the Grey Knights," you quickly say.

[Draigo's Impression: 72+??+?? = ???]

He studies you briefly, glowing eyes boring in your soul, before he nods. "I see no deceit in you, despite the veil of mist surrounding your soul. Tell me, witch; who are you?"

"I am Dame Magister Mathilde Weber of the Grey Order."

He pauses, and seems to be considering something. "Dame... a noble title. Would you, perhaps, be knighted?"

You don't know what has to do with anything, but you answer. "I am a Knight of Stirland and The Empire."

"Ah," he breathes, understanding crossing his face. "That might do it." Carefully he pulls his sword from the ground and places it on his shoulder, giving you a short nod. "May we meet again, Dame Weber. Perhaps then, I might fight alongside you." There is a feeling of something being released, the magical energy around Draigo suddenly drops - and you jump back as reality tears itself open. Draigo is pulled through, the rift shuts, and you are left with nothing but the broken gates of a lost dwarf hold and the cry of a eagle on the wind.

Dragonofelder · Mar 11, 2024

Extract from the Diary of J vF (Censored Version)
For the eyes of Lord Magisters & approved persons only

…I found myself discussing the larger scale magical weapons used by the Colleges (basic details only, of course), and soon my aged host's attention was caught by my description of the Luminark of Hysh, the Light Order's brand of Battle Altar. After some prompting, he revealed he knew of a similar device, built within the very Hold we were in. However unlike the arcane Luminark, this was the product of Runecraft, and only one was in existence. He asked if I wished to see it, and I agreed.

I was led into vaults that I am oathbound not to discuss, and even then was forced to wait outside even deeper rooms, under the watchful eyes of my Host's huskarls. Finally he returned, bringing with him a curious cart, upon which laid Zon-Drakk-Branhunkaz, minor creation of the legendary Runelord Snorri Giftgiver, he of elder myth and old antiquity.

The barrel-sized device was a beautifully carved dragon's head, poised mid-howl, resting atop a purpose made cart. The head's neck only extends briefly, before terminating in a rounded end. The entire piece is made from gromril - an amount that would bankrupt most Holds today - with every minute detail like scales engraved. The eyes, fist sized rubies, seem to shine with inner suns. The rune responsible for the weapon's function is located somewhere within the throat; but I was advised not to peer inside, for more than one reason.

The cart the head rested upon was by comparison less noteworthy, although no less impressive. Made from a silvery wood, it was carved with depictions of dragons, mainly those fighting or inflight. Under the dragon head was an assemblage of gears and pistons that allowed the head to be angled. The cart could be pulled by goats, or by hand, with railings on all sides to accommodate this. The size of the cart meant the dragon head rested just above head height for a dwarf.

I asked my host if I could witness the weapon firing, and although he grumbled like old dwarfs are wont to do, he agreed so quickly I suspected he wanted to test it himself. We relocated to a mountain plateau, which was the location of a testing range, displacing a number of craftsdwarfs that were testing their own creations. Downrange, the body of a dead boar was hung from a wooden harness, exactly 100 yards away from the Zon-Drakk-Branhunkaz. After some brief calibration, the chosen gunner climbed aboard the cart, ancient bones complaining, and with a fairly light hammer blow to the dragon head activated it.

I have seen Luminarks fire before, and while there was a certain similarly to Solheim's Bolt of Illumination, the beam that the Zon-Drakk-Branhunkaz was quite different. For one, there was more heat, as the unknown rune seems to produce a burning ray, as opposed to Solheim's soulfire. Had the boar been struck by such, I reckon it would have been blown apart; whereas the result here was a sizable hole burnt through. In fact, the whole carcass suddenly burst into flame, and its wooden frame seemed highly scorched. Suddenly I realized why the Zon-Drakk-Branhunkaz was quite firmly pointed away from the mountain and anything important, and was very glad I refrained from sticking my head down it's throat.

Later, after the device was returned to its place for another millennium, my host and I returned to his guest halls. Over a cask of Trollbrew, I was forced to admit to the doddering smith that the Zon-Drakk-Branhunkaz was indeed a match, or even superior to the Luminarks constructed by the Colleges. However, I put to him the question why, even with the Rule of Pride taken into account, were more such devices not created? To this he was reluctant to explain, but eventually I managed to draw out from him that the Zon-Drakk-Branhunkaz was in fact only a prototype, as we would understand it. Snorri Giftgiver, that venerable legend, intended only to prove to himself and others that he could create such a thing, and then indeed went on to do so again, at a grander scale indeed. That, however, is an entirely different story, and one I will not share without my friend's explicit permission.

By then, night had come and gone, and we both had our work to return to. My host bid me farewell, after making me swear an oath to never bring a barrel of Thunder-Water to his halls again, no matter how much interest he'd shown in it. And so I departed, leaving civilization once more, walking further north…

Dragonofelder · Mar 11, 2024

You walk a lonely mountain road, clinging to a cliffside like a barnacle to a dock. Above the dark clouds are lit by unseen lightning, and you grasp your sword tighter as thunder rolls. Finally you turn a corner, and see your destination ahead of you. Across a wide ravine, spanned only by a rickety rope bridge, rises a castle of almost impossible size. Seemingly carved from the mountain it rests upon, it's gothic arches and sprawling walls give a sense of grandeur, barely affected by the crumbling crenulation and collapsed keeps. It has the appearance of a ruin; but from many windows light can be seen, flickering and dancing. At the top of the tallest tower that rises like a narrow finger into the sky, a single aperture glows like a beacon.

"Ho there, adventuring soul!" cries a thin voice. Surprised, you see that what you took for a rock is in fact an old man, hidden under a tattered brown cloak. He stands at the closest end of the rope bridge, supporting himself with a wooden staff. "I see someone else has been drawn to this blighted place. What do you seek, I wonder; glory? Treasure? Wisdom? It matters not, for all can be found within….

THE CASTLE OF CALAMITY!!!"

Thunder sounds, lightning striking at the fortress, although no damage seems to be done. The man continues. "I am but a humble Bridgekeeper, kept here by duty and fate. It is my task to advise you, and all others that follow this path, as to what lies beyond.

"Once you cross this bridge you shall be greeted with three gates. Each leads to a different section of the castle, and once you pass their threshold you cannot leave until you have killed it's master. Each district is different in its character and challenge, and so too the treasure you can find.

