Go see a doctor and don't push yourself. Take the time you need.
Project Prometheus (Warhammer Fantasy OC Civ Quest)
- Thread starter Voikirium
- Start date
- Fantasy
Yes Sir
Turn 1 Results
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Turn 1 Results
The clearing is silent. Bowled by slight streams, surrounded by jungle trees and vibrant flowers and a scent like perfume lightly masking rotten carcasses, things lurk in the darkness, rich and thick with corruption, seeds of the unwell wrapped in anger and hatred and violence and death and worse. They prowl, fearing what you are, but hungry and bestial and in that bestial nature they know you, even forced into mortality, are the greater host of beasts.
Perhaps one day you will get to show that.
One day…but not today.
"Ten-thousand."
Dererhan looks…hollow. His ears, normally proud and straight and rigid as he, droop. His long, vibrant hair is left tangled, messed, covered in blood and mud and filth and worse thing. His sacred spear has been soaked in beast's blood; his lovely face now covered in scars and ruination. For he has been running about trying to feed the lot of you, and to count you to know how many more of you need to be fed, aided by the others. The others look little better. Even bleak, shadow-hearted Laqurnas seems sallow, hollowed out, like some great craftsman took the knife to wood and began to carve into it like butter; none some hale, hearty, whole and well.
Feeding and counting. Counting and feeding. Such takes up so much of their time, their effort. Once upon a time the foxes were limitless, infinite, unending. Every time enough mortal minds produced a thought that could be snagged on, it would coalesce together until all at once where there had been nothing but energy and potential there would be a fresh-crafted fox spirit, waiting to join the rest of you in the hunt and in the spirit and in the forest. Now instead you will be forced to indulge in the mystifying process that mortals subject themselves to; considerably less efficient by all accounts.
From that nearly numberless host, ten-thousand of you escaped the braying hounds. Scarcely a city's worth. The lucky of those who did not will have been destroyed.
The unlucky?
You all try not to think about the unlucky.
It does not always work.
This presents its own problems, however. Ten-thousand may not account for much to what was once a numberless band, but it's more than you know how to feed, more than you could even begin to account for. Plenty of you know the basics of food, of eating, but only for flavor, for pleasure; for nourishment you took thought and hunt and magic, worship in a scarce handful of cases. How will you ever feed that many mouths? How could you even begin to? You may all know how to hunt, but there aren't enough beasts in all of this land—whatever this land is, wherever it is, even Dererhan couldn't tell you—to feed everyone. To escape Khorne's hounds, only to end up dead at the hands of Nurgle's blade. Tempers flare. Murmuring begins. The mist grows black and dark and unwholesome, unholy, unwell, shadows stretching, unrolling themselves in shapes and configurations no merely mortal mind could comprehend. The fear of hunger is a new one, but one you understand all too well for plenty of these once-spirits had arisen from hunger, from thirst, and the desire to quench them, the willingness to do anything to survive them
You hear laughing.
You hear your children suffer.
Magic begins to stir to your will, magic and power and force as your very soul reaches out to save your people, your children, the ones you saved from the Hounds, the ones you will not abandon now either. Ghyran, pure Ghyran, flows around you like healthy streams of river water, infinite shades and hues of green all molding together into a painting, a chorus, a great ocean of life and calm and serenity and care and compassion; the desire, indeed, to nurture.
Is it any wonder that it comes so easily to you?
The other spirits look around tired at first as the jungle around you begins to bloom. A simple, easy parlor trick many of them have done before themselves, to gain favor from mortals, favors and gifts of a thousand different kinds. To make the flowers bloom, to make the leaves unfurl, to make the rivers and streams clear. Old, passe, done before and better by greater, more terrible spirits. A difference for one, one day; but what is the difference to one against the weight of ten-thousand?
But what is the weight of ten-thousand against the will of one?
