Mopman43
Mountain-Hermit of Nitpeak
- Location
- Vermont
Can you explain what you mean by that?
Mercenary Mage Quest: Asur Dogs of War in Warhammer Fantasy
- Thread starter Blackout
- Start date
- Fantasy
deathofrats0808
Don’t think of it as dying; just as leaving early
- Location
- Earth
Article: No lesser personage than the Supreme Matriarch of Nan-Gau has made the perilous journey to the Old World to lead the forces of Grand Cathay against the forces of Evil.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Yeah, so Cathay got announced for the Old World with Miao Ying being the centerpiece lord, and the lore they're going with is that Big Daddy Dragon Emperor is sending his favorite little storm cloud daughter on an expedition to the Old World to help fight off Chaos, likely with the same idea as the High Elves that if the Empire falls to the Everchosen it would be bad news for the rest of the world.
Question is if Blackout is going to include this new lore addition.
Question is if Blackout is going to include this new lore addition.
Mopman43
Mountain-Hermit of Nitpeak
- Location
- Vermont
I don't think that's quite accurate, the Dragon Emperor and Moon Empress are missing at this current time.
This seems to be something Miao Ying decided herself.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Oh yeah, I just got that bit from a Discord so that's probably wrong
Adrian XXIV
Average User, from Poland
- Location
- Poland
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Btw, it's rather ironic that it appeared (at least on this forum) just after I submitted my (technically Cathay-descent) Jadeblooded Armada
Vote closed
It's time for Fanriel to taste that humble pie and swallow it.
Let's hope the Diplomacy roll is good and we can improve our relathionship with Scarloc.
Agreed, besides the battle is won and there's no need to sour it unnecessarrily by being a jackass.
Miao Ying: *sent to the Old World as Cathayan expedition leader*
Shen-Zoo: *nervous sweating as she doesn't want to be found out and be brought home after running away from the sibling squabbling and settled down in the Old World*
Sertorius
Rebellious Legate
- Location
- Roma Invicta
We already did.
In the form of a human fist from a priest of Ulric.
Compared to that, this is nothing.
Did the priest punch us so hard we got sanity damage? No?
Then i would say this is going to be worse for Fanriel.
Adrian XXIV
Average User, from Poland
- Location
- Poland
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I bet that this guy would suffer sanity damage from being punched by human 😉:
Hoeth and Isha Part 3
Blackout
Fed By Comments
- Location
- Who knows?
"-and you're certain it was him?"
The merchant flinched as Sister Imathanel loomed over the stall's counter, her hand resting not so idly on the hilt of her sword. "Tall boy, blond, broad shoulders, looked like he hadn't slept in days," the man stammered. "He came by not three hours ago, just stood looking around, constantly looking over his shoulder like he was afraid of being followed. Didn't buy anything. Didn't say a word."
"What direction?" Imathanel snapped.
He pointed, hesitant. "Downriver. Toward harbour, I think."
Dorial stepped forward, placing a calming hand on the edge of the stall. His tone was steady, almost gentle. "There's no punishment for honesty, friend. Just tell us what you saw. Did he seem injured? Bloodied?"
The baker shook his head. "No. But he wasn't right. He looked terrifed, he moved weird."
Imathanel's glare hardened, but she said nothing. Dorial thanked the man with a shallow nod and moved on. Together, they made their way through the market, stopping briefly at each stall where the boy had been spotted. Piece by piece, they followed his strange meandering path, through spice traders, fishmongers, a blacksmith who recalled the boy pausing to stare at the embers of the forge with glassy eyes.
The smith rubbed his beard. "Didn't say a word. But I've seen him before. He's Dovinkov's son, right? Quiet lad. Today, though…" He trailed off, shaking his head.
"What?" Imathanel pressed, stepping forward again.
"He moved like he was drunk. Or like he'd grown a foot overnight and hadn't figured out how to use his legs. And he was barefoot."
Dorial's voice cut in, low and thoughtful. "No blood, no wounds. But strange behavior. Did he look afraid?"
The smith hesitated, but when Imathanel's fingers started curling towards a fist, he hastened to eply.
"...Yes. Like a kid who'd done something wrong and was afraid his parents would find out."
Dorial raised a hand. "That will do. Thank you." He gave a faint nod and turned away, Imathanel stalking at his side.
