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Mercenary Mage Quest: Asur Dogs of War in Warhammer Fantasy

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Imperious said:
I just need to have a Bretonnian lord named Gambert Rambert to encounter Skulltaker and remind him how their last duel went before showing him whats what. Seriously Alberic, enough of embarassing the homeland.
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I think 'beat Skulltaker in a duel' is slightly beyond the scope of these DoW entries.

Skulltaker is stated to have experienced exactly one loss- to Sigmar, after a duel that lasted three days.
 
Mopman43 said:
I think 'beat Skulltaker in a duel' is slightly beyond the scope of these DoW entries.

Skulltaker is stated to have experienced exactly one loss- to Sigmar, after a duel that lasted three days.
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I meant customizing the name of a generic Bretonnian Lord in a game of Total War into Gambert Rambert and having him beat Skulltaker in a fight.

Gambert wouldn't really fit into a DoW in this quest anyway between the Bretonnian ban on mercenary work and being born more then two hundred years after this quest's own time.

Edit: Just to be clear, Gambert Rambert was a Bretonnian PC of another quest who died from wounds suffered in a, victorious, duel against Skulltaker long before Warhammer Total War 3 was a thing.
 
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I'm not a fan of the Khorngors, they look uninspired and kind of goofy. Same with Scyla, I actually wish they'd taken more inspiration from his Blood Bowl model.

I do like the Blood Beasts though, it's a nice depiction of something that previously was only described in text, even if a video game format can't really depict the myriad mutations inherent to Chaos Spawn without investing undue resources. And Slaughterbrutes, Wrathmongers and Skullreapers are faithful to their tabletop models which I already liked, and their inclusion makes me hopeful we'll see other End Times units like Stormfiends and Blightkings in the future. Despite my dislike for ET I always liked many of the new units it introduced.
 
Lerac said:
It really is sad.

I feel that, if only he hadn't gotten framed like that, he'd been able to accept the contents of the letters better, and eventually put his one-sided feelings to rest. However, he had to receive it while in his bleak situation .
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Also thinking about it, an Asur expriencing such deep seated trauma that they become incapable of expressing joy anymore fits with what Blackout mentioned earlier about them canonically experiencing heightened emotions. It's basically what happened to Eltharion when his family was killed in Grom's WAAGH in Yvresse, rendering him into "The Grim".
 
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Flying Free by Mystic Pentagram [SEMI-CANON]
  • Sidestory
    • Flying Free​
    A slender shadow flies over the gloomy forests of the Middle Mountains, muscular hawk wings beating rapidly to keep its trajectory stable while its rapacious eyes scan the horizon in search of its prey. On the Griffin's back, Aramil Amakiir, exiled prince of Ulthuan, sits holding the magical glaive Anvaril in his right hand, his Ithilmar armor gleaming in the midday sun.

    Two days earlier, a patrol of State Troops had disappeared, devoured by the woods without leaving a trace. A group of Ostland Huntsmen had been sent to investigate the disappearance, but they had not returned to the camp the night before to report. So, instead of risking bleeding dry his army little by little by continuing to send search parties, the Elector-Count dispatched Aramil and Stormclaw to find out what had really happened.

    Some would think that the Chracian noble would consider such a mission as beneath him, but they are wrong.

    For Aramil, every wound, large or small, inflicted on the Forces of Darkness is a triumph. And he couldn't think of a person more suited for such a quest than himself.

    Closing his eyes, he could easily imagine that he was in another place and in another time. In a different mountain range, far beyond the sea, riding alongside his brothers and hunting some horrid beast that threatened the commoners of their lands. Joking, laughing and making bets on who would draw the first blood from the creature. Returning at the end of the day to the nearest village dragging the carcass of the monster behind them, the villagers exulting as they passed, a great banquet in their honor held at sunset where everyone was happy and joyful while the beer flowed like a river.

    But those times were long gone, and a screech from Stormclaw brought Aramil back to the present.

    Below them, in a clearing, were the remains of a skirmish. Several bodies wearing the uniform of the Ostland hunters lay in the grass, it was possible to see that they had been mangled and mutilated with great ferocity and brutality even from that distance.

    Stormclaw landed lightly in the clearing, and in the blink of an eye Aramil had already dismounted and was examining the remains and the ground for clues. It didn't take long to notice the many footprints that crossed the clearing, footprints with which Aramil was very familiar.