"You may move about the inner halls as you wish, but beware - a monstrous guardian stalks the footsteps of any who intrude upon those halls. Retrace your steps too many times, or tarry in a single room for too long, and you shall be forced to face it.

"On last thing, adventurer." The Bridgekeeper moves aside to reveal a flat outcropping of stone, like a rough altar. Three items rest upon it. "I can offer you one, single, item to aid you upon your quest. Each shall aid you in their own way, as you traverse the halls of -

THE CASTLE OF CALAMITY!!!"

Thunder and lightning once more. The Bridgekeeper sighs. "My apologies, it does that automatically."

Choose one item

[ ] Wooden shield
Made from planks and leather. Enough to stop a blow.
Increase Combat & Defence Rolls by one

[ ] Skill Ring
A copper ring carrying a minor enchantment
Increase Dexterity, Strength & Intelligence Rolls by one

An attempt at making a Choose Your Own Adventure Story in quest form. The player would be exploring the castle one room at a time, solving puzzles and defeating monsters.

The main issue with this quest idea was that'd have to design a whole, multi-part and stage adventure. Second; how would I run it? Go full CYOA, only giving a few options to choose from? Or give players more free reign, do an action and makes some rolls?

Also yes, it says three items but only two are given. I think it was supposed to be a staff, or something.

Dragonofelder · Mar 11, 2024

Freeguild

Smithson Ranger Corps

Enxil Riders
Skink Horned One Riders

Thomas's Tank Engines
Ironweld Arsenal, 4 Tanks (Thomas Blue, Henry Green, James Red, Gordon Yellow)
Head Engineer is a bit absent minded

Stormhosts

Daughters of Sigmar

"THE LIVING WE SAVE!"
"THE DEAD WE AVENGE!"
The Daughters were the seventh stormhost created by the God-King Sigmar, and consist entirely of women; great warriors-queens and champions from across the eight realms fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with huntresses who led guerrilla wars on Chaotic forces and wives who took up the weapons of their fallen husbands to defend hearth and home. They, perhaps more than any other Stormhost, are devoted to their memories: those of their families, their subjects, of who they were before. While many Stormcast are content to let their pre-reforging selves be lost, dismissing it as 'a closed chapter of their life'. The Daughters, however, see their memories as precious, and reminders of exactly why they must oppose Chaos. Each of them has a steel plaque in their home in Azyrheim, carved upon which is everything they can remember about who they were before their reforging.
The Daughters are also very protective of mortals, both civilians and allied warriors, and will go to great lengths to ensure their safety. Many are the chaos lords who sought to dishearten the Stormcast through common butchery, only to find their foes attacks redoubled in ferocity as the warrior-women sought vengeance for the murdered innocents

Groups to be used in a Dawnbringer Crusade Quest. Also included Duardin and Aelf Stormcast Hosts, before I realised they wouldn't work.

Dragonofelder · Mar 11, 2024

Your head… hurts so much. In all your years fighting the foes of the Imperium, never has your skull pounded in such a way. Nor have you felt such a soul-deep weariness. The rough shaking of your transport does not improve matters… you crack open a single eye, expecting to see the rough metal roof of a Rhino, only to see gray misty sky. And you realize… there's wooden planks beneath you. And the sounds you can hear are the turning of wheels, small hooves and feet on cobbles…

"Hey you there. You're finally awake." With difficulty, neck bones protesting, you turn to look at the speaker. He looks like a feudal worlder; wearing dirty leather and chainmail armor. Beside him, awkwardly pressed against him, is another man wearing little more than sack cloth. By contrast the third man's clothes are near exorbitant, a heavy fur lined cloak. All the men have their hands bound by rope, although the third man is gagged.

You realize you're lying on your side, armourless, in a wooden wagon. Arms bound behind you, you shift uncomfortably, looking around to see you're traveling down a primitive road, surrounded by needle-leaved trees and gray rocks. Your wagon is being driven by a soldier, as is another ahead of you. More men escort you.

"You were trying to cross the border, right?" the blonde man continues. "Got caught up in that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."

"Damn you Stormcloaks." The second man, the thief? He's angry. "Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been half way to Hammerfell." He turns to you now; "You there. You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."

You push the prisoner's talk into the background, idly listening to it as you search your memories. Your mind is still foggy, but you are certain… you were not in a place like this, before. Were you fighting? Where were your brothers, your squad? And your armor and weapons… still the answers elude you.

The road begins to dip, leaving towards a basic stone wall capped by a sheltered walkway. One of the convoy's guards calls out to someone inside the walls.

"Look at him. General Tullius the military governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this."

Elves? You twist your head, earning a sharp crack that makes the thief jump, and catch a glimpse of a… woman? With pale gold skin and pointed ears, angrily discussing something with a gray haired man you can only see the back of. She doesn't look completely like an Eldar… perhaps an Exodite with divergent genetics?

The houses you pass by are simple wood and thatch, alongside the stone walls of a keep. You hear the blonde man; the settlement's name is Helgan.

Finally you reach a open area, filled with more soldiers and some civilians.

Choose a name
[] Write in
Choose an age group
[] [Age] Matured Recruit
You have only just adapted to your new body, to your new purpose. Although inexperienced, you are eager to get to grips with the foes of mankind.
Young marine, less skilled than standard, finds it easy to adapt

[] [Age] Skilled Soldier
You have bestrode battlefields across the Imperium, carrying your chapter's colors with pride. Thousands of foes have fallen to you, and thousands more will follow.
Average marine, fully skilled, doubtful of new concepts

[] [Age] Seasoned Veteran
You have partaken in wars and crusades, faced down enemy champions and advised your commanders. Truly you are a legend in your own right.
True veteran marine, heroically skilled, intolerant of new ideas

Choose a chapter
[] [Chapter] Dark Angels
A shadowy and secretive chapter, following the traditions of the Knightly Orders of Caliban, the Primarch Lion El'Jonson's homeworld. They are driven in their goals, standing firm against the enemy, or unrelenting in their pursuit.

[] [Chapter] White Scars
The sons of Jaghatai Khan are born from a savage world, but carry themselves nobly. They are masters of fast attack attack tactics; in many conflicts the first and last thing the enemy knows of an assault is the roar of Assault Bikes.

[] [Chapter] Space Wolves
In their tongue they are the Vlka Fenryka, Wolves of Fenris. The sons of Leman Russ stand apart from other chapters, often seen as bloodthirsty savages. In truth they are noble and honor bound, close to the common citizenry.