They walked in silence for several moments, the clamor of the Grand Market fading as they slipped between the tight alleys behind the shops, weaving past crates and shuttered doors.
"He was seen after the time of death," Dorial murmured, rubbing his chin. "The food was still warm when they were killed."
"He's alive," Imathanel finished, nodding. "And left after the murders. Which narrows the field considerably."
"Indeed. Which means he is our prime suspect."
"A sudden discovery of magical talent? It tends to manifest in adolescence for humans, from what I have heard."
"Perhaps," Dorial conceded. But something didn't feel right.
-----
The creak of wood and the hiss of the sea wind filled the silence between the warehouse walls, where gulls no longer cried and even the lapping of the waves seemed to hold its breath. The pier at the far end of the harbor had long since been abandoned—crates sat rotting in corners, thick with moss and lichen, and rusted chains swung lazily from broken moorings.
"This way," Imathanel said curtly, stepping through a gap between warped planks, her bow already half-raised.
Dorial followed, silent. The sailors they'd questioned hadn't known much- only that a boy had been seen skulking near the old drydocks, alone and wide-eyed, vanishing into the skeletal remains of the collapsed pier.
There, in the shadow of a hulking warehouse long given over to decay, they found him.
The boy sat at the edge of the harbor, curled in on himself, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. He was trembling, rocking back and forth. His clothes were torn and soaked with salt and old blood, crusted black across the chest and sleeves. His skin was pale as milk, and his lips moved soundlessly.
"Vladek Dovinkov," Dorial said, stepping forward a pace. "You are not in trouble. I only want to speak with you."
A lie, but a necessary one.
At the sound of their voices, the boy turned- and broke.
He burst into tears, his sobs raw and unrestrained, as if held back for hours until now. "I-I didn't mean to!" he choked out. "I didn't mean to do it! I didn't-"
Dorial and Imathanel exchanged glances.
He approached slowly, footsteps deliberate and open, the weight of his sword familiar at his back.
"You're safe now, Vladek. Whatever happened, we can help you. Just tell us what you remember."
Sympathy tended to get better answers than intimidation, from such subjects.
The boy didn't answer.
He stopped crying.
His body froze, tension rippling through him. Then his hands dropped from his face, and he looked up.
And smiled.
It was not a child's smile.
The grin stretched far too wide, like his face was being stretched thin.
Dorial stopped in his tracks.
Then, with a wet, cracking sound like bursting meat, the boy's head and upper torso ruptured outward. Flesh ripped apart like parchment. A mass of thick, ropey tentacles surged forth from within his body, slick with blood and viscera. The limbs wriggled and flailed with grotesque agility, flinging blood across the warped pier as they stretched outward, like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.
The boy's lower torso slumped to the ground as the mass of tentacles pulled themselves fully out of him- they were not very thick, but each tentacle was several meters long and whipped forward with lightning-fast speed. At their center, nestled in a writhing mass of knotted tissue, was a face. Vaguely human, twisted, with empty eye sockets and a permanent, yawning smile frozen across its too-wide jaw.
"Dorial!" Imathanel shouted, loosing a shaft from her bow.
The arrow struck true- one of the tentacles recoiled with a screech -but another slammed into Dorial's side before he could dodge. He flew back, slamming heavily onto the ground, his sword barely coming up in time to parry another strike.
His limbs burned. His lungs screamed for breath. His strength, never fully returned, was not enough.
He deflected a lashing tendril, staggered to his feet- and was struck again, this time across the thigh. He gritted his teeth, barely managing to stay upright.
Imathanel fired again and again, her arrows glowing faintly with the holy power of her Bow of Avelorn, but the spindly parasite was a small and quick target; only perhaps every third arrow hit, and none of them center mass.
"I didn't mean to…" came the boy's voice, soft and whispering from between the creature's tendrils. "I didn't mean to… I didn't mean to…"
But the face at the center of the tentacles only grinned.
The tentacles moved like serpents, impossibly fast. Dorial had just begun to raise his sword when one coiled around his midsection, yanking him from the ground with a violent snap of motion that knocked the wind from his lungs. Another wrapped around his sword arm, wrenching it back, and a third seized his leg, dragging him closer.
He grunted, straining against the constriction, but his muscles were not what they once were. His vision darkened at the edges as the pressure increased.
Then a sharp twang cut through the air, followed by a shriek of pain.
