- Pronouns
- He/Him
I'm good with that.
From a Dead World (Skaven Quest)
- Thread starter Xantalos
- Start date
- Fantasy
King Arthur
The Once and Future King
I'm just trying to figure out what the theme would be. That's honestly the toughest part.
I think there's a group consensus there, yeah.
King Arthur
The Once and Future King
You know, it really is too bad that our necromancer's can't summon ghosts yet. If I recall correctly they can only be harmed by magic, magical weapons, and other things along that line, so some ghost support would be pretty great against Estalia and Tilea who, as far as I'm aware, have the least magic around of any faction.
At least, that's how I think they work? I haven't been able to find any rules on ghosts outside of the first edition of the roleplay version of Warhammer, so this could have been changed.
At least, that's how I think they work? I haven't been able to find any rules on ghosts outside of the first edition of the roleplay version of Warhammer, so this could have been changed.
- Location
- UK
Looking at the exploitable tech list. Would it make sense to teach the Lore of Azgorh to Clan Mors? It seems like it would help with their rudimentary runic gear.
Of course, partially I'm motivated to suggest this so they can collaborate with Skyre to produce a super doom rocket and attempt to put a Mors on Morrslieb.
Of course, partially I'm motivated to suggest this so they can collaborate with Skyre to produce a super doom rocket and attempt to put a Mors on Morrslieb.
Xantalos
Turtle-Speed Writing
Oh right, I forgot to update that. I'll do that after I write the answer thingy, they can summon weakish ghosts that can't hurt/affect physical things but can't be hurt outside of magic, which they prove pretty fragile to.
10/10 best motivation officially approve
King Arthur
The Once and Future King
What can they do then?
Do they get the inflict fear affect from the roleplay or does that count under affect physical things?
King Arthur
The Once and Future King
See, the thing is, I don't want to bother with rockets because I want to make a permenent warp portal to Morrslieb instead.
It gives us basically unlimited access to infinite warpstone and a perfect base to do orbital nonsense from.
Though I would like to have a member of clan Mors be the first to step through said portal.
Xantalos
Turtle-Speed Writing
They can
King Arthur
The Once and Future King
What's the effects of fear in this quest?
Cause, thanks to research I know at some point it changed to decrease weapon skill and it used to be something different, so, like, mechanically what does it actually do?
Spectrum
Tell me a secret~
- Location
- Behind you~
Pretty sure nothing works off hard mechanical stuff if that's what you're trying to ask for. If it causes fear, he'll just make a mental note of that to degrade their capabilities further so long as they're not fear immune.
Happerry
Bat out of Hell
- Location
- Kanto
13 rangers, one for each major clan that's on the council of big shot clans?
King Arthur
The Once and Future King
I considered that, but I figured that's a bit much. At least to start with, I mean, sure, leave room in the design for more to come in, but I feel like unless we do a ton of prep work starting with 13 is a little much.
Thinking it's better to start with a 3 or 5 person team like standard, plus, it let's us see it in action and figure out any weak points or areas that need improving that the next member could help out with.
notanautomaton
I've got 99 quests, I've finished one
The four main clans + a Grey Seer?
King Arthur
The Once and Future King
That could work. Now what to call them ....
Wild Warpstone Power Rangers?
Whose the leader? It feels wrong for the Grey seer to be the leader, but I'm pretty sure that Skaven logic says it should be.
Last edited:
End Times 2: The Verminking's Answer
Xantalos
Turtle-Speed Writing
[X] What threat, exactly, approaches the Plain of Bones, and what can be done to stop it?
Every night Thanquol slept snug in a nest made from freshly harvested corpses of skaven infants, taken when they were just old enough to sprout a soft coat of baby fur. Their corpses were kept warm and pliable with the injection of skalm directly into their hearts and skin, which kept the blood circulating through the infant's body overnight. Some would perhaps call this practice 'unethical' or 'wasteful' or 'an abomination against all morality', but Thanquol didn't care. The familiar scent of many skaven bodies around him combined with the knowledge that none of them were even capable of plotting to backstab him gave him deeper and more restful sleep than he'd had all his life. For the last several nights, however, his slumber had not been so refreshing.