    Greenskin, a very large group of Greenskins judging by the number of footprints.

    The hunter shook his head sadly, the Ostlanders must have been outnumbered five to one, they had not stood a chance.

    Examining the scene, Aramil noticed a series of more recent tracks heading northeast, deeper into the wilds. Aramil assumed that to be the direction the Greenskins had moved after winning the skirmish. But there were not only tracks of Orcs and Goblins in the undergrowth, among them it was possible to see the traces of sturdy boots worn by human feet.

    Aramil hesitated, undecided. The Elector-Count had not explicitly forbidden him to engage enemies if he found them, but he had made it clear that the priority of the mission was to report the nature of the threat present in that part of the mountains. And judging by the footprints, the Greenskins' numbers were large, probably too great to be defeated even by him.

    However, Aramil could not in good conscience leave the poor humans in the clutches of the Orcs, where it awaited them slavery or a grisly death for the entertainment of the green brutes. If he returned to the camp to get reinforcements, it might be too late to save them.

    And that was if the Elector-Count believed that the operation was important enough to send an armed force, what were after all a handful of lost men to someone who commanded armies of thousands?

    No, Aramil was not just a servant of the Elector-Count or a common blade for hire.

    He fought the enemies of all civilized peoples because it was the right thing to do, not because it was his duty or because he was ordered to. Since he had left Ulthuan, he had sworn that he would not allow others to choose his path.

    Full of grim determination, the hunter mounted his griffin and sent a short prayer to Kurnous. Hoping the Lord of the Hunt would bless his dangerous quest.

    It did not take long to find the Greenskins' camp, a filthy column of smoke rose from a large bonfire in the center of the camp making it easy to find from the air, the camp itself was made of tents roughly sewn from animal skins.

    The camp was a buzzing hive of activity, with hundreds of Greenskins running araound or brawling in the mud.

    There had to be at least three hundred Goblins, half that number of Orcs, and too many Snotlings and Squigs to count. A quartet of Trolls were feasting on meat of unknown origin near the great bonfire, near them were half a dozen crude empty wooden cages.

    Aramil grimaced, it was not hard to guess the fate of the captured Huntsmen.

    But not all hope seemed to be lost, for there was still an occupied cage.

    The man inside, wearing a tattered red, white, and black tunic, Ostland's colors, glared with fiery fury at all the Greenskins who passed by him, his gaze so hateful that some of the more cowardly Goblins ran away when they saw him. Aramil could not help but admire the courage of the human in the face of what could be his certain death. His refusal to bow down to the barbarity of the Greenskins and let fear rule his heart.

    The griffin knight was busy trying to formulate a plan of action to save the prisoner, when one of the Trolls stood up and strode with heavy steps towards the cage, revealing its horrid yellowed teeth and licking its lips in anticipation of the meal.

    With no more time to think, Aramil spurred Stormclaw forward, and the Griffin swooped down towards the center of the camp. The wind howled in his ears, his long brown hair whipped behind him, and silent prayers formed on his lips to Kurnous, Eldrazor, and even Kaela Mensha Khaine. Knowing that the battle ahead of him would be a desperate one, but refusing to back down no matter what.

    The Troll staggered backwards when Stormclaw's talons sank deep into its chest, and before it could regain its balance, Anvaril's flame wreathered blade separated its grotesque head from its horrible shoulders.

    All around, cries of alarm and roars rang out around the camp.

    A second Troll charged Aramil and Stormclaw, but the nimble Ulthuani predator easily dodged the clumsy swings of the monster's club. Aramil twirled his glaive with superhuman speed and dexterity, and the thin blade cut off the Troll's armed arm at the elbow and then continued its trajectory and decapitated a couple of Goblins armed with spears who were trying to attack Stormclaw from the left flank.

    A second slash silenced the Troll's cries of pain, but at that point the mass of enemies descended on them.

    Dozens of Goblins, Orcs, and Squigs trampled the corpses of the Trolls in their haste to reach the fray.

    Aramil and Stormclaw fought with perfect coordination, the result of countless decades spent fighting side by side on battlefields in every corner of the known world.