Imathanel's arrow punched through one of the tentacles, severing it cleanly, and the creature flinched. The remaining tendrils whipped backward, hurling Dorial bodily through the air. He crashed into the warehouse wall with a heavy crack, crumpling to the floor. Pain flared in his side, his ribs screaming in protest, but he forced himself upright, sword still in hand.
"Imathanel-!"
Too late.
Another tentacle struck her, not with a blow but with eerie precision- latching onto her jaw, prying it open with unnatural force. She struggled, limbs tense, face twisted in revulsion, but the thing surged forward, pouring itself down her throat in a writhing mass of sinew and slime.
She gagged, then screamed.
Then fell silent.
Her body spasmed once, then again- and then her arms dropped limply to her sides, bow slipping from her fingers.
For a terrible second, Dorial knew exactly what was about to happen.
Then she stood up.
Not like a woman regaining her footing, but like a marionette pulled upright by invisible strings. Her head tilted in a sharp, unnatural motion, and her arm bent to retrieve the Bow of Avelorn. She nocked an arrow with mechanical precision.
"Imathanel…" Dorial breathed, forcing himself to stand.
Her eyes met his- glassy, unfocused, like something was looking through her. Then her fingers loosed the string.
The arrow whistled toward him.
The Sword of Hoeth cut it in half mid-air with perfect precision two pieces clattering to the ground either side of him. But forcing his body to move so fast so soon had cost him: the force twisted his already-strained shoulder, and a bolt of pain tore through his side as the muscle pulled.
He staggered, sucking in a sharp breath.
Imathanel watched him for a long moment, the stolen grace in her limbs uncanny and smooth. Assessing him.
Then, the same smile he had seen on the boy's face came over her lips.
"For all of your vaunted ageless wisdom, you elves are such predictable creatures," she spoke, her cadence a perfect match for Imathanel. "When the boy spoiled my little game, I despaired. But the Great Changer helps those who help themselves. It was almost too easy to make sure every merchant and stallkeeper in the district saw a confused boy acting strangely, heading towards the docks. And you played you parts perfectly. For that, I must thank you."
Then, she turned on her heel, darting away with inhuman speed, back towards the city.
Technically, she could have been heading anywhere in Erengrad, but Dorial had a feeling he knew exactly where she was going.
The Temple of the Cadai.
The merchant flinched as Sister Imathanel loomed over the stall's counter, her hand resting not so idly on the hilt of her sword. "Tall boy, blond, broad shoulders, looked like he hadn't slept in days," the man stammered. "He came by not three hours ago, just stood looking around, constantly looking over his shoulder like he was afraid of being followed. Didn't buy anything. Didn't say a word."
"What direction?" Imathanel snapped.
He pointed, hesitant. "Downriver. Toward harbour, I think."
Dorial stepped forward, placing a calming hand on the edge of the stall. His tone was steady, almost gentle. "There's no punishment for honesty, friend. Just tell us what you saw. Did he seem injured? Bloodied?"
The baker shook his head. "No. But he wasn't right. He looked terrifed, he moved weird."
Imathanel's glare hardened, but she said nothing. Dorial thanked the man with a shallow nod and moved on. Together, they made their way through the market, stopping briefly at each stall where the boy had been spotted. Piece by piece, they followed his strange meandering path, through spice traders, fishmongers, a blacksmith who recalled the boy pausing to stare at the embers of the forge with glassy eyes.
The smith rubbed his beard. "Didn't say a word. But I've seen him before. He's Dovinkov's son, right? Quiet lad. Today, though…" He trailed off, shaking his head.
"What?" Imathanel pressed, stepping forward again.
"He moved like he was drunk. Or like he'd grown a foot overnight and hadn't figured out how to use his legs. And he was barefoot."
Dorial's voice cut in, low and thoughtful. "No blood, no wounds. But strange behavior. Did he look afraid?"
The smith hesitated, but when Imathanel's fingers started curling towards a fist, he hastened to eply.
"...Yes. Like a kid who'd done something wrong and was afraid his parents would find out."
Dorial raised a hand. "That will do. Thank you." He gave a faint nod and turned away, Imathanel stalking at his side.
They walked in silence for several moments, the clamor of the Grand Market fading as they slipped between the tight alleys behind the shops, weaving past crates and shuttered doors.
