Aegon Targaryen
Dragonking of Fuyuki
- Location
- Romania
Becoming Alith Anar is not something I would recommend
Mercenary Mage Quest: Asur Dogs of War in Warhammer Fantasy
- Thread starter Blackout
- Start date
- Fantasy
K von Carstein
Likes to go for a walk
- Location
- Belgium
- Pronouns
- He
Or doesn't push Liandra to kill her.
Blackout
Fed By Comments
- Location
- Who knows?
Eh, for all his fuckups, one of the reasons I like the War of Vengeance novels (and his cameo in the Sundering) so much is that they actually manage to humanize (elfize?) Caledor II from his portrayal in the armybooks, where he's just a hate sink caricature of an elf.
Like, he's still a colossal dick (there's a scene where he shittalks a Chracian peasant the same way modern elves talk about humans), but you can kinda see how he got to be that way. Despite all his qualities as a general and a statesman, Caledor I was not necessarily a good dad: he was immensely stoic, had no time for his family, and what time he did spend with them he clearly favoured his younger son Imladrik, who took after him way more than Caledor II (stoic, humble warrior who gets along with dragons). So Caledor II grew up being spoiled by his mother and ignored by his father, while constantly hearing about his heroics in the colonies and against Malekith, and how he's awesome because he's the Dragontamer's grandson, y'know the guy who literally saved the world and reshaped the continent of Ulthuan.
So when his father dies, all of Ulthuan turns to him and goes "we want another Caledor" and make him Phoenix King. Now he has to live up to an impossible legacy from his father and great-grandfather, except his father already lived up to an impossible legacy so why can't he? But he's not his father or great-grandfather, he's no great mage or leader. Sure he's a skilled warrior and a general, but that's just the expected baseline for an Asur Prince. He doesn't even get on with dragons, the traditional allies of his family, because his parents didn't instill proper respect for them as a kid and then took him out to meet them, causing him to embarrass and make a fool out of himself, and now they're just a painful reminder of how much lesser he is than his forebearers and how his father always favoured Imladrik more. You really get the feel that all of the arrogance was more of a way to compensate for his own inadequacy, that it was him trying to make the impossible happen by acting like he was as awesome as he was supposed to be.
And yes, he got tons and tons of people killed with his bad decisionmaking, and it doesn't excuse any of it, but I dunno, I always found that it did help explain how he got that way, and I found it more sad than anything.
Of the three Phoenix Kings who died of old age, Caradryel ruled for 600 years (After inheriting the mess that was the War of Vengeance and also being invaded by Druchii, had to make a lot of unpopular decisions to preserve Ulthuan), Bel-Korhadris ruled 1200 years (Far longer than most elves even live for, managed to rebuild Ulthuan after 400 years of war with the dwarfs followed by 900 years of Druchii invasion in fact led the Asur into a new golden age) and Bel-Hathor for 660 years (He saw the way the world was changing and knew that Finubar was the guy to lead the elves into a new age, so he named him as his successor and let himself go), in what is one of the most stressful jobs in Warhammer Fantasy.
And notably, all three of these are considered to be some of the best kings the High Elves had.
Like, he's still a colossal dick (there's a scene where he shittalks a Chracian peasant the same way modern elves talk about humans), but you can kinda see how he got to be that way. Despite all his qualities as a general and a statesman, Caledor I was not necessarily a good dad: he was immensely stoic, had no time for his family, and what time he did spend with them he clearly favoured his younger son Imladrik, who took after him way more than Caledor II (stoic, humble warrior who gets along with dragons). So Caledor II grew up being spoiled by his mother and ignored by his father, while constantly hearing about his heroics in the colonies and against Malekith, and how he's awesome because he's the Dragontamer's grandson, y'know the guy who literally saved the world and reshaped the continent of Ulthuan.
So when his father dies, all of Ulthuan turns to him and goes "we want another Caledor" and make him Phoenix King. Now he has to live up to an impossible legacy from his father and great-grandfather, except his father already lived up to an impossible legacy so why can't he? But he's not his father or great-grandfather, he's no great mage or leader. Sure he's a skilled warrior and a general, but that's just the expected baseline for an Asur Prince. He doesn't even get on with dragons, the traditional allies of his family, because his parents didn't instill proper respect for them as a kid and then took him out to meet them, causing him to embarrass and make a fool out of himself, and now they're just a painful reminder of how much lesser he is than his forebearers and how his father always favoured Imladrik more. You really get the feel that all of the arrogance was more of a way to compensate for his own inadequacy, that it was him trying to make the impossible happen by acting like he was as awesome as he was supposed to be.
And yes, he got tons and tons of people killed with his bad decisionmaking, and it doesn't excuse any of it, but I dunno, I always found that it did help explain how he got that way, and I found it more sad than anything.