    Stormclaw disemboweled Orcs with his claws and dismembered Goblins with sharp blows from his mighty beak, while Aramil impaled Squigs that leapt at him with quick lunges and reaped half a dozen Greenskins with each sweeping slash of Anvaril.

    But no matter how formidable the duo seemed, for every foe they cut down, two more took its place.

    Gritting his teeth, Aramil let out a furious cry to the mob of green savages around him "Come on, witless brutes! Is there no one among you filthy beasts capable of facing me one on one?" he glanced araound, and he was surprised when the creatures around him began to retreat.

    The Greenskins formed a circle around him, and a mighty Orc emerged from the crowd.

    He towered over his fellows with his stature, with the tallest Orcs in the crowd reaching up to his chest. He was covered in a crude armor of metal plates and chainmail, wielding a spiked club in his right hand and an axe in his left.

    The Orc Boss growled and waved his weapons, advancing towards Aramil with a determined step "who do you think you are pointy ears?! To come to my camp and kill my lads, ONLY I CAN DO THAT! I am Togbard Teefsmasha! And i am going to KRUMP YOU INTO THE DIRT!".

    Gracefully and lightly, Aramil dismounted and stepped forward to confront his opponent "We'll see who's going to lie in the dust in the end, beast!" growled the Chracian.

    As he had done every time before the countless other duels he had fought in his life, Aramil sent a silent prayer to Eldrazor, trying to invoke the favor of the Lord of Blades for this coming fight.

    The Greenskin's crowd cheered enthusiastically when the two warriors clashed.

    The Orc's strength was overwhelming, but Aramil danced around his blows and countered with lunges and slashes as quick as lightning, using the longer shaft of his weapon to stay out of his enemy's reach. Soon Togbard received numerous wounds to his arms and legs, but these only seemed to serve to enrage him even more.

    The Orc Boss threw his axe aside and grabbed Anvaril's shaft in a sudden move, tugging toward him and dragging a surprised Aramil forward.

    Before the elf lord had time to react, Togbard hit him with a powerful headbutt stunning him, then hit him square in the chest with a blow of his club and sent him flying backwards.

    Aramil landed on his stomach in the dust, losing his grip on Anvaril who flew in the opposite direction.

    Togbard descended on him, raising his club above his head and bellowing triumphantly, ready to finish him off. But Aramil rolled to the side, dodging the blow at the last second and with a quick flick of his wrist he summoned the Whitefire Glaive to his hand.

    The elven prince sprang to his feet and with a lightning-fast slash cut the Orc in half from the left hip to the right shoulder. Togbard's two halves hit the ground with a thud, and for a few seconds the camp was silent.

    Then an Orc roared furiously "he killed the Boss! Let's get him la..." he was interrupted by another Orc that caved his head in with a crude wooden club "You ain't my Boss! Now lads, let's..." the second Orc found also impossible to finish the sentence, as a Goblin sliced his throat open from behind.

    In a few moments, the camp descended into total chaos. As the Greenskins started fighting each other to decide who was the new Boss.

    Only a handful of Orcs seemed to remember the dangerous enemy still in their midst, but as they made to lunge at Aramil, three of them were quickly shot down by well-aimed arrows that pierced their necks while two others were savagely torn to pieces by Stormclaw.

    Turning around, Aramil saw that the Huntsman had managed to escape from his cage into the confusion, probably thanks to the crude knife that now hung from his belt, and was holding a short bow that he must have retrieved from a fallen Goblin.

    Now that he saw him up close, the man appeared to be in his mid-fifties. With a salt-and-pepper beard and streaks of gray in his mane of black hair. He looked like a grizzled veteran, but he had a fire in his gaze more suited to a man half his age.

    "Thank you for the rescue Lord Elf!" He said smirking, while nocking another arrow and hitting a leaping Squig in the eye "I thought I was food for Trolls for a moment!"

    Aramil nodded and stabbed a Goblin in the chest "What's your name, Huntsman?"

    He smiled, lowering his head just in time to dodge a Snotling that was hurtling through the air screaming in terror, before answering "Henrick of Dassel! At your service!".

    Aramil leaped over a pile of bodies and fended off a snarling Giant Wolf with the shaft of Anvaril "Aramil Amakiir, at yours!" he then kicked the Wolf, sending it reeling and then finished it with a quick slash to the throat "i think we should go, before the Greenskins solve their disagreements".