More and more fruits dangle fat and thick from the trees and from the vines, green and red and gold and more, some warty and some covered in spines and some wrinkled and some smooth but all, all, a damn sight better than starvation—your senses will let you know where poison lurks, all of you. They look and they see as more and more fruit sprouts, nuts too, growing and growing under your will, your power, and the murmurs start to fade, slowing, pausing, changing their tenor, their tone, from fear to wonder as you do what should be impossible, what was impossible, once upon a time. But things have changed.
You have changed.
The sickle-wielding robed ones feed their magic into it too, making yet more of the jungle bloom with life to feed on for your people, lesser but yet still flesh to feed on, nourishment, health and hope. The streams run clear around you, clear and fresh as your people drink and start to pick the fruit, hope rekindled for the first time in a very long time. They plunge their heads into water to drain as much of it as they can as quick as they can only to be hauled up as they gasp for breath, they fill their arms with red and green fruits or they gorge on them, their stomachs full and well for the first time since you made the journey, for the first time since the chains of mortality were placed on you all. Ehfeyos, studious and noble at heart, examines all that you do with eyes beyond sight, eyes beyond the physical, scrawling down notes in light that hangs on stone and air like a perfume refusing to fade, talking this, that and the other about a solid base for teaching and learning.
They all watch, wide eyed.
The creatures lurking in the mist retreat. The nightmares in the shadows seem to shrink. The Hounds lose their scent.
You can't hear the laughing any more.
Gain:
Count of Population: 10,000 Fox Spirits
1 Organization Dice
Food situation is currently minorly deficient, you will need to vary the fox spirits' diets some but compared to actual starvation it is nothing.
[X] Plan: Food and Census
-[X] Feeding the Hungry: You, spirits of the fox, are mortal now. You have indulged in food and water and wine before; but it is only now that it becomes necessary. Whether foraging or farming or hunting it must be done before you all starve to death in your new forms. (Ghyran) (0/1 Success)
--[X] (1 Menleth Dice)
-[X] Counting the Many: How many of you even managed to escape without dying at the hands of the hound? A count must be held, to determine how many of you lived. For you know not all did. (0/1 Success)
--[X] (1 Leader Dice)
-[X] Feeding the Hungry: You, spirits of the fox, are mortal now. You have indulged in food and water and wine before; but it is only now that it becomes necessary. Whether foraging or farming or hunting it must be done before you all starve to death in your new forms. (Ghyran) (0/1 Success)
--[X] (1 Menleth Dice)
-[X] Counting the Many: How many of you even managed to escape without dying at the hands of the hound? A count must be held, to determine how many of you lived. For you know not all did. (0/1 Success)
--[X] (1 Leader Dice)
The clearing is silent. Bowled by slight streams, surrounded by jungle trees and vibrant flowers and a scent like perfume lightly masking rotten carcasses, things lurk in the darkness, rich and thick with corruption, seeds of the unwell wrapped in anger and hatred and violence and death and worse. They prowl, fearing what you are, but hungry and bestial and in that bestial nature they know you, even forced into mortality, are the greater host of beasts.
Perhaps one day you will get to show that.
One day…but not today.
"Ten-thousand."
Dererhan looks…hollow. His ears, normally proud and straight and rigid as he, droop. His long, vibrant hair is left tangled, messed, covered in blood and mud and filth and worse thing. His sacred spear has been soaked in beast's blood; his lovely face now covered in scars and ruination. For he has been running about trying to feed the lot of you, and to count you to know how many more of you need to be fed, aided by the others. The others look little better. Even bleak, shadow-hearted Laqurnas seems sallow, hollowed out, like some great craftsman took the knife to wood and began to carve into it like butter; none some hale, hearty, whole and well.
Feeding and counting. Counting and feeding. Such takes up so much of their time, their effort. Once upon a time the foxes were limitless, infinite, unending. Every time enough mortal minds produced a thought that could be snagged on, it would coalesce together until all at once where there had been nothing but energy and potential there would be a fresh-crafted fox spirit, waiting to join the rest of you in the hunt and in the spirit and in the forest. Now instead you will be forced to indulge in the mystifying process that mortals subject themselves to; considerably less efficient by all accounts.