While he had pinpointed his uneasy feeling as coming from the Plain of Bones that Kratch Doomclaw kept harping on about, he still couldn't figure out why the location was giving him such gut-twisting anxiety, and the nagging thoughts accompanied him into his dreams, leaving him tossing and turning uneasily all night. Then one night he was confronted by them in a rather more abrupt fashion.
He was having the most wonderful dream wherein he was doing something involving frolicking around in an endless field of warpstone dust when he found himself suddenly at the edge of the dark magic-saturated plain he'd been unnerved by. The feeling in his gut jumped fivefold, and he hurriedly turned about, struggling against the too-thick air in the way dreams sometimes are. He attempted to move back into the bounty of warpstone dust, but found himself frozen in place as it suddenly began to swirl about in the air, moving at an unnaturally quick pace as it wrapped around itself into a miles-high column of green that condensed itself down into the figure of Skreech Verminking, who stood a hundred feet high and gazed imperiously down at Thanquol.
"You are afraid," rumbled the daemon's resonant voice, setting the sky to rumbling with clouds of emerald lightning. "Why-why?"
Thanquol was tempted to give a sarcastic reply, but knowing well that the Verminking tolerated no foolishness, answered plainly. "Something about this place-place sets me on edge, oh Verminking," he squeaked. "My bones tell me to run-run and I cannot tell why."
"Then let us see-see," intoned Skreech, and abruptly Thanquol's perspective shifted - he was perched on the titanic Verminking's horns, his stomach lurching at the sight of the ground far below. Suddenly the landscape in his vision blurred as the daemon began running, each step seemingly covering miles of distance. As they headed deeper and deeper into the Plain of Bones, Thanquol began to notice things.
The further they went into the plain, the greater the aura of malignancy grew. What was merely a sense of unease at the borders progressed to a physically heavy sense of doom weighing Thanquol down, and he could feel minuscule arcs of stray magic crackling in between his fur. Yet there were no more bones that he could see than there had been at the outskirts, which seemed off to him somehow. From all the rumour he had heard about the Plain of Bones, it was near-impossible to travel twenty feet without spotting one part of a skeleton or another in the ground, whether it be human, skaven, or other bones. And where were all the ancient dragon skeletons he had read of?
"I have a bad-bad feeling about this," he muttered as the Verminking carried him deeper into the unnerving graveyard.
All too soon he was proven right, as they made their way into the heart of the plain and saw what something in Thanquol's soul had known would be there but his mind hoped was not true. As they approached the ancient abandoned dawi-zharr fortress that lay close to the centre, he began to see signs of movement. As worrying as that was in an area known to produce undead, more still was that it was organized. As the spectral daemon flew closer, Thanquol's dread was realized.
Small legions of animate human skeletons marched in the area around the fortress, patrolling with rigid movements. Other creatures were present as well, ceaselessly scrounging for hostile movement, Thanquol noted - large numbers of better-armed and armoured dead, great mobs of ghouls, flocks of wailing spirits, all manner of undead monstrosities gathered from all over the world over a very long time. That was still not the part that froze Thanquol's glands, though - that would be the dragons.
It was known amongst certain scholars of ancient history, normally part of secret societies and the like, that the Plain of Bones had once been the place where dragons came to die, whether tired of existence or suffering some sort of ailment or injury. The practice had continued since time immemorial, but had stopped when Chaos had broke into the world and contaminated their corpses with dark magic. Thanquol counted himself among these scholars, but it was one thing to read of how the bones of some dragons still moved as if they were alive and another thing entirely to see it.
Gargantuan shadows soared through the sky above their heads, their emaciated silhouettes only accentuating the sheer size they possessed. Despite being only skeletons they were many times larger than any dragon Thanquol had ever seen, and there were so many of them. They moved too quickly to be sure, but there must have been twenty at the least, likely more. Skreech Verminking snarled in a deep bass tone as he regarded the beasts. "I sense his hand-claw in this," the daemon growled.
Thanquol paled. He'd studied the history of the Verminking extensively before calling on him that first time so long ago, and there was only one being that could draw that level of ire from the daemon. "You mean-mean..." He ventured.
"No-no, the Verminking amended. "The situation would be worse-worse if he were present. This ... it still has the stench of his claw-claws on it. He is connected. I can smell-smell it."