...I feel like calling it 'pussying out' is unnecessarily harsh, especially when it seems to be more about how elves can die of depression.
Of the three Phoenix Kings who died of old age, Caradryel ruled for 600 years (After inheriting the mess that was the War of Vengeance and also being invaded by Druchii, had to make a lot of unpopular decisions to preserve Ulthuan), Bel-Korhadris ruled 1200 years (Far longer than most elves even live for, managed to rebuild Ulthuan after 400 years of war with the dwarfs followed by 900 years of Druchii invasion in fact led the Asur into a new golden age) and Bel-Hathor for 660 years (He saw the way the world was changing and knew that Finubar was the guy to lead the elves into a new age, so he named him as his successor and let himself go), in what is one of the most stressful jobs in Warhammer Fantasy.
And notably, all three of these are considered to be some of the best kings the High Elves had.
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K von Carstein
Likes to go for a walk
- Location
- Belgium
- Pronouns
- He
Actually it's Aufanglith🙂 It doesn't have any meaning, but I just found it sounds better😉
Btw, it was a great idea to allow us to create our own characters
Thanks.- Pronouns
- He/Him
We don't know what exact quality that trial is looking for, but it can't be something like 'objectively measured statesmanship skills' alone or Malekith wouldn't have failed (Malekith is many things, but he's certainly competent).
Maybe that means that intent is a big part of it, and for all his terrible, terrible, life choices and assorted issues, I think it's arguable that Caledor II was in fact actually trying to be a good king, he was just laughably bad at that. Another possibility is that what Asuryan is looking for is just for the candidate to have the approval of the people, and Caledor II definitely had that when he went through the flames.
- Location
- Bretonnia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Huh. That does make Caledor II a lot more human than he's generally portrayed to be. No wonder he turned out to be a massive fuck up. Not that I ever hated Caledor II, but after hearing all of that, I somewhat pity the guy. Still doesn't excuse everything he did, but it certainly explains why.
I used the wrong wording here; I don't actually feel that way about the Phoenix King's that died of old age - dying while content is an admirable way to go for a Phoenix King. Rather, I was wondering how the elves saw it. I imagine that it's in a much more positive light than someone like Morvael, who committed suicide... or at least, that's what I assume.
Solarion
For Light and Life
It's possible that Caledor II just changed. Asuryan only judges the Phoenix Kings on who they are when they step into the Flame, he's not hovering over their shoulders for their entire lives to give them advice or to punish them when they fuck up.
It's entirely possible Caledor II had the potential to be a good king and had good intentions when he stepped into the Flame, so Asuryan passed him despite his flaws.
But then over the course of his actual reign, Caledor's issues grew and kept growing, and he never resolved them.
- Location
- France
[X] Priestly Bodyguarding
- Location
- Bretonnia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Er... the vote is closed.
- Location
- Netherlands
The books also make it clear that the colonies absolutely do not want to get into conflict with the Dwarfs, and that the only elves who do, are the ones who don't live with them.
- Location
- Bretonnia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I think that a possible obsession for Fanriel is atonement, too. Or something along the lines of trying to atone + not letting her dark curiosity get the better of her.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Yvresse extends that far south in your view @Blackout ?
Blackout
Fed By Comments
- Location
- Who knows?
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Huh. Outer kingdom and inner indeed. Thanks for pointing that out.It quite explicitly does. Compare:
Lightfang and the Silverine Plate
- Location
- Bretonnia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Anyway, while I've been working away at the update, I've also been looking for some reference images:
I don't know if it's just me, but I've always found the helmets the Asur use hit/miss. Sometimes they look goofy and at other times they look pretty cool. My point is that, I like the armour. It does the Asur vibe pretty well and actually looks really cool, too.
Aegon Targaryen
Dragonking of Fuyuki
- Location
- Romania
The Shrine of Khaine is in Nagarythe, no? Not Chrace
Blackout
Fed By Comments
- Location
- Who knows?
Shrine of Khaine is on the Blighted Isle, not in any kingdom.
@Blackout, As a matter of curiosity, if we had selected 4 Great Eagle Knights plus 1 personal Great Eagle Mount for Fanriel during the troop selection stage, could we have flown directly from Ulthuan to Kislev? Or would they still have needed a ship to bring them there?
And if a ship is needed, what would have been the size of ship needed to carry 5 Great Eagles and the associated food, harnesses, etc?
And if a ship is needed, what would have been the size of ship needed to carry 5 Great Eagles and the associated food, harnesses, etc?
Blackout
Fed By Comments
- Location
- Who knows?
Not all the way to Kislev, but flying from Yvresse to Araby, Araby to Estalia, Estalia to Bretonnia, Bretonnia to Empire, and Empire to Kislev might have been possible. Or the Phoenix King would have provided a ship to take you there, as happened here, probably an Eagleship.