[] [Chapter] Imperial Fists
To be an Imperial Fist is to be the final wall, the bastion upon which all foes will break. Following the example of their Primarch Rogal Dorn, the Fists are stoic and unyielding. They are detail focused, and value precision.

[] [Chapter] Blood Angels
The blood-stained sons of Sanguinius excel in close quarters combat, leaping to the fore of the fight. They value perfection, creating their own works of art, often as part of their equipment. Blood Angels wage war with a zeal almost unmatched among chapters.

[] [Chapter] Iron Hands
The sons of Medusa were greatly affected by the loss of their Primarch, Ferrus Manus. They burn with unrelenting hatred, especially for traitors and those they see as weak. They purge their biological weakness with bionics whenever possible.

[] [Chapter] Ultramarines
The scions of Guilliman follow the tenets of his Codex Astartes strictly, without deviation. However this only means they have directives in every situation. Ultramarines hold fast to their honor, and strive to protect the citizenry of the Imperium.

[] [Chapter] Salamanders
The children of Vulkan hold close to their humanity, maintaining familial connections on their homeworld Nocturne. They are noted for their fondness for flame & melta weapons, and are known to forge their own equipment.

[] [Chapter] Raven Guard
From the shadowy moon of Deliverance comes the sons of Corvus Corax. Masters of shadow warfare, it is rare for them to commit fully to a conflict, instead they strike fast at enemy weak points before swiftly disappearing.

"- and I'm -

What do you say?
[] [Action] "certain this is a mistake."
You're not with these Stormcloaks. You don't even remember being captured! Make the captain see sense.

[] [Action] "Leaving."
You are a Space Marine. You don't have to deal with this. You are not beholden to the laws or mortals, or their petty conflicts.

[] [Action] Nothing
Say nothing at all, not even your name, and wait for things to play out. Of course you won't let them just cut off your head…

[] [Action] write in
Do something else

This idea started life a story about a Space Wolf Dovakin. After joining this site and learning about Questing, I adapted it into a general Space Marine Dovakin quest.

The PC would just walk through most combat and challenges (if you wanted to), with the narrative being more important. The stuggle between the Marine's loyalties to the Imperium, and his "role" as the Dragonborn, the fact the Imperium dosn't even seem to exist, the struggle to get home... I was also going to do a vote on romance; none, the SM being blindly oblivious to anyone's affections, or tentative exploration.

There were also going to be other SMs in Skyrim, although this was mostly an idea from when it was a story instead of a quest; A Thousand Son at the Mages college. A Raven Guard in the Thieves Guild. A Night Lord in the Dark Brotherhood. A Blood Angel doing something with the Dawnguard.

Dragonofelder · Mar 23, 2024

Antikythian Bronze Legion

Extract from "The Armies of Anaximander"

For many years, the Bronze Men of Antikythia had been regarded as little more than superstition and hearsay, rather than true fact. A race of men that replaced their flesh with metal replacements was too preposterous, even for the wildest scholar. It was assumed, by most, that the Antikythians simply wore fully covering bronze suits of armor, or painted their skin that color.

During the middle years of his conquests, Anaximander's armies passed close to Antikythia, and he sent a force to scout the mountains for potential threats or allies. While he might have once scoffed at the tales of the Antikythians, as all did, Anaximander had faced many strange things during his life, and would not leave a potential foe at his back while he marched on.

Of the thousand or so men he sent, only a bare handful returned to Anaximander. They passed on tales of what they had seen; metal men, moving like lightning and with the strength of trolls. Of their ability to throw fire a hundred yards, and burn a man inside out. How blades would break against their skin, and even when wounded continued to fight. Knowing now for sure that a threat lay in the mountains, Anaximander split his army; the main continuing their path under the leadership of General Otho, while the Emperor himself led a smaller, but still vast army towards Antikythia.

Anaximander had barely entered the shadows of the mountains when he was met by the Antikythians; but they had not for war, but parley. Members of the Antikythian ruling council, the Motive Gears, had come themselves, for they saw the threat Anaximander represented. They claimed their "lightning-minds" had foreseen what would occur if Anaximander came to them as an enemy; mutual destruction, as Anaximander would die and his Empire shattered before it was truly born, but that the Antikythians would lie broken and their secrets stolen. Wishing to prevent this fate, they instead sought to bargain, and Anaximander was happy to agree.

The Bronze Pact is a topic for another tome, but of importance was that the Motive Gears swore one hundred of their men into the service of Anaximander. Each was worth a hundred men themselves, so the Antikythians claimed. Few that saw the Bronze Legion fight could doubt this

Each man - if they could be called men - of the Bronze Legion bodies covered by the eponymous metal. In some cases it was a mix of armor and replacement; the Antikythian's replaced weak or wounded limbs with better metal ones. For others, it seemed their entire body was made from bronze. Talan The Bull, leader of the Legion, was known for appearing more like a cast statue when still. The larger proportion of their body made metal was proportional to the Antikythian's enhanced strength.

The weapons used by the Legion were as varied as they were strange. Some used simple bronze blades, but they were concealed within the warrior's arms and could be extended. Others used "fire-beems" to cut men in half over long distances, or projected lighting that struck entire phalanxes at the same time. Of no doubt the most fearsome but least understood weapon utilized by the Bronze Legion was their "Net". Through arcane means every member of the Legion were linked together; to speak over vast distances, or see through the eyes of another. Anaximander utilized this last skill a number of times, splitting the Legion apart and embedding them in his other forces, while a single mouthpiece stood beside him to relay orders.

For all their skill at arms, the Bronze Legion were little liked by the other members of Anaximander's armies. They were seen as cold and arrogant at best, or soulless and heresy at worse. The Antikythians did nothing to prevent such negative feelings, making their distaste for flesh known at every opportunity. Still, the Bronze Legion gained many honors during the near decade they served. Should a warrior fall in battle - for they did, eventually, fall - their bodies would be taken back to Antikythia, as was demanded by the Bronze Pact.

It was during the war against the city-state of Black Nulka that the Bronze Legion fell from grace. Many stories had been told of the depravity of the Fleshcrafters in that fell place, and Anaximander had faced their mercenary Slave-Armies before. Thus he was well aware - or so he thought - of what horrors awaited his men, and thus he made the Bronze Legion the vanguard of his approach, believing they would stand best against whatever the Nulka unleashed from their pits.