From that nearly numberless host, ten-thousand of you escaped the braying hounds. Scarcely a city's worth. The lucky of those who did not will have been destroyed.
The unlucky?
You all try not to think about the unlucky.
It does not always work.
This presents its own problems, however. Ten-thousand may not account for much to what was once a numberless band, but it's more than you know how to feed, more than you could even begin to account for. Plenty of you know the basics of food, of eating, but only for flavor, for pleasure; for nourishment you took thought and hunt and magic, worship in a scarce handful of cases. How will you ever feed that many mouths? How could you even begin to? You may all know how to hunt, but there aren't enough beasts in all of this land—whatever this land is, wherever it is, even Dererhan couldn't tell you—to feed everyone. To escape Khorne's hounds, only to end up dead at the hands of Nurgle's blade. Tempers flare. Murmuring begins. The mist grows black and dark and unwholesome, unholy, unwell, shadows stretching, unrolling themselves in shapes and configurations no merely mortal mind could comprehend. The fear of hunger is a new one, but one you understand all too well for plenty of these once-spirits had arisen from hunger, from thirst, and the desire to quench them, the willingness to do anything to survive them
You hear laughing.
You hear your children suffer.
Magic begins to stir to your will, magic and power and force as your very soul reaches out to save your people, your children, the ones you saved from the Hounds, the ones you will not abandon now either. Ghyran, pure Ghyran, flows around you like healthy streams of river water, infinite shades and hues of green all molding together into a painting, a chorus, a great ocean of life and calm and serenity and care and compassion; the desire, indeed, to nurture.
Is it any wonder that it comes so easily to you?
The other spirits look around tired at first as the jungle around you begins to bloom. A simple, easy parlor trick many of them have done before themselves, to gain favor from mortals, favors and gifts of a thousand different kinds. To make the flowers bloom, to make the leaves unfurl, to make the rivers and streams clear. Old, passe, done before and better by greater, more terrible spirits. A difference for one, one day; but what is the difference to one against the weight of ten-thousand?
But what is the weight of ten-thousand against the will of one?
More and more fruits dangle fat and thick from the trees and from the vines, green and red and gold and more, some warty and some covered in spines and some wrinkled and some smooth but all, all, a damn sight better than starvation—your senses will let you know where poison lurks, all of you. They look and they see as more and more fruit sprouts, nuts too, growing and growing under your will, your power, and the murmurs start to fade, slowing, pausing, changing their tenor, their tone, from fear to wonder as you do what should be impossible, what was impossible, once upon a time. But things have changed.
You have changed.
The sickle-wielding robed ones feed their magic into it too, making yet more of the jungle bloom with life to feed on for your people, lesser but yet still flesh to feed on, nourishment, health and hope. The streams run clear around you, clear and fresh as your people drink and start to pick the fruit, hope rekindled for the first time in a very long time. They plunge their heads into water to drain as much of it as they can as quick as they can only to be hauled up as they gasp for breath, they fill their arms with red and green fruits or they gorge on them, their stomachs full and well for the first time since you made the journey, for the first time since the chains of mortality were placed on you all. Ehfeyos, studious and noble at heart, examines all that you do with eyes beyond sight, eyes beyond the physical, scrawling down notes in light that hangs on stone and air like a perfume refusing to fade, talking this, that and the other about a solid base for teaching and learning.
They all watch, wide eyed.
The creatures lurking in the mist retreat. The nightmares in the shadows seem to shrink. The Hounds lose their scent.
You can't hear the laughing any more.
Gain:
Count of Population: 10,000 Fox Spirits
1 Organization Dice
Food situation is currently minorly deficient, you will need to vary the fox spirits' diets some but compared to actual starvation it is nothing.