"He was seen after the time of death," Dorial murmured, rubbing his chin. "The food was still warm when they were killed."
"He's alive," Imathanel finished, nodding. "And left after the murders. Which narrows the field considerably."
"Indeed. Which means he is our prime suspect."
"A sudden discovery of magical talent? It tends to manifest in adolescence for humans, from what I have heard."
"Perhaps," Dorial conceded. But something didn't feel right.
-----
The creak of wood and the hiss of the sea wind filled the silence between the warehouse walls, where gulls no longer cried and even the lapping of the waves seemed to hold its breath. The pier at the far end of the harbor had long since been abandoned—crates sat rotting in corners, thick with moss and lichen, and rusted chains swung lazily from broken moorings.
"This way," Imathanel said curtly, stepping through a gap between warped planks, her bow already half-raised.
Dorial followed, silent. The sailors they'd questioned hadn't known much- only that a boy had been seen skulking near the old drydocks, alone and wide-eyed, vanishing into the skeletal remains of the collapsed pier.
There, in the shadow of a hulking warehouse long given over to decay, they found him.
The boy sat at the edge of the harbor, curled in on himself, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. He was trembling, rocking back and forth. His clothes were torn and soaked with salt and old blood, crusted black across the chest and sleeves. His skin was pale as milk, and his lips moved soundlessly.
"Vladek Dovinkov," Dorial said, stepping forward a pace. "You are not in trouble. I only want to speak with you."
A lie, but a necessary one.
At the sound of their voices, the boy turned- and broke.
He burst into tears, his sobs raw and unrestrained, as if held back for hours until now. "I-I didn't mean to!" he choked out. "I didn't mean to do it! I didn't-"
Dorial and Imathanel exchanged glances.
He approached slowly, footsteps deliberate and open, the weight of his sword familiar at his back.
"You're safe now, Vladek. Whatever happened, we can help you. Just tell us what you remember."
Sympathy tended to get better answers than intimidation, from such subjects.
The boy didn't answer.
He stopped crying.
His body froze, tension rippling through him. Then his hands dropped from his face, and he looked up.
And smiled.
It was not a child's smile.
The grin stretched far too wide, like his face was being stretched thin.
Dorial stopped in his tracks.
Then, with a wet, cracking sound like bursting meat, the boy's head and upper torso ruptured outward. Flesh ripped apart like parchment. A mass of thick, ropey tentacles surged forth from within his body, slick with blood and viscera. The limbs wriggled and flailed with grotesque agility, flinging blood across the warped pier as they stretched outward, like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.
The boy's lower torso slumped to the ground as the mass of tentacles pulled themselves fully out of him- they were not very thick, but each tentacle was several meters long and whipped forward with lightning-fast speed. At their center, nestled in a writhing mass of knotted tissue, was a face. Vaguely human, twisted, with empty eye sockets and a permanent, yawning smile frozen across its too-wide jaw.
"Dorial!" Imathanel shouted, loosing a shaft from her bow.
The arrow struck true- one of the tentacles recoiled with a screech -but another slammed into Dorial's side before he could dodge. He flew back, slamming heavily onto the ground, his sword barely coming up in time to parry another strike.
His limbs burned. His lungs screamed for breath. His strength, never fully returned, was not enough.
He deflected a lashing tendril, staggered to his feet- and was struck again, this time across the thigh. He gritted his teeth, barely managing to stay upright.
Imathanel fired again and again, her arrows glowing faintly with the holy power of her Bow of Avelorn, but the spindly parasite was a small and quick target; only perhaps every third arrow hit, and none of them center mass.
"I didn't mean to…" came the boy's voice, soft and whispering from between the creature's tendrils. "I didn't mean to… I didn't mean to…"
But the face at the center of the tentacles only grinned.
The tentacles moved like serpents, impossibly fast. Dorial had just begun to raise his sword when one coiled around his midsection, yanking him from the ground with a violent snap of motion that knocked the wind from his lungs. Another wrapped around his sword arm, wrenching it back, and a third seized his leg, dragging him closer.
He grunted, straining against the constriction, but his muscles were not what they once were. His vision darkened at the edges as the pressure increased.
Then a sharp twang cut through the air, followed by a shriek of pain.