The Legion, at that point reduced to about fifty in number, marched on the city, crushing the monstrosities that blocked their path. Soon their advance began to outpace Anaximander's other troops, and fearing the Antikythians would become cut-off, or would allow skimisers slip past into his front lines, Anaximander sent orders for the Legion to halt. But he was ignored.

The Bronze Legion of Antikythia stormed the bone gates of Black Nulka, and broke them down under the weight of their combined force. They marched into the city, and it can only be assumed they began destroying everything they could see. When Anaximander arrived the city was already aflame, and it would continue to burn for many days. The Emperor bade his armies surround the city, yet refused to let a single man enter the city after his wayward Auxlia. It was only after three days, when the fires and screams from Black Nulka had long since faded, that Anaximander himself rode into the city, surrounded by his personal bodyguards.

None would ever speak of what they say in the depths of that place, but when Anaximander returned he ordered the city bombarded until his men ran out of stones to launch, or wood to maintain their catapults. Of the Bronze Legion, only five still stood, and while Anaximander would not, perhaps could not, execute them for disobeying his orders, he publicly rebuked them and dismissed them from his service. The last men of the Legion silently gathered their dead, and returned to Antikythia.

Written as an omake for Diadochus - Fantasy Imperial Bureaucrat Quest.

References to parts of the SCP Foundation lore

Dragonofelder · Mar 23, 2024

An Alternative Future
2304 IC

Things were tense in the command tent. The army of the Empire - the first time soldiers from all the provinces marched under one banner in centuries - was camped on the border between Ostland and Kislev. Soon, the final march would begin.

Magnus von Bildhofen, chosen of the gods, stood beside Teclis, Loremaster of Saphery. The two were discussing the upcoming battles; what they knew from scouts and scrying of the land ahead, how Teclis's new human students might be utilized best, the last known location and strength of the Chaos horde that even now marched south. Both were grim, for they knew the challenge that lay ahead, and what would happen if they did not rise to it. What happened here, and the coming days ahead, would set the course of history… although not in the way anyone would have guessed.

From outside the tent came the sound of marching on muddy snow. Nothing surprising, considering they were in the middle of a military camp, so both ignored it. They raised their heads as the tent's sentries called out a challenge. And they both turned at the voice that responded.

"Name is pleasure and business is Fanriel! Or is it the other way round? Who cares, WOOF!"

Magnus barely had enough time to digest that, and to notice Teclis had turned an interesting shade of pink, when the largest woman he'd ever seen ducked into the tent. So tall, broad and muscular she'd nearly match an ogre, and with an, ah, ample chest to round out her figure. Clad in silver plate, a tall helm in one hand and a… dwarven longsword? in the other. The woman's blue eyes were lit up with joy, and her braided brown hair danced behind her.

"Kohai!" Yelled the woman, bearing down on the frozen Loremaster. Her helmet was tossed to the similarly clad male elf that entered behind her, while her sword was sheathed. "It's been too long!"

"S-Senpai," cried Teclis, backing into the map strewn table. "It's been less than two dec-aaAA!" Magnus watched, bemused, as his ally was bundled up into the woman's arms, his reddening face pressed against her… sizable breastplate. The noble saw that, although the woman was lifting Teclis from his feet to embrace him, she was carefully limiting the pressure upon his emancipated body. "Wh-what are you doing here!"

"HA!" she exclaimed, forceful shout at odds with the careful way she lowered her fellow elf down. As Teclis clutched at his staff for support, she stepped away and placed her hands on her hips, looking the Loremaster up and down. "I heard you'd come east to deal with the ongoing mess, and I said to myself, Fanriel," she dramatically intoned while leaning forwards, arm placed against her chest, "what kind of friend would you be if you didn't offer any aid you could? Now then, is the human I've heard so much about?"

With a start, Magnus realized Fanreil was looking at him now, studying him with a speculative eye. Desperate to gain some control of the situation, he gave a quick bow. "I am Magnus von Bildhofen, of Nuln. May I know your name, and what is your purpose here?"

"HA!" Magnus rocked back on his feet, but it seemed Fanreil was enthusiastic rather than disdainful. "On Ulthuan I was Fanreil Drangleic, Loremaster of Hoeth and Princess of Yvresse. But for the past three years, I've been Fanreil Brightheart! Mercenary Captain, now General! And I'm here to help you give Kul a bloody nose, and send him crying back to his damn gods!"

It took a moment to sort through this speech, but Magnus managed. "I see. How many mercenaries have you united under your banner?"

"Oh, only a couple hundred or so. Anyone nearby when I heard the news, and any bands I ran across on the way here."

Quickly making some calculations, Magnus realized an issue. "Ah… we I'm afraid we likely lack the funds to pay for so many-"

"HA!" At this point Magnus was worried for his hearing. "Don't worry about the pay, I've got enough stashed away for a couple Steam Tanks, if I wanted to! Although…" and here Fanreil leaned down so her face was inches from Magnus', a deeply serious look contrasting with the mischief in her eyes, "... there is a certain… ritual, I ask a potential employer to perform sometimes. Just to make sure they have the stamina to keep up with us, understand, hmm?"

Despite having faced down mutant cultists and antagonistic priests, Magnus had never feared for his life more than in that moment. "May I… know what it entails?"

"DRINKING, OFCOURSE!" Suddenly Fanreil's arm was around Magnus' shoulders, and she was pulling him out of the tent, past the stunned Greatswords standing guard. In front of the tent were eleven elves; one of whom was carrying a large barrel, marked XXXXXXX "Don't worry, you don't have to drink all of it, just enough to impress me!"

"Actually," Magnus began, "there is one skill I picked up during my university days that might be of interest to you…"

A few minutes later, after composing himself, Teclis peered outside the tent. He saw Magnus, standing in a circle of Swordmasters, holding a beer barrel above his head and pouring it straight down his throat. While the other elves performed the traditional "Chug, Chug, Chug" chant, Fanreil stood to one side, looking deeply impressed, and more than a little bit interested.

Teclis slipped back into the tent. He was not dealing with that right now.

Written for Mercenary Mage Quest: Asur Dogs of War in Warhammer Fantasy.

First thought of during the quest's character creation, although that was long done by the time I completed it. Inspiration obviously drawn from "Flashheart" from Blackadder. Woof!