Well that is a decent start. Still 10000 is not a lot and I do not think we would breed particularly fast given what we are. It might be a good idea to look for some human allies, or really any other allies we can find. We have the enmity of Khorne, War will come for us.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
The extra die should allow for three actions per turn, hopefully (well, food and two others). That should be nice.
jwolfe_beta
Semi Genre-Savvy Overlord
- Location
- Canada
It was stated where our faction was starting in the first post:
I forgot. That's a bit embarrassing.
iggyfan
Verified Man-Thing
- Location
- Kentucky
Take that ya paraplegic sociopath.
jwolfe_beta
Semi Genre-Savvy Overlord
- Location
- Canada
Let's not kid ourselves. He's no doubt going to try again if possible, it's just that now he can't directly go after us.
Will we get to hear a Tarzan yell at some point?
View: https://youtu.be/qn7YDvNENDs?si=G5nD3Cf6PIKXRVAm
What a wuss. He acts tough but can't dish out. Just sitting there menacingly and expect everyone to take him seriously.
jwolfe_beta
Semi Genre-Savvy Overlord
- Location
- Canada
I mean, we're not in the Warp anymore. If circumstances allowed Khorne and/or all his forces to manifest on the planet, everybody would be ****ed.
They're a bunch of wussies who act like they're the biggest threat but relied on minions to do the work instead.
Orcus On His Throne trope in effect.
Not sure if you are serious or not, but if you are, look up what the Great Vortex and the Waystone network are, and why their destruction is an instant win for Chaos.
jwolfe_beta
Semi Genre-Savvy Overlord
- Location
- Canada
Look, literally nothing can defeat (or even meaningfully harm) the Chaos Gods head on. They don't even consider the WHF planet to be their primary target. It's more a fun amusement as they jockey against each other for influence in the Warp.
We can never take them or their servants for granted because they will **** us up at the slightest opportunity.
That sounds more like Character Shilling by GW who weren't amused of Chaos getting kicked in the ass during Storm of Chaos campaign.
jwolfe_beta
Semi Genre-Savvy Overlord
- Location
- Canada
......This is something that's been part of WHF and 40k from the very beginning. Have you read any of the lore or even poked through the wikis etc?
Killing the various cultists and manifested daemons does exactly nadda to Chaos. They can always get more cultists from gullible mortals and 'killed' daemons are simply banished to the Warp for a period of time.
So you're saying that the races here in this story gets corrupted too? Despite all the work on ensuring they don't fall to Chaos.
Sounds definitely like Character Shilling.
iggyfan
Verified Man-Thing
- Location
- Kentucky
Ackchyually, Khorne is the only one of the Four who's willing to directly intervene in the Great Game. As in getting off his throne and personally
killing the servants of the other Chaos Gods.
I don't quite understand what you're saying but if your asking if the Gurgran can be corrupted the answer is almost certainly yes.
jwolfe_beta
Semi Genre-Savvy Overlord
- Location
- Canada
Khorne never really moved until something hit him and he hates being touched. As Skarbrand, who's a respectable member of society, found out the hard way.
Fair enough. Chaos shilling superiority.
Yes.
Did or did you not read the prologue of this quest?
jwolfe_beta
Semi Genre-Savvy Overlord
- Location
- Canada
Then you shouldn't need to even ask that question as it was spelled out very plainly what happened to any Gurgran that Khorne got his hands on.
And with this constantly repeating nonsense I have to assume you either aren't bothering to comprehend things and/or are intentionally trying to troll everyone in the thread.
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iggyfan
Verified Man-Thing
- Location
- Kentucky
@Voikirium who are these guys? Some sort of honor guard for Menleth? Hero units? Random Gurgran who know how to wield Ghyran?
Edit: Could someone who's able to add a "touch fluffy tail" tag to this thread?
Last edited:
jwolfe_beta
Semi Genre-Savvy Overlord
- Location
- Canada
Looks like it. Search for -sickle- in turn one and it seems that a bunch of Gurgran have said tools now.