They went further. There was no question of it. They followed the flow of dark magic they could both feel on their skin to the carcass of a particularly large dragon from long ago. It lay halfway embedded in the ground, one eye socket staring emptily out into the distance. Arrayed around it were ten figures, nine kneeling, reading from great tomes, one standing at the tip of the dragon's skull, terrible staff in hand. There was a great interplay of energies rippling about the dormant bones of the dragon, writhing in a carefully constructed geometry. Thanquol could almost feel it, it was so strong. On instinct, he reached out, whether with his mind or paw he was uncertain, and brushed against it -
And ten heads snapped up to look at him in unison.
Thanquol jerked awake, the luxurious infant corpses seeming cold and uncomfortable to his sweating flesh. He did not sleep for many nights afterwards.
Every night Thanquol slept snug in a nest made from freshly harvested corpses of skaven infants, taken when they were just old enough to sprout a soft coat of baby fur. Their corpses were kept warm and pliable with the injection of skalm directly into their hearts and skin, which kept the blood circulating through the infant's body overnight. Some would perhaps call this practice 'unethical' or 'wasteful' or 'an abomination against all morality', but Thanquol didn't care. The familiar scent of many skaven bodies around him combined with the knowledge that none of them were even capable of plotting to backstab him gave him deeper and more restful sleep than he'd had all his life. For the last several nights, however, his slumber had not been so refreshing.
While he had pinpointed his uneasy feeling as coming from the Plain of Bones that Kratch Doomclaw kept harping on about, he still couldn't figure out why the location was giving him such gut-twisting anxiety, and the nagging thoughts accompanied him into his dreams, leaving him tossing and turning uneasily all night. Then one night he was confronted by them in a rather more abrupt fashion.
He was having the most wonderful dream wherein he was doing something involving frolicking around in an endless field of warpstone dust when he found himself suddenly at the edge of the dark magic-saturated plain he'd been unnerved by. The feeling in his gut jumped fivefold, and he hurriedly turned about, struggling against the too-thick air in the way dreams sometimes are. He attempted to move back into the bounty of warpstone dust, but found himself frozen in place as it suddenly began to swirl about in the air, moving at an unnaturally quick pace as it wrapped around itself into a miles-high column of green that condensed itself down into the figure of Skreech Verminking, who stood a hundred feet high and gazed imperiously down at Thanquol.
"You are afraid," rumbled the daemon's resonant voice, setting the sky to rumbling with clouds of emerald lightning. "Why-why?"
Thanquol was tempted to give a sarcastic reply, but knowing well that the Verminking tolerated no foolishness, answered plainly. "Something about this place-place sets me on edge, oh Verminking," he squeaked. "My bones tell me to run-run and I cannot tell why."
"Then let us see-see," intoned Skreech, and abruptly Thanquol's perspective shifted - he was perched on the titanic Verminking's horns, his stomach lurching at the sight of the ground far below. Suddenly the landscape in his vision blurred as the daemon began running, each step seemingly covering miles of distance. As they headed deeper and deeper into the Plain of Bones, Thanquol began to notice things.
The further they went into the plain, the greater the aura of malignancy grew. What was merely a sense of unease at the borders progressed to a physically heavy sense of doom weighing Thanquol down, and he could feel minuscule arcs of stray magic crackling in between his fur. Yet there were no more bones that he could see than there had been at the outskirts, which seemed off to him somehow. From all the rumour he had heard about the Plain of Bones, it was near-impossible to travel twenty feet without spotting one part of a skeleton or another in the ground, whether it be human, skaven, or other bones. And where were all the ancient dragon skeletons he had read of?
"I have a bad-bad feeling about this," he muttered as the Verminking carried him deeper into the unnerving graveyard.
All too soon he was proven right, as they made their way into the heart of the plain and saw what something in Thanquol's soul had known would be there but his mind hoped was not true. As they approached the ancient abandoned dawi-zharr fortress that lay close to the centre, he began to see signs of movement. As worrying as that was in an area known to produce undead, more still was that it was organized. As the spectral daemon flew closer, Thanquol's dread was realized.
Small legions of animate human skeletons marched in the area around the fortress, patrolling with rigid movements. Other creatures were present as well, ceaselessly scrounging for hostile movement, Thanquol noted - large numbers of better-armed and armoured dead, great mobs of ghouls, flocks of wailing spirits, all manner of undead monstrosities gathered from all over the world over a very long time. That was still not the part that froze Thanquol's glands, though - that would be the dragons.
