Renegade Crowns: A Warhammer Fantasy GSRP

OP New

DanBaque

Let's Have Fun
Location
Occupied Catalonian Countries
Pronouns
He/Him

THE PRINCES OF THE BORDERLANDS

A WARHAMMER FANTASY GAME

There is a backwater's backwater. The Border Princes are not commercially badly off: they sit between several dwarfish holds, and ancient roads connect them. It is the strategic picture that paints their doom. They sit next to the Badlands, the heart of modern greendom, where every enterprising Orc or Goblin leader has found purchase. It is the fate of the Border Prince to never be united, not only due to their demented squabbling, but due to the regular Waaghs that come roaring out of the southeast, smashing any incipient states aside.

Or is it? Morai-Heg has seen a glimpse of another world in her runes. There may be luck in the offing for that little sparse kingdom. In every corner of it a local prince or another rises supreme. Instead of being measured in yards, borders begin to be measured in miles. But it is long to come before a true union, be it a confederation or despotate, shows itself across its fields and valleys. And much blood will be spilt to that end.

Hello all and welcome to a Warhammer Fantasy GSRP set in the Border Princes region. The setting conceit is that, due to unforeseen (and unknown) causes, this round of statebuilding and conquest has been particularly successful, and may continue to be so. Players will apply as one of the many princes existing in the region, each starting in control of a single 'province', and duke it out for absolute control.

The game is intended to last until the region is united, with a possible two-turn waagh epilogue. I ask people to join this game as report writers as well, in order to be able to deal with all the players who wish to join.

World
I assume anyone applying here knows what the Warhammer world is, but if your knowledge is limited, don't fear. This won't be a grognard's center. The game will begin forty years before the birth of Karl Franz, in the year 2430 IC.

Technology wise, the industrial revolution is beginning in the Empire, while of course Dwarfs and Elves both are leagues ahead in many fields. Essentially none of that has trickled down to the Border Princes. You should assume that crossbows are high technology, difficult to implement an industrial construction of, and even so too steel.

The population of the Border Princes is a hodgepodge of Bretonnian refugees, Myrmidian remnants, and Imperial tribes. Strigany are quite common in the region as well, as are humans of essentially all provenances, but it is those four that make up the vast majority of the country. You should then expect that culturally, while a melting pot, it is mostly out of those that the expectations of those you rule over will be formed.

Religiously, there is no such thing as a united religion. All forms and ideas flourish. The Border Princes have traditionally been the refuge of exiles, and so feel free to apply as any, be aware that a state religion will be difficult to formalise, and do not expect it to play a massive role in-game.

Neighborwise, there are essentially four great neighbors: the Dwarfish holds, the city-states of Estalia, the Elector Countship of Wissenland, and Skavenblight. You do not, obviously, know about the last one, but they will likely attempt to have some influence in affairs. The other three are not likely to pay much attention to you, but can be parlayed with, offered goods, recruited from, and so on and so forth. Given history, there will be a slight Sigmarite advantage in terms of dealing with both dwarfs and the Empire, but nothing overwhelming. Note also that the coast will have influence from the Pirate Republic of Sartosa. Farther away polities can also be dealt with, but with more difficulty and less interest.

Unless outright said differently, all armies raised from within the territory and population of the Border Princes are essentially a form of Free Company Militia or Bretonnian peasants. You should not expect them to be eager to fight unless it is their homes and families at stake, and even then their loyalties and quality to be doubtful. Most Border Princes instead bet on keeping their dominance through a small number of trusted (or not) retinues and mercenaries, but these are usually loyal to money above all. This situation, and the way stats are done, will change as the game goes on.

You should also remember that, as a rule of thumb, while you may ultimately be setting up a better situation for the Borderlands in your character's view, the means of doing so are not likely to do so. Building an army will require taxes or looting. Creating a state will mean interfering in local governance and livelihoods. All the impositions of the state are likely to be resisted unless (and even if) you obtain buy-in and such like. Of course, you don't need the mob to like you so long as the nobility does, and viceversa.

