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

[Dragonofelder]

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]

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]

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]

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]

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]

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.

---

1. The source of which is usually, as standard for the race, Skaven.
2. 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
3. A term taken from human cartoons. Someone should workshop a replacement
4. 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.
5. Hopefully
6. Only ever referred to in the media as "Star Metal"
7. Although the media might just be exaggerating, as Skaven are want to do
8. I suspect the threat of shadowy death is enough to prevent such being depicted
9. I hesitate to call it such, in truth. The skaven artists seem to have little idea of how a boat works

 

[Dragonofelder]

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]

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]

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]

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.