Dragonofelder · Mar 23, 2024

Magos Biologis Durwin's Notes on Orkoid "Kultur" #01
Saryman Da Rainbuw Weirdboy
In Ork "Kultur", certain colours have certain meanings. If Orks are to be believed, applying these colours to technology or Orks themselves can grant varying beneficial effects. The most commonly encountered colour is red, often painted on vehicles, as it apparently makes them move faster. Other colours include blue, which increases luck, yellow, which increases DAKKA, black, which makes Orks tougher, and purple, which makes them sneakier.

An important kultural figure for Orks is "Saryman Da Rainbuw", an Ork Weirdboy. To increase his already considerable powers, Saryman had himself painted with all the colours he could acquire. Logically, for an Ork, he believed having multiple colours on himself would grant himself all the relevant effects. If this is true is unclear, for the first time Saryman attempted to cast a spell he exploded in a Technicolour rainbow. Of course Orks, being Orks, have attempted to replicate this, although none have apparently succeeded in gaining multiple benefits from multiple colours, or even exploding in such a notable manner.

Written for Get Ya Krumpers On (Ork Riot Quest).

Inspired for the thread's discussion of Ork colour theory

Dragonofelder · Mar 23, 2024

Necromancy, lure of power, only starting your path, yada yada

You are willingly walking the path of the necromancer. Corruption can work it's way into anyone, but you have thrown open the door, and now it likely can never be shut, unless you die
Necromancy does not have to be a road to vampirism

Skull Points
Each choice will either cost or give you skull points

Background
Birth
Provinces of the Empire
Bretonnia Dukedoms
Kislev
Border Princes
Norsca
Marienburg
Sylvania
Strigany - can't choose noble

Circumstance
Major Noble
Minor Noble
Townfolk
Peasant
Orphan

Early career
Wizard apprentice - which order?
Priest
Witch-hunter
Escape roll

Religion
Faithless
Chaos - Un, Sla or Tzc

Magical ability
Candle - basic human
Torch - wizard level, enough to be noticed
Bonfire- lots of power, draws demons

Why fall?
Item - nook, staff, etc
Loss
Wandering Master - for some reason you have drawn the attention of a wandering necromancer, who offered to take you on as an apprentice.

Goal
To do good
Revenge
Power
Wealth
Curiosity
Entrapped
Lost One
Secondary or secret one

Learning
How?
Self
Master
College - an almost unprecedented move, collection of apprentices

Where
See above
Vampire Coast

Inspired by Divided Loyalties, lost enthusiasm because I came to the conclusion I didn't have the breadth of lore knowledge to run it.

Dragonofelder · Mar 23, 2024

Bolter of the Unnamed Bride - Once used by a first generation member of the Adeptus Sororitas - not a former member of the "Brides of the Emperor", but recruited when they became an official Imperial institution. This Battle-Sister martyred herself to save hundreds, with this weapon being the last remnant of her. It is engraved with, or what is believed to be, a likeness of her.

Blue-Stone Aquila - A unique amulet that is rumored to have once belonged to Roboute Guilliman. Supposedly it grants the wearer some level of his tactical prowess.

Silver Tongue - A relic chainsword once owned by an Astartes Chapter that fell to infighting. The weapon is primarily made from an unknown silver alloy, and is powered through unclear means.

Staff of Screaming Death - Carved from the skull of a Suysh Queen, topped by a replication in miniature, this force staff echoes with the denied and impotent Death-Mark that the queen attempted to unleash upon her demise. A canny psyker can draw out this effect, filling the minds of the foe with the death cries of long dead xenos.

Selection of relic ideas for From the Brink : Blood Ravens Quest. Never posted. The first three items are all drawn from different 40K ideas/stories I've had.

Dragonofelder · Mar 23, 2024

Added more stuff, slowly working through my backlog when I have the energy for it.

Dragonofelder · Apr 3, 2024

Inquisitorial Report - Blood Dragons (Protectorate USA Elite Unit)

Name: Blood Dragons (also; Red Dragons, Blood Drakes, Scions of Abhorash)

Formation Type: Elite Mounted/Infantry

Numbers: Unknown

Introduction: The Blood Dragons are a unit of (suspected) mutants that serve as fast attack elites for the heretical forces of the Cainite Protectorate. Clad in red power armour and mounted upon jet bikes, they charge down their prey and tear them apart, drinking their blood before charging off to find new targets.

Initially encountered by Imperial forces during [REDACTED], they are believed to originate from Cassandron (see; Cassandron Report). Squads known as claws (around ten to twenty individuals) have been deployed alongside Protectorate forces on numerous battlefields, although singular individuals have been seen acting as bodyguards for Cainite commanders. Their deployments, according to captured documents, are chosen by the Blood Dragons themselves - they go where they wish, and fight who they want to.

Reports indicate the formation partakes in heretical blood-rites, both on and off the battlefield - although analysis indicates they are not related to the Blood God. Other hallmarks of their culture include perverse declarations of "honour" and martial prowess. Blood Dragons seek out the greatest opponents - be they human, xeno, deamonic or simple beasts - and prove their might by slaying them. This extended to vehicles such as tanks or Imperial Knights.

It is suspected that the Blood Dragons are all mutants of a unidentified strain - they possess strength, reflexes and endurance beyond any normal human, even ones in power armour. The few times they have been seen out of armour show that they are unnaturally pale and thin, having "burning" red eyes and pronounced canines.

More evidence comes from their recruitment practices. Blood Dragons have approached (unaugmented) humans of remarkable skill and bravery, asking if they wish to "become one with the Blood of Abhorash" and "accept the Blood Kiss". Although it is assumed they recruit mainly from Protectorate forces, they have approached Imperial elements - including those that have taken prisoner, during times of (short term, under duress) truce, or even upon the battlefield. All those that have accepted are known to have reappeared at a later date, bearing the arms and armour of the Blood Dragons and sharing their unnatural abilities.

Former Imperials that have accepted the "Blood Kiss" are regarded as the highest of traitors, and to be killed on sight with full prejudice. It is speculated - although there is little proof - that the Blood Dragons are a strain of Genestealer cult, perhaps bound through sorcery to the Black Commissar's command.

Combat Doctrine: As stated above, the Blood Dragons are designated as fast attack units. Although they commonly assault flanks and create breakthrough points for other Protectorate forces, their preferred battlefield tactic is to attack the elites of the opposing force; for Imperial forces, this can include Tempestus Scions, Space Marine Veterans, and Celestians. The heretics also target command squads and positions, beheading the enemies' leadership.