Map
Game Map (only the brownish bits):



Official WHF Maps:
https://whfb.lexicanum.com/mediawiki/images/4/49/BorderPrinces.jpg
https://theoldworld.com/
https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/warhammerfb/images/8/8e/BorderPrincesB%26W.jpg/
https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/warhammerfb/images/c/c2/Battle_of_Matorea_map.png
https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/warhammerfb/images/f/f1/Border_princes_Map_2200_CA.jpg/
http://www.gitzmansgallery.com/maps/Map-Border-Princes-2-with-Dwarf-Ruins.jpg

An important note on the maps: the settlements listed on the official ones are not more game-relevant than any others. You should primarily use these maps to understand the geography of the region. The sole non-natural landmarks of importance are the Old Roads, such as the one linking Tilea to Barak Varr, which provide profitable opportunities for the wise ruler. Do not try to fleece a dwarf.

Not shown on the map are the functionally infinite number (it being five thousand years of history) of abandoned strongholds, settlements, cult centers, and so on and so forth. These ancient ruins have generally long been stripped of any wealth inside them, but there are still opportunities to be found in them. Dwarf and Nehekaran rulers might be grateful if you return old belongings and bodies found in their ruins, for example, and dark power-aligned players could certainly find knowledge and bodies scattered through them- it depends on your imagination and luck. The main use of the ruins for most players, however, will be being torn down so the stone can be reused.

Travelwise, it will be up to fiat and narrative sense, but we will work under the rule of thumb that an army can march ten miles a day on road and still be hale for fighting the next day, and forced marches can double or triple that speed. It would, assuming no difficulties or battles and using the main roads, take perhaps three months (i.e. half a turn) for an army to march from one end of the Borderlands to the other.

Military
Despite what said above, there are actually three starting local sources of military forces. These are militias, bandits, and mercenaries. Now, the barrier between any of these three is porous and uncertain, but as a rule of thumb they should be treated differently depending on context.

Militias are 'the people in arms'. They are likely to be the most numerous, but are essentially civilians with the barest of training or weaponry. You can expect to be able to motivate militias to fight against a Greenskin or Chaos horde, and even against humans out to sack them, but calling on them to invade your neighbors will be harder. By and large, the most difficult to get the loyalty of.

Bandits are those who have just given up on an honest day's work and intend to live off the rest. Probably quite similar to you, really. Based on that, it can be quite easy to recruit bandits to your armies if you promise plenty of loot or threaten them with death, and they come with relative experience, already-existing bonds of comradeship, and the like. These soldiers tend towards the brutal and disloyal, but know to back a winning horse.

Mercenaries are undoubtedly the best of the local forces to be found. They are generally loyal to money, but the region being as it is, it is perfectly common for a mercenary captain to coup their employer and establish themselves as a new lord. If you want actual discipline and military knowledge, come here. If you want dedicated equipment such as 'gunpowder', 'siege engines', 'heavy cavalry', and so on, come here. But come here with gold.

The Dogs of War and those kinds of famous and great mercenaries will not be present in this game until the point when player countries reach the income and treasure necessary to be able to buy them. The mercenaries here, while particular and foible-like, will all be new creations for the game. They will be primarily human, too.

There is of course a fourth category, that being Your Dude(tte)s. As your princeship grows, you will likely begin to both need and be able to fund such things as a real standing army. Things like the state troops, or the like. These will be essentially up to player customisation, though if recruited locally they will essentially have to be almost entirely human in numbers.

Alliances, vassals, and player diplomacy
The base setting and diplomatic situation of the Borderlands is aggressive ruthlessness. Players, as such, may ally, betray, and so on and so forth with general liberty. That being said, there are exceptions based on common sense: if you're playing a Bretonnian LARPer and your daughter has married your neighbor, it wouldn't make sense to just invade them outright. A subtler strategy would be called for. NPCs will behave similarly if they rise to enough relevance to do so.

Unification and vassalship will be a separate matter. In the Borderlands, showing weakness is a fatal flaw, so accepting the rule of another over you will increase the chances of coups, internal disloyalty, and the like. Furthermore, accepting integration into the realm of another PC runs the risk of being washed away in the tides of history and made irrelevant.

Even the simplest form of homage, ie 'I will accept you as my Prince and answer your calls to arms when under attack' may risk the first, though certainly not the latter. Thus, any unification or integration by diplomacy must be well thought out and ensure the powers of the weaker partner(s) should they wish to avoid death or exile.

Border Prince NPCs will also be willing to engage in alliances and backstab, but will be reticent towards any form of integration out of self care and megalomania. Be watchful around them, but of course you will build your princedom out of these.

Character creation
The meat of it. As you can see above, and by the general lore of the region, you may apply as most anything or anyone: elves of any type, dawi of any type, any human religion, champions of chaos, and so on and so forth. You may not, however, apply as daemons, skaven, greenskins, or lizardmen. You must apply as a new creation of your own. This character must want to unite the Borderlands under their rule, but that may be a secondary motivation, a means to an end, or similar.