- Location
- Bretonnia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
If we had chosen Dragon Mage, would we have just flown to Kislev on our dragon?
Blackout
Fed By Comments
- Location
- Who knows?
Yes, dragons are specifically shown to be capable of flying straight from Ulthuan to the Old World in the novels.
Aww man, we missed out on so many side-quests. Imagine if we had rolled into Kislev mounted on Arabyan Radiant Pegasi, accompanied by units of Estalian Diestro and Brettonian Questing Knights, and dual-wielding Lightfang and a Runefang that we won in a bet from a drunken Elector Count.
Mistwalkers by XuanTianShangTi
- Location
- Australia
So a writing bug bit me. The only trouble with that is that I can't write. It was 3 AM when I sat down and now it's nearly 6. All this has shown me is to leave writing to the QM and others of greater talent. Anyway, just wanted to write a small thing about the Mist Walkers who were almost with us but aren't. I'm going to go pass out but point out any flaws in this nonsense to me and I'll fix it later.
---
Unic stared into the fire, watching as the patterns wove their secrets. He was no archmage, no weaver of Qhaysh, but he still had some small skill.
A touch of Aqshy, just enough to enchant the fire and no more. A stir of Ghur, make it wild and let it free. Then weave Azyr through the fire, watch the patterns and read the signs. It was a hedge spell, quick and dirty and relying more on gut instinct and feel than a familiarity with the winds. His mother had shown him when he had first announced his intentions to join the Mist Walkers a spell of her own making to watch his father while he ranged out.
The mists of Yvresse were their domain, but their home loved testing them and pushed them to use all skills to the fullest. The mockery for his usage of it had softened the first time he had caught the presence of an ambush. It died when he found another band about to be overwhelmed. So it became that every night a fire was made, and he was granted leave from watch duty to instead watch the flames and see what new tests would be laid to their feet.
Tonight though, he looked further than he ever had. Read the passage of a ship through the ocean, heading west, watched for flares of passion or anger, a dimming of life, a deceptive smoke. He peered deeper, trying to pull secrets from the flame only to be pulled back. Only as he allowed it did he feel the burn stinging his cheek.
"That's not a good look Unic," a voice chided him, "Should we expect any trouble tonight?"
"No trouble," sensibly, he had performed his official reading first. Shaking the winds free of his grip, Unic turned to Menada and raised a brow, "I had thought you were still on your watch. Has it been that long already?"
It was, he reflected, the problem with using hedge magic. Time slipped from him, and the fire entranced and drew him deeper. He had scorched eyebrows and eyelashes from his face more than once before he learned his limits, before he had been taught.
She shook her head, already pulling out the tin of foul smelling ointment, "Elaria sent me off. Everyone else is off hunting or patrolling, and we didn't want you distracted."
He grimaced but said nothing as the ointment was daubed over the burns, knowing she had no compunction about getting it on his tongue if he dared to complain. Menada had never explained the complete recipe, but he wouldn't be surprised if bog peat was essential. Once the assault on his nose had ceased and the telltale tingle of healing had begun, he turned and took in his friend.
Her eldest brother had fallen in the attack, his bloated corpse washing ashore days later. Grief was clearly still with her, as was stress. The third daughter of a house that only counted as nobility due to inertia, life as a Mist Walker was more prestigious than any she could have expected. Now, with her eldest sister a married lady in Avalorn and the second being rapidly groomed for heirship, her parents were pushing her to enter politics, to find a husband, to do anything that wasn't roaming through the mists hunting demons.
He watched as her face set into a scowl, "You were watching the voyage, weren't you? Making sure she was safe."
He tried not to grimace at her bitterness but couldn't refute it. Still, the attack on his liege lord, former liege lord, he reminded himself, left a bad taste in his mouth. Likely the same bad taste she no doubt had over his remaining loyalty. Nevertheless, he dipped his head in a shallow nod.
"Why aren't you with them? I know you spoke to other bands, sounded out members." Again he nodded once. He'd found enough interested and trustworthy Mist Walkers to pull together a band. "So why not go?"
"We agreed that we were better placed here," he sighed, "The swordmasters will keep her safe enough, not that she needs bodyguards. If we had gone, we would have just been more bodies. Here we can really support her."
He glanced sideways, taking in her confusion and knew he would have to explain further.
"House Drangleic raised us up, rewarded our loyalty. A retainer house, granted land and a title. My siblings forget what that should mean and speak already of how best to press land claims." He smiled thinly at the disgust on her face. The jockeying of Menada's house had clearly made an impression on her.
"I am well placed to end something like that, but other threats are less simply dealt with. Prince Aislinn is a powerful and blunt foe. Watching his movements is easy, a fleet is no small thing to mobilise." He smiled before grimacing, "however, for all his bluntness, he makes for an excellent smoke screen for others to hide their actions behind. We can't be everywhere, and we cannot dig into noble affairs."