Their preferred form of attack is lightning charges, aiming to skewer their enemies on power lances. Failing that, the Blood Dragons dismount and assault with more conventional power weapons. They are known to demand - and honour - duels. Upon defeating those they term "worthy adversaries", Blood Dragons may offer them the "Blood Kiss". If refused, they will proceed to consume the blood of their victim. The exception comes from those the Blood Dragons consider unworthy, primarily cowards or braggards, who are left impaled, suffering long, painful deaths.

The Blood Dragons are aggressive to the extreme, always preferring to attack, even when holding advantageous defensive positions. This is not to say they are reckless, for the mutants are skilled tacticians. On occasion they have been known to lead standard USA troops into combat.

Wargear: Each Blood Dragon enters battle on a jetbike of an unknown, but likely heretical, pattern. Faster than a standard assault bike, these vehicles allow for rapid movement over all terrain, allowing their riders to attack from any angle. Each is equipped with currently unknown las-weapon technology that can switch from las-cannon blasts to rapid-fire, making the Blood Dragons a menace for heavy vehicles and infantry formations both.

Blood Dragons have access to a number of power weapons. Most famously are their power lances - when at speed, they are able to tear through the armour of a Baneblade, and can skewer a Space Marine. Blood Dragons also utilize power swords and shields as melee armaments, although some prefer powered axes, fists or claws. Some are known to use chain weapons.

Although they are rarely used, Blood Dragons are also equipped with sidearms such as las- or plasma pistols.

Addendum 1: Repeated references to "Abhorash" have been made by Blood Dragons - they are believed to be some founding member of their group, or perhaps the primogenitor of their mutant strain. Their status and location are unknown.

Addendum 2: In recent naval conflicts with the Cainite Protectorate, formations of fighter elites identified as "Blood Barons" have been recorded. Their relationship to Blood Dragons are currently under investigation.

Addendum 3: Blood Dragons have a animosity with the Blood Angels & their descendants - or perhaps vice versa. When facing each other on the battlefield, the two groups engage in combat with little concern for the wider situation.

Inquisitorial Report - Blood Barons (Protectorate PUN Elite Unit)

Name: Blood Barons (also; Blood Drakes, Bloodgheists, Wings of Abhorash)

Formation Type: Elite Space/Air Superiority Fighters

Introduction: An apparent offshoot of the USA's mutant elite Blood Dragons, Blood Barons are a formation of elite pilots, flying highly advanced and heretical attack craft, sworn to the Cainite Protectorate United Navies.

Similar to Blood Dragons, it seems the Red Barons operate outside the PUN's usual deployment schemes, instead choosing what fleets or campaigns they will join. Once they do, they swear apparently binding oaths to the force's leadership.

Blood Barons prefer to engage those they see as "worthy" opponents - Space Marine Stormraven, Eldar Crimson Hunters, Tau Razorshark, etc. Although they primarily fly in squadrons - known as "claws" - once a Blood Baron has chosen their target their fellows will peel off, seeking their own prey.

Bizarrely, despite flying fighter craft, some Blood Barons have been known to attempt to bring down entire starships. Such attempts are foolish, and prove the madness of the mutant, as no small, one-man fighter can down a battleship on their own.

Pilot: Initially it could only be speculated - based on the similar names & motifs - that the Blood Barons were indeed related to the USA's Blood Dragons. However this was confirmed by an incident involving a troop transport - the Morris, a troop transport carrying Praetorian Guard. During a traitorous ambush by the PUN, brave aces of the Imperial Navy managed to damage the propulsion systems of a Cainwing V fighter, forcing it's crash landing into the Morris. Naval armsmen and maintenance crews deployed to the crash site found that, despite the attack craft taking critical damage on landing, it's pilot was alive.

Pict-captures and numerous eye-witness accounts correlate that the pilot was the same kind of pale-skinned and red-eye mutant as the Blood Dragons. Fleeing it's crash, doubtlessly wounded and disorientated, the mutant proceeded to carve a bloody swathe through the crew of the Morris. Despite the Praetorian Guard valiantly deploying to reinforce, the heretic was able to sneak past and reach the hanger decks. There they stole a Arvus Lighter and fled back into space, re-joining the space combat. IFF tracking confirmed that the landing craft returned to the PUN's carrier following the Imperial's tactical redeployment.

Cainwing V: The majority of our knowledge of the Cainwing V variant - aside from reports of them in combat - comes from the example that crashed into the Morris. Salvaged by Mechanicum adepts, it was handed into Inquisitorial custody following negotiations.

Visually the Cainwing V is visual differentiated from other Cainwing variants by their full red colouring, as well as larger upper wings granting the craft a more spike-like appearance. The armament is mostly unchanged, if lacking in defensive measures. Apparently the mutants put their faith in inhuman reflexes to keep them safe.

The main alteration to the Blood Barons' craft is in the cockpit - it seems the Blood Barons go into battle quite literally swimming in blood, their cockpits filled via pumps with warm vitae. One shudders to think how gallons of the stuff may be sourced, for each fighter, but it is kept fresh using a advanced refrigeration & purification system - the latter is known to incorporate chemicals found within the Panacea technology. It is speculated that not only do the Blood Dragons drink this blood mid-flight, but being suspended in liquid reduces the affect of g-forces.

World flavouring created for the excellent Zahariel excellent Ciaphas Cain, Warmaster of Chaos, over on Space Battles.

Ideas from others included

Dragonofelder · Apr 20, 2024

For over a 100 generations humanity have flung themselves across the galaxy, propelled by culture conflicts and cheap FTL technology. Newly independent colonies squat on wild fringe worlds, while the abused inner worlds crack under mass over crowding. United only by fading memories of their distant homeworld, mankind follows the same rules it always has - Control. Reproduce. Expand.

But now another child-race of Earth seeks to break this dominance. From the sunless worlds of Newman's Dyke, an infection is seeping across the stars. Derelicts hide slumbering infiltrators, while remote planets come under the shadow of monolithic coffin-ships. An ancient predator has decided it's time is now, and too much has been forgotten to stop them.

In gap space a salvage crew finds an impossible yet lucrative mystery. A newly promoted CEO learns her megacorp has more unnatural secrets than she expected. And a bitter soldier is given the offer of a lifetime - and the end of it.

Homo sapiens sapiens has had it's time in the sun. Now homo sapiens sanguis shall rule among the stars.

Related to the previous post, which gave me a Space Vampire Brain Worm.