Institutionally and population wise, there will be, as a baseline, no real world bigotries. This refers to sexism, homophobia, and inter-human racism. There will, however, be xenophobia, inter-religious hatred, fear of the undead and so on and so forth. Individual characters may hold different opinions, but that will be personal, not a mechanical disadvantage. As a rule of thumb, if you're unsure of something, then ask me. Let us call this Wokehammer.

This includes foreign nations in their treatment of you who, despite being flagrant misogynists as the Ulrican cult, will not particularly care that a woman is a ruler if you manage to grab their attention. They will see it as 'those madmen who don't matter' and not as a true concern.

Importantly, all player characters will be equal in terms of personal combat ability, that being 'good but not excellent'. This is due to my wanting to level out outcomes and focus more on the strategic, rather than combat, aspect of matters. If you wish to change this, you will have to use your special boon (see below) for it.

Stats themselves will work on a double foursome. There are four stats, each of which can be as low as 0 or as high as 4. At the beginning, you will have 16 points to split between each stat, but you must do so between both your character and your initial institutions.

Slaanesh: Your capability of understanding, evoking, and manipulating emotions. Particularly important for all social endeavours. Diplomat/August/Gallant/Torturer
Khorne: Your bullishness against opposition, strength of character, and ability to push a single cause. Key to war and leadership. Overseer/August/Administrator
Nurgle: Your ability to withstand, adapt to, and resist events. Important in all scenarios, but particularly notable in state-building. Architect/Administrator/Scholar
Tzeentch: Your capability of seeing long-term, advancing your ambitions, and causing change. Always useful, but key to guesswork and plots. Schemer/Strategist/Scholar/Diplomat

These fields are about themes, avenues, strengths and weaknesses. No single problem cannot be solved by a character due to being low in a particular stat, but the method would need to be different and possibly outside the box.

Character stats legend
0 = Children laugh at your failures in this regard.
1 = You are painfully average in this regard.
2 = Your peers acknowledge your strength in this regard
3 = You are a border princes defining individual in this regard.
4 = You are an average mature elf/dwarf/champion in this regard.

Institution stats legend
0 = You are alone, and lonely.
1 = You and yours could adequately set up an office in this field.
2 = You and yours have the knowledge to create a rickety structure in this field.
3 = You and yours could organise a stable structure in this field.
4 = You and yours carry with you the institutional strength of an Imperial city-state.

Personal stats will affect every action your character takes, and any order that corresponds to things your character is good at and ordered in a manner that makes use of his strengths will be more likely to be successful. All player character's stats will increase by one each turn in whichever section I consider narratively appropriate; so long as all stats are below 4 this will be guaranteed. You can also increase them by means of magical rituals and pacts with the Dark Gods.

Institutional stats will directly affect starting state stats, but have a broader effect throughout the game. They are how knowledgeable and talented your retinue is in the various aspects of state-building, and how good they are at transmitting that knowledge. It is not the same to enter the great game as a Bretonnian peasant mob leader than it is to be an exile of Naggarond with half a dozen familial vassals at your back. High institutional stats will affect the growth of your state stats through the game, your ability to bounce back, and so on. Sufficiently high ones will mean your country does not end with your death and you may play as a 'heir' if you wish. Institutional stats can grow with both conquest of others and general improvement of one's state.

Related to this, and in accordance to your application, you are to select one special boon of some kind that you bring with you. All boons will be equalled in value by me at game start when creating stats, to the approximate value of one (1) battle wizard; ie one medium-good hero unit. What they are, and what their use is, is entirely up to you. Are you the leader of a local mercenary band? Do you bring with you a squadron of Norscan longships? Did a band of refugees follow you to the Border Princes? Is a Dwarfen bodyguard escorting you? It's your choice. Merely having magical ability or being a hedge mage will not require a boon, but training in it, necromancy, vampirism and so on and so forth (having the combat capacity of a hero unit) will.

Character creation template:
Name: Obvious.
Species: Include culture as well
Religion: Obvious.
Pronouns: Feel free to remind me if I muck it up.
Titles: Remember, the bigger and bolder, the more likely to make an impression.
Personal Stats: Obvious.
Institutional Stats: Obvious.
Location: Please select a province on the map (plus rgb color if you want to), and a runner up as well.
Biography: Obvious.
Specialty: Your special boon.