    Henrick nodded and started running towards were Stormclaw was chasing away a group of Goblins, Aramil followed him, covering his retreat.

    Behind them, the two remaining Trolls were fighting each other, stomping on panicking Snotlings while they exchanged blows. The two monsters ended up falling into the bonefire while they grabbed and clawed each other faces, scattering burning embers everywere and setting nearby tents on fire.

    The two mounted the Griffon, who immediately took flight, leaving behind the now burning camp and turning southwest towards the relatively safe territories patrolled by the Ostland State Troops.

    On the return flight, Aramil and Henrick chatted amicably, and the griffon knight found himself appreciating the veteran Huntsman's company and wit.

    By the time they reached the Elector-Count's camp, the two had already agreed to exchange beers around a campfire later that evening, so that Aramil could share stories of his adventures with Henrick and the other troops.

    Aramil knew he would be scolded by the Count for his rash actions, but he also knew he was too important as an asset to be seriously punished or fired. But watching Henrick reunite with his comrades-in-arms, two of whom appeared to be younger versions of him and whom Aramil would later find out were his younger brother and son, he knew in his heart that he had made the right choice.
     
  • Sidestory
    • Blackout said:
    As I have said before, the Asur do not have a lot of history with Vampires, whereas they have been engaged in a mutually genocidal deathwar with the Druchii for some 4500 years.
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    So a Dark Elf can't change sides under any circumstances even though they are just a Elf like any other Elf Asrai or Asur but a Undead monster who you have said before any Elf with any Witchsight which is basically all them would always see as literally full of Dhar would not get a High Elf in trouble if they were fought working with them, that seems a bit extreme to me Boss?

    Blackout said:
    Why? Why are Asur Pleasure Cultists equivalent to Druchii defectors, and even if they were, why would the Asur have to accept Druchii defectors as Asur? There is no universal law saying that just because you can be condemned for falling to evil, others must forgive you if you try to redeem yourself.
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    Why would they not be considered to have become a Dark Elf. Dark Elf or Druchii does not refer to a Group of people native to on place unlike for example Nagarythians who are people who live in Nagarythe. Those who fallowed Malekith in the Sundering came from across the whole of Ulthuan and the Colonies thus they don't have a look that marks them out as Physically different from a Asur whose ancestors came from the same Kingdom. The Pleasure Cults and the others that follow his Mother were one of the bases of Malekith support and thus being a member is one of the things that I would think would mark a Elf as a Druchii in the minds of the Asur. Thus a High Elf becomes a Pleasure Cultist and a servant of Morathi then would they not have abandoned being a Asur, one off the High Elf's and become a Druchii, one of the Dark Elf's. If a High Elf can be enough of a arrogant monster to become a Dark Elf then I would think it's not impossible for a Dark Elf to decide they want out of the insanity that is being a Dark Elf and switch sides.

    What separates the three Elf factions are culture and belief and if a Dark Elf for example after seeing how things are done be the other Elf factions decides Malekith is not someone they want to die for then it being possible for them to throw themselves at for example the Avatar of Kurnos that Orion and ask to serve him should not be impossible.

    If for example we are not going damm every Norscan even if they are born in a culture that is heavily influenced by the the Dark Gods even in Southern Norsca then a Dark Elf that breaks free of their own dark influences should be a possibility. I am not saying that it would be easy or that some one like a Dark Elf who has been around for 2,500 years would even give the idea much thought let alone be given much of a chance if they tried to defect. I just think that it should not be impossible.
     
    Mystic Pentagram said:
    Aramil Amakiir, at yours!
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    Seems like a rather strange expression for someone who is noted to be incredibly prideful to use. Otherwise looks good to me, though I cannot say whether the specific events can be canonized.

    Stewart9 said:
    So a Dark Elf can't change sides under any circumstances even though they are just a Elf like any other Elf Asrai or Asur but a Undead monster who you have said before any Elf with any Witchsight which is basically all them would always see as literally full of Dhar would not get a High Elf in trouble if they were fought working with them, that seems a bit extreme to me Boss?
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    I am not saying it wouldn't get him in trouble, I am saying that it would be easier than Druchii.