He sighed again, for all his talk of supporting House Drangleic, he knew it was pointless. There was no heir to secure its future, and the name had been irrevocably dragged through the mud. He wished he had followed.
"I should be out there," he gestured westward, "It would be easy, just slip into the ship hold. No one would miss me for days."
"I'll follow your lead." Her tone was firm, "But not for her. Someone has to keep you alive, and gods knows she wouldn't be able to."
---
Unic stared into the fire, watching as the patterns wove their secrets. He was no archmage, no weaver of Qhaysh, but he still had some small skill.
A touch of Aqshy, just enough to enchant the fire and no more. A stir of Ghur, make it wild and let it free. Then weave Azyr through the fire, watch the patterns and read the signs. It was a hedge spell, quick and dirty and relying more on gut instinct and feel than a familiarity with the winds. His mother had shown him when he had first announced his intentions to join the Mist Walkers a spell of her own making to watch his father while he ranged out.
The mists of Yvresse were their domain, but their home loved testing them and pushed them to use all skills to the fullest. The mockery for his usage of it had softened the first time he had caught the presence of an ambush. It died when he found another band about to be overwhelmed. So it became that every night a fire was made, and he was granted leave from watch duty to instead watch the flames and see what new tests would be laid to their feet.
Tonight though, he looked further than he ever had. Read the passage of a ship through the ocean, heading west, watched for flares of passion or anger, a dimming of life, a deceptive smoke. He peered deeper, trying to pull secrets from the flame only to be pulled back. Only as he allowed it did he feel the burn stinging his cheek.
"That's not a good look Unic," a voice chided him, "Should we expect any trouble tonight?"
"No trouble," sensibly, he had performed his official reading first. Shaking the winds free of his grip, Unic turned to Menada and raised a brow, "I had thought you were still on your watch. Has it been that long already?"
It was, he reflected, the problem with using hedge magic. Time slipped from him, and the fire entranced and drew him deeper. He had scorched eyebrows and eyelashes from his face more than once before he learned his limits, before he had been taught.
She shook her head, already pulling out the tin of foul smelling ointment, "Elaria sent me off. Everyone else is off hunting or patrolling, and we didn't want you distracted."
He grimaced but said nothing as the ointment was daubed over the burns, knowing she had no compunction about getting it on his tongue if he dared to complain. Menada had never explained the complete recipe, but he wouldn't be surprised if bog peat was essential. Once the assault on his nose had ceased and the telltale tingle of healing had begun, he turned and took in his friend.
Her eldest brother had fallen in the attack, his bloated corpse washing ashore days later. Grief was clearly still with her, as was stress. The third daughter of a house that only counted as nobility due to inertia, life as a Mist Walker was more prestigious than any she could have expected. Now, with her eldest sister a married lady in Avalorn and the second being rapidly groomed for heirship, her parents were pushing her to enter politics, to find a husband, to do anything that wasn't roaming through the mists hunting demons.
He watched as her face set into a scowl, "You were watching the voyage, weren't you? Making sure she was safe."
He tried not to grimace at her bitterness but couldn't refute it. Still, the attack on his liege lord, former liege lord, he reminded himself, left a bad taste in his mouth. Likely the same bad taste she no doubt had over his remaining loyalty. Nevertheless, he dipped his head in a shallow nod.
"Why aren't you with them? I know you spoke to other bands, sounded out members." Again he nodded once. He'd found enough interested and trustworthy Mist Walkers to pull together a band. "So why not go?"
"We agreed that we were better placed here," he sighed, "The swordmasters will keep her safe enough, not that she needs bodyguards. If we had gone, we would have just been more bodies. Here we can really support her."
He glanced sideways, taking in her confusion and knew he would have to explain further.
"House Drangleic raised us up, rewarded our loyalty. A retainer house, granted land and a title. My siblings forget what that should mean and speak already of how best to press land claims." He smiled thinly at the disgust on her face. The jockeying of Menada's house had clearly made an impression on her.
"I am well placed to end something like that, but other threats are less simply dealt with. Prince Aislinn is a powerful and blunt foe. Watching his movements is easy, a fleet is no small thing to mobilise." He smiled before grimacing, "however, for all his bluntness, he makes for an excellent smoke screen for others to hide their actions behind. We can't be everywhere, and we cannot dig into noble affairs."
He sighed again, for all his talk of supporting House Drangleic, he knew it was pointless. There was no heir to secure its future, and the name had been irrevocably dragged through the mud. He wished he had followed.
"I should be out there," he gestured westward, "It would be easy, just slip into the ship hold. No one would miss me for days."
"I'll follow your lead." Her tone was firm, "But not for her. Someone has to keep you alive, and gods knows she wouldn't be able to."