Dragonofelder · Apr 23, 2024

As methods of human communication go, a side-eye and a nod are both quite versatile. You can say a lot with either, that can lead to some confusion. For example, Gallienus's subtle look meant;

Brother, the devious Inquisitor has brought a pet witch - no offense to yourself. Tell me, how does their power compare to your own? Could you best them, should it come to it?

And as far as he was concerned, the Librarian's response was;

Of course brother. My innate psychic potential was boosted by my ascension to Astartes, and refined by my time in the Deathwatch. Compared to myself, this bound psyker would be an ant.

Whereas to Grigori, his superior's look had been to say;

Aw piss it's this asshole. Hey, wanna go find some drinks after this shitshow of a meeting ends?

To which Grigori responded with;

Sure, could do with a brew. The guardsmen might have some good stuff.

Truely, human non-verbal communication is fascinating. If prone to misunderstanding.

Written for Loyalty is its own Reward (A Traitor Legion Chapter Master Quest)

Grigori isn't so Aussie in-quest. I blame my brother who was living there

Dragonofelder · Apr 23, 2024

"Before I explain what we will need for the ritual, I need to make three things clear." Jakob leaned back so shadow was again hiding his face. "One; the ritual site is in Sylvania. Not deep, but inside Hunger Wood. You know just as well as I what we will face there. Two; We will attract attention, no matter how subtle we are. Both Vampires and my fellow Priests of Morr will try to stop us. The latter will see this as a perversion of the rules of death, which, to be fair, it is. The vampires will try to stop us out of fear. Your lady friend will probably be in the fore."

"Sofia is not my lady friend, not anymore." Kraft snapped. "And besides, why would she care? I've already cast any allegiance to her aside. I will never serve her or her ilk again."

"Ah, the follies of youth," Jakob mocked. "Sofia had already laid a claim on you, and it was sealed by the Blood Kiss. You are bonded, and will remain so until you either gain enough power to supplant her control, complete the ritual or die. Even now you probably feel her at the back of your mind, and she feels it stronger. Part of it is the curse of the Vampire, part of it is the obsessiveness her bloodline carries."

"Other vampires fear the ritual for numerous reasons. If one of their own can return from undeath, could more follow? Could their loyal subjects flee them, carrying knowledge and relics, into the arms of Rhya? Would they themselves be consumed by the desire to return to the light?" Jakob shrugged. "Probably not, and some of them know this, but it's better to be safe than sorry. Finally our last problem; you yourself."

Kraft frowned, glancing at the seemingly unworried Allaya. "Me? Why am I a problem? I want to return to life, why should I try to stop it?"

"Because if even a small part of you wants to remain a vampire, the ritual will fail. At best, you'll remain a Vampire and we will need to try again. At worst, you'll devolve into a mindless beast as the curse consumes you." Leaning forward, eyes glinting, Jakob seemed to stare into Kraft's soul. "And if that happens, the only way to free you would be to throw you upon Morr's mercy. So you best ask yourself Kraft Fänger; do you truly wish to be free of Vampirism?"

(Skip)

"So. The ritual components. Most I can get my hands on; different types of blood, animal parts, warp stone and the like. We will also need ten… participants for the ritual. Three who knew you before you became a vampire; that means they knew you when you were mortal. Three who only know you as a vampire; and yes," Jakob said to Kraft's thoughtful expression, "it can just be any random person, so go meet some new people. We also needed a priest of Morr and of Rhya, which we have," he said, gesturing between himself and Allaya. "We need a servant of the Dark Gods as well, something about bearing witness. A beastman, any beastman, will work. And finally, we need your mortal enemy."

"Who?" Kraft asked.

"A mortal who hates you as much as you hate them. See, the ritual does not destroy the vampirism within you. It transfers it to your enemy. Technically we could leave them afterwards, but killing them right away would be better. And don't look at me like that Allaya, if I had written this spell it wouldn't be so dangerous."

"Don't worry, I know just who we can use," Kraft said, a smile crossing his face. "Getting to him will be difficult, but at least he's close to Sylvania."

(Skip)

"Just one thing, Jakob. This ritual… you have performed it before, right?"

"Yeah, of course," he said, chewing his pipe.

"And it worked?" Jakob paused for a moment, then glanced back, a carefully blank expression on his face.

"Probably best if I don't answer that."

Written literal years ago now, when my grasp on WHF lore was still a bit fragmentary. Story was about Kraft Fänger - an Empire noble - who gets caught up in Vampire shenanigans and is Turned by "Sofia". This was the only part I wrote.

Jakob is a Priest of Morr, amongst other careers. He might appear in other stories. Allaya is a Priest of Rhya, and her character concept is "descended" from a OC that created and used Golems.

Dragonofelder · Apr 23, 2024

RatUse1 Entered Den
RatUse2 Entered Den

RatUse1: Azumgi.

RatUse1: Azumgi.

RatUse1: Azumgi.

RatUse2: stp

RatUse1: Azumgi.

RatUse1: Ah finally! At the tower top?

RatUse2: ys

RatUse2: coldwet

RatUse1: Well get out of the rain then! And remember the gap key I showed you!

RatUse2: prtty good

RatUse2: how ffar can thes go

RatUse1: No idea! Pretty far, I imagine. Powerful little buggers.

RatUse2: how did yoo make th

RatUse1: Well to tell the truth.

RatUse1: You know that raki nest we cleared last week?

RatUse2: skye one

RatUse2: bardin

RatUse1: They were just laying there!

RatUse2: im comin bak down

RatUse1: Now hold on Azumgi.

RatUse1: Azumgi.

RatUse1: Azumgi.

RatUse1: Azumgi.

RatUse2: wht

RatUse1: Don't do anything hasty.

RatUse1: I want to keep it a secret from Saltzpyre. Until I have enough proof to show their use.

RatUse1: Would you not help a Dawi? For the betterment of us all?

RatUse2: is thre warpston in thes

RatUse1: Azumgi, how much of that nasty stuff do we walk past daily? You really think a little nugget is going to do us any harm?

RatUse2: supos so

RatUse1: There we go. Now bring it back, I want to do a bit of tweaking.

RatUse1: And maybe brush up on your letters, an urk could do better.

I read too many stories about characters in chatrooms. So I tried it in Vermintide. Kinda worked?

You know, I should probably check Kruber can canonically read & write...

Dragonofelder · Apr 25, 2024

Which would be of more interest:

A self instert Necron Lord of a minor dynasty, who wakes up early, and decides to fix as many problems as he can?