    Stewart9 said:
    Those who fallowed Malekith in the Sundering came from across the whole of Ulthuan and the Colonies thus they don't have a look that marks them out as Physically different from a Asur whose ancestors came from the same Kingdom.
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    Indeed they don't, the split is fully cultural.

    Stewart9 said:
    If a High Elf can be enough of a arrogant monster to become a Dark Elf then I would think it's not impossible for a Dark Elf to decide they want out of the insanity that is being a Dark Elf and switch sides.

    What separates the three Elf factions are culture and belief and if a Dark Elf for example after seeing how things are done be the other Elf factions decides Malekith is not someone they want to die for then it being possible for them to throw themselves at for example the Avatar of Kurnos that Orion and ask to serve him should not be impossible.

    If for example we are not going damm every Norscan even if they are born in a culture that is heavily influenced by the the Dark Gods even in Southern Norsca then a Dark Elf that breaks free of their own dark influences should be a possibility. I am not saying that it would be easy or that some one like a Dark Elf who has been around for 2,500 years would even give the idea much thought let alone be given much of a chance if they tried to defect. I just think that it should not be impossible.
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    That is correct, it is not impossible. I have never said that Druchii are incapable of redemption. I have been and am saying that the Asur mainstream society believes it to be impossible. That simply by virtue of participating in Druchii society long enough to reach adulthood, they have irreversibly stained their hands. That a necessary precondition to redemption would be to fully understand just how monstrous the Druchii are, and any Druchii that did so would immediately commit suicide. That even if theoretically a spherical Druchii in a vacuum could deserve redemption, the risk of them being a Malekith plant is too high, because that has happened so many times in the past when they did accept defectors.

    This position is not universal, individual Asur may disagree and quietly work to bring in Druchii defectors, but they must do so in secret and at great risk, because officially Ulthuan does not accept defectors from Naggaroth, and frankly anyone who was known to be a former Druchii would be lynched or assassinated in short order.

    You might say that this is counterproductive, that by refusing defectors they may be forcing some Druchii to remain Druchii, that they may be passing up valuable military opportunities by doing so. And you would be correct. Because the Asur are fallible, imperfect living beings with feelings and biases and prejudices. And they loathe the Druchii with every fiber of their beings.
     
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    Blackout said:
    Seems like a rather strange expression for someone who is noted to be incredibly prideful to use. Otherwise looks good to me, though I cannot say whether the specific events can be canonized.
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    I mean, begin prideful dosen't mean begin an arrogant asshole 100% of the time.

    He takes insults (real or imagined) very very seriously and dosen't tollerate people behaving like they are better than him.

    And has a pretty high opinion of his skills.

    But if somebody is friendly with him from the start, he will be friendly. And in this specific case, he was impressed by Henrick bravery, so he was well disposed towards him.

    And why the events are dubiously canon? I think its just a minor skirmish that wouldn't impact the overall campaign too much.
     
    Name: The Kings Hammerers

    Description: Garibald was the third son of a tilean noble who, with little to inherit, decided to strike out onto the border princes to seek his fortunes.
    Garibald was quite lucky and found an abandoned dwarven gold mine hidden deep in the hills.
    Soon he established a new petty kingdom around that mine and titled himself King Garibald
    Being an appreciator of all things dwarven, Garibald decided that he would need a throng of hammerers just like any true king. Sadly his land was lacking in dwarves and so he had to make do with men.
    He found a group of a hundred stout and stalwart men lead by one called Grim Blacktongue, armed them with dwarven made hammers and the best armor his wealth could buy and set to them the task of guarding him with their lives.
    Many years passed until one night Garibald was cursed to death by a witch whom he had driven out of his kingdom. (Though this is only what some say. Others claim that the king was lain low by a mere goblins dagger and the hammerers invented the story about the witch to divert blame from themselves.)

    With their liege lord dead and not wishing to take part in the brewing succession crisis, Grim Blacktongue lead his throng away from the Kingdom of Garibald and towards the empire where they make their coin escorting nobles and other notables.

    Numbers:
    Grim Blacktongue: Mutant human hammerer
    -Poison resistance: Some quirk of constitution left Grim with a resistance to poison matched only by the doughiest dwarves.
    -Mutant: Grim's mutation is a mostly benign one: His tongue is as black as charcoal. He claims it to be the result of having drank black lotus poison.
    100 Human hammerers armed with hammers and armored in chainmail.
     
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