Imathanel's arrow punched through one of the tentacles, severing it cleanly, and the creature flinched. The remaining tendrils whipped backward, hurling Dorial bodily through the air. He crashed into the warehouse wall with a heavy crack, crumpling to the floor. Pain flared in his side, his ribs screaming in protest, but he forced himself upright, sword still in hand.
"Imathanel-!"
Too late.
Another tentacle struck her, not with a blow but with eerie precision- latching onto her jaw, prying it open with unnatural force. She struggled, limbs tense, face twisted in revulsion, but the thing surged forward, pouring itself down her throat in a writhing mass of sinew and slime.
She gagged, then screamed.
Then fell silent.
Her body spasmed once, then again- and then her arms dropped limply to her sides, bow slipping from her fingers.
For a terrible second, Dorial knew exactly what was about to happen.
Then she stood up.
Not like a woman regaining her footing, but like a marionette pulled upright by invisible strings. Her head tilted in a sharp, unnatural motion, and her arm bent to retrieve the Bow of Avelorn. She nocked an arrow with mechanical precision.
"Imathanel…" Dorial breathed, forcing himself to stand.
Her eyes met his- glassy, unfocused, like something was looking through her. Then her fingers loosed the string.
The arrow whistled toward him.
The Sword of Hoeth cut it in half mid-air with perfect precision two pieces clattering to the ground either side of him. But forcing his body to move so fast so soon had cost him: the force twisted his already-strained shoulder, and a bolt of pain tore through his side as the muscle pulled.
He staggered, sucking in a sharp breath.
Imathanel watched him for a long moment, the stolen grace in her limbs uncanny and smooth. Assessing him.
Then, the same smile he had seen on the boy's face came over her lips.
"For all of your vaunted ageless wisdom, you elves are such predictable creatures," she spoke, her cadence a perfect match for Imathanel. "When the boy spoiled my little game, I despaired. But the Great Changer helps those who help themselves. It was almost too easy to make sure every merchant and stallkeeper in the district saw a confused boy acting strangely, heading towards the docks. And you played you parts perfectly. For that, I must thank you."
Then, she turned on her heel, darting away with inhuman speed, back towards the city.
Technically, she could have been heading anywhere in Erengrad, but Dorial had a feeling he knew exactly where she was going.
The Temple of the Cadai.
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- Location
- USA
Look like a Tzeentch version of tamurkhan
Imperious
Without the sun of my life
View: https://youtu.be/B759dzymyoc?si=S6LT6Xy-P9bGfrur&t=99
I have to say, this was not the genre of show I was expecting Dorial to star in.
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Adrian XXIV
Average User, from Poland
- Location
- Poland
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Do you think it would be too "on the nose" if that Daemon (or whatever it is) was named "Tso'Char"?
eberron.fandom.com
Tsochar
The tsochari are a kind of parasitic aberration that infests the bodies of humanoids and seek arcane secrets on behalf of the daelkyr.[1] The tsochari are living weapons created by the daelkyr to be released among the populace to steal the arcane knowledge that may threaten the forces of...
eberron.fandom.com
Damn, I guess there's no saving her from the Tzeentchian possession and her body needs to be destroyed alongside her soul forcibly taken over.
Sertorius
Rebellious Legate
- Location
- Roma Invicta
This is what happens, when you don't have Asur insurance. 
Instead of being healed right away with powerful magic, you have to linger in bed for months.
Provided the thing will be killed, she should be able to resurrect the freshly deceased.
Instead of being healed right away with powerful magic, you have to linger in bed for months.
It depends if our priestess shall live through this.
Provided the thing will be killed, she should be able to resurrect the freshly deceased.
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K von Carstein
Likes to go for a walk
- Location
- Belgium
- Pronouns
- He
Sounds like either shapeshifting, or a possession in which the entity has to take time to acclimate itself to its new body.
I knew it!
Well, crap. On the other hand, not killing Dorial is incredibly stupid and will bite her in the ass. I wonder if when possessing spellcasters she can also cast spells.
Well, its time for Dorial to save the day.
We will have to write another song abaout his adventures 😁
We will have to write another song abaout his adventures 😁
deathofrats0808
Don’t think of it as dying; just as leaving early
- Location
- Earth
Fortunately, having a dragon means all diplomacy is conducted on your terms, even if those terms are "no".
The entity can probably cast spells on its own, it's a Tzeentchite. Also note that 'she' in the text refers to Imathanel, and not the entity itself.