It was known amongst certain scholars of ancient history, normally part of secret societies and the like, that the Plain of Bones had once been the place where dragons came to die, whether tired of existence or suffering some sort of ailment or injury. The practice had continued since time immemorial, but had stopped when Chaos had broke into the world and contaminated their corpses with dark magic. Thanquol counted himself among these scholars, but it was one thing to read of how the bones of some dragons still moved as if they were alive and another thing entirely to see it.
Gargantuan shadows soared through the sky above their heads, their emaciated silhouettes only accentuating the sheer size they possessed. Despite being only skeletons they were many times larger than any dragon Thanquol had ever seen, and there were so many of them. They moved too quickly to be sure, but there must have been twenty at the least, likely more. Skreech Verminking snarled in a deep bass tone as he regarded the beasts. "I sense his hand-claw in this," the daemon growled.
Thanquol paled. He'd studied the history of the Verminking extensively before calling on him that first time so long ago, and there was only one being that could draw that level of ire from the daemon. "You mean-mean..." He ventured.
"No-no, the Verminking amended. "The situation would be worse-worse if he were present. This ... it still has the stench of his claw-claws on it. He is connected. I can smell-smell it."
They went further. There was no question of it. They followed the flow of dark magic they could both feel on their skin to the carcass of a particularly large dragon from long ago. It lay halfway embedded in the ground, one eye socket staring emptily out into the distance. Arrayed around it were ten figures, nine kneeling, reading from great tomes, one standing at the tip of the dragon's skull, terrible staff in hand. There was a great interplay of energies rippling about the dormant bones of the dragon, writhing in a carefully constructed geometry. Thanquol could almost feel it, it was so strong. On instinct, he reached out, whether with his mind or paw he was uncertain, and brushed against it -
And ten heads snapped up to look at him in unison.
Thanquol jerked awake, the luxurious infant corpses seeming cold and uncomfortable to his sweating flesh. He did not sleep for many nights afterwards.
I guess you could say we're
*Puts on sunglasses*
Totally Boned!
*Puts on sunglasses*
Totally Boned!
Spectrum
Tell me a secret~
- Location
- Behind you~
Welp. Okay, gotta go fast.
@Xantalos For clarification's purposes before I go write a dumb plan, what in our arsenal qualifies as anti-ethereal for the purposes of harming spirits? Will poisoned-wind globadiers work since Pestilens' plagues are part curse? Will Skyre lightning weapons?
---
Separately, can you inform whether Sleek Sharpwit is suffering from old age due to insufficient Skalm supplies for his usage or his age has progressed far enough to where they're only mitigating his age? If the latter, is Kritislik the only super old rat beyond what Skalm can do and is that because of his sorcery and/or devotion to the Horned Rat?
@Xantalos For clarification's purposes before I go write a dumb plan, what in our arsenal qualifies as anti-ethereal for the purposes of harming spirits? Will poisoned-wind globadiers work since Pestilens' plagues are part curse? Will Skyre lightning weapons?
---
Separately, can you inform whether Sleek Sharpwit is suffering from old age due to insufficient Skalm supplies for his usage or his age has progressed far enough to where they're only mitigating his age? If the latter, is Kritislik the only super old rat beyond what Skalm can do and is that because of his sorcery and/or devotion to the Horned Rat?
Xantalos
Turtle-Speed Writing
Pretty much anything explicitly magical can effect them, if not be 'super effective', so basically all of Pestilens' stuff, Eshin's shadowcloaked gear, the Grey Seers, and Skyre's lighting stuff, though that's not super effective until you get to the more high-powered stuff.
Skalm currently will probably keep Sleek alive one turn if applied in massive enough quantities, but no further, he's getting too old for his body to really hold out. The really blessed skaven like skrolk, nurglitch, the grey seers as a whole, and the council of thirteen are the ones that can live longer than normal skaven - Sleek isn't really pious enough to get notably blessed in that manner since the Horned Rat's normally pretty stingy, though you could theoretically try to apply it through some form of sacred ritual.
- Location
- Germany
Would enough artificial parts help?
Getting Ikit to give him a complete overhaul?
What about ripping his soul out and shoving it into a younger body?