Or a Vampire Count semi-SI, who has the lore knowledge but no memories. Trying to run a Sylvanian town during the time of the three emperor?

Both would be rife with Ciaphas Cain level misunderstandings, eccentric behaviour, and quirky characters

Dragonofelder · May 11, 2024

Of late Rickard had felt the need for silent contemplation - no Rodrick, he was not avoiding the Red Priestess's gaze - and with the heaviest snowstorm seen for many decades howling around Winterfell, he had descended into the crypts. Down in those ancient halls, all sound was muffled, a graven silence held by the stern statues of former Stark lords.

Rickard's feet had unconsciously walked him down a path he knew far too well, and soon he found himself by the tomb of the only woman he'd ever, would ever, love. He knelt beside it, and placed a hand on the stone that separated him from Lyarra, feeling only cold, dead stone. He'd let his mind wander, thinking of all his many, many worries.

He thought of Brandon, soon off to a distant land to fight monsters, madmen, and the Gods only knew what else. Of Ned, unknowing and unprepared for the burden of leadership that was soon to be thrust upon him. Of Lyanna and Benjen, so young and so unknowing of the world's troubles.

"I cannot help but fear for our family's future, Lyarra," he had confessed. For a second, there was a feeling, a memory of warm skin - but when Rickard pulled his arm away there was nothing. Perturbed - and somewhat angry the strangeness so common in his life lately had followed him into this sacred place - Rickard had made to leave the crypts, only to run into a snag. The previously familiar tunnels, that'd traversed all his life, suddenly become a confusing labyrinth, and in a few short steps the Lord of Winterfell had become lost in his own home.

Currently Rickard was stalking down a hall of his ancient ancestors, Ice drawn but held low. Glaring into the face of Cregan Stark, Rickard silently vowed to demand an explanation from Cyril at the earliest opportunity. "Although knowing the Hunter," he mused, " he'll probably come down to explore and return with the head of wyvern, saying it was an excellent fight."

In Rickard's memories this tunnel ended in a left turn, but now he approached a turn to the right. Taking it, he found himself in a wide hall relatively close to the surface, which cheered him - yet something was off, and it took him a moment to realize. Three of the alcoves where the statues of Stark lords stood were occupied - but he could have sworn they had not been, less than an hour ago.

Slowly he approached, fearful of what he might find, but it was worse than he had thought. Lyanna's sorrowful face was looking down on him - young, too young, to be dead and buried. Kneeling on shaking knees, Rickard read the inscription on the statue's plinth:

Lyanna Stark
267 - 283 AC
Loved

"Loved". That was it. No word on her death - just in two short years, Rickard thought with a tinge of madness - nor how a statue of her came to stand where only Stark lords should. Had she ruled, for a time? Where was Eddard, or Benjen, or even himself?

Rising Rickard came to the second statue, and found that his heart could indeed drop lower. Brandon, dear Brandon, gripping a downwards sword, his stone face one of contemplation.

Brandon Stark
262 - 282 AC
Executed By The Mad King
Wild & Brave

There could be one King in Westeros worthy of the name "Mad", and the implications horrified Rickard. What had Brandon done, or not done, to deserve the King's Justice? Why was he still in Westeros to be slain, and not across the sea as a Hunter? Too many questions, and Rickard knew he'd enjoy none of the answers.

Finally coming to the last statue, Rickard almost turned away at what he suspected he would find - but he made himself stare in his own, aged and drawn face. Even in death, it seemed his rest was uneasy.

Rickard Stark
237 - 282 AC
Executed By The Mad King
Wise, Honourable, Determined

Had he died before or after Brandon, he wondered. Had he gone to avenge his son, or had Brandon tried to avenge him? Or maybe they died together, cut down by the same blade, for the same crime. Again, Rickard did not want to know. Whatever cruel future this was, however he'd gained this view of horrors to come - the lord of winter swore it would never come to pass.

Turning from his own grave, Rickard marched away as if a man walking to his own execution. If the strange distortion of the crypts had ended with those future glimpses, then if he took this turn and walked this hall… Rickard couldn't help a sigh of relief when the stairs leading out of the crypts, into the castle's main courtyard, came into view. As much as he wanted to send ravens immediately to his children urging caution, such a message would likely be of great interest to any at Harrenhal. Better to wait until they returned.

Just as he put a foot on the stairs, Rickard paused. He couldn't hear the wind. Perhaps the storm had blown itself out, but he'd never known a strong storm to leave so quickly. Slowly ascending, he strained his ears to catch all he could. There was the sound of many horses, whispering as if from a large crowd. The sound of laughter, from two men - one of whom Rickard recognised. Something drew him to the door, to throw it open, and step out into the bright light of day.

Before him the courtyard was packed. One side by northern small folk and servants, on the other by southern knights. A large gaudy wheelhouse with Lannister banners stood nearby. There were knights in the armor of the Kingsguard, of whom Rickard could only identify one at first glance. To his left was a line of children - some red of hair, but all clearly of Stark blood. But his attention was drawn most of all two the two men that were embracing each other. One was like a mummer's farcical depiction of Steffon Baratheon, bloated and red. The other though… the other…

Ned Stark, a man grown and grown old, weary and scared, turned his smiling face and saw his father staring back. He staggered back, automatically seeking support from the man beside him. In turn, the Baratheon turned to see what had shocked his friend, causing his mouth to drop open. Across the courtyard others were turning to look, and shocked cries and confused mummering spread.

"I don't know how. I don't know why," declared Rickard, speaking to the air. "All I know is that this is Fairchild's fault."

Written for [ASOIAF/Bloodborne] Thy Good Neighbor

This story has a bunch of omakes, I was driven to contribute.

Dragon's Word Hoard (Snippets, Ideas, & Omakes)

Recent threadmarks

Recent threadmarks

Recent threadmarks

Dragonofelder

Threads

Active

Inactive

Dragonofelder

Dragonofelder

Dragonofelder

Dragonofelder

Dragonofelder

Dragonofelder

Dragonofelder

Dragonofelder

Dragonofelder

Dragonofelder

Freeguild

Stormhosts

Daughters of Sigmar

Dragonofelder

Dragonofelder

Dragonofelder

Dragonofelder

Dragonofelder

Dragonofelder

Dragonofelder

Dragonofelder

Dragonofelder

Dragonofelder

Dragonofelder

Dragonofelder

Dragonofelder

Dragonofelder

Recent threadmarks

Recent threadmarks

Recent threadmarks