State stats
Legend:

Tiny/Paltry/Small/Moderate/Adequate/Large/Vast/Huge

Terrible/Awful/Weak/Moderate/Adequate/Good/High/Excellent

Principality
Treasury: Reserves/Income
Notes:
Stability: Elite/Masses
Notes:
Army: Size/Quality
Notes:
Navy: Size/Quality
Notes:
Airforce: Size/Quality
Notes:
Specialties:
Player(s):

Orders
This game will use the Shattered Stone/Ordeal by Fire system of three orders and 200 words total. In other words, you can order three things to be done each turn in a total of 200 words for all together. Each turn will last six months in universe.

Reports
As said before, I am going to use the tried and tested method of report writers. People, players or not, are asked to apply to write reports each turn once orders are in. They will write parts of the update, posted as they are finished and reviewed, with the GM dictating the general line of events and watching for bias. They will be held in high trust by the GM and will be given early knowledge of what will occur in the update, but cannot misuse this or they will be permanently kicked from the game. I encourage everyone to consider participating in this way to ensure the game flows smoothly and swiftly.
 

Tzarevna Anastasia

Name: Anastasia Kalashinivik
Species: Vampire, from the Cursed City of Praag.
Religion: I have passed through the gates of the Garden of Morr and found it rots. There are no Gods worthy of worship in this world.
Pronouns: She/Her
Age: Don't be crass. (133 years old, turned at the age of 23)
Titles: Druzhina of the Oblast, Boyarrina of Praag and Tzarevna of all Kislev.
Personal Stats:
Slaanesh:
4
Khorne: 3
Nurgle: 3
Tzeentch: 1
Institutional Stats:
Slaanesh:
0
Khorne: 2
Nurgle: 2
Tzeentch: 1
Location:

Biography: Anastasia is the eldest daughter of Tzarina Kattarin, and - by her own reckoning - her only true heir, for she was born when the Tzarina remained the mortal wife of Tzar Alexey the Stupid, and is the only child of the Tzar and Tzarina to receive the Blood Kiss - her mother's other children, born after her Embrace, do not have the blood of the Bokha Tzars in their veins.

Her mother, however, has grown erratic. Whilst Anastasia has ruled in Praag, as the heir should, Kattarin has fallen, dramatically, off the wagon. Thousands slaughtered, they say, the Druzhina who come to her court. Bathing in blood and cackling, they say, the Frost Maidens who serve in her retinue. Not long for the world, they say, her Lahmian sisters.

She listens. Tzarevna Anastasia Kalashinivik, strongest and last of the children of the last Bokha Tzar, fled Kislev with a bare handful of her retainers, to the only place in the Old World where she might disappear truly.
Special Boon: A Lahmian Vampire, daughter of the mighty Tzarina Kattarin the Bloody, who rules Kislev as she has for one hundred and thirty years of peace and tranquility.
 




Name: Morgan d'Vierzon
Species: Vampire (Bretonnian)
Religion: None, really.
Pronouns: He/Him
Age: 100 (turned age 22)
Titles: The Black Duke, Knight of the Crimson Moon, Lord of the Marches
Personal Stats:
Slaanesh: 3
Khorne: 3
Nurgle: 2
Tzeentch: 2

Institutions:
Slaanesh: 1
Khorne: 2
Nurgle: 2
Tzeentch: 1

Location:



Biography: Morgan is the son of Bretonnian nobility, although he was born with the body of woman - something he acknowledges but does not otherwise dwell on. In all respects, he has lived and been brought up as a male son of his household and he intends to remain that way. He is comfortable in himself in this way; comfortable to be a knight. Although he is not perhaps the knight he might have been in another life.

In his errantry, he (perhaps foolishly) crossed into the blighted duchy of Mousillon in pursuit of glory, intending on hunting the foul denizens of the place and putting them to the sword and to the torch. It did not end as planned; the brave knight did not emerge from the swamps and mires and he was given up for dead - tragic, but a risk to be expected. However, Morgan yet lives - if living it can be called. For he fell in against one of the minor vampiric lords who rule parts of that cursed land and so impressed was she by his determination and feats of arms that she chose to keep him rather than simply kill him outright.

He was cajoled and seduced and slowly twisted and turned into a darkened mirror of his former life - or what he could have been, in a way - made a part of her brood until his memories of life began to fade; a dream, perhaps, or a simple haze. Ensorcelled and turned, he had an unlife that mirrored the courtly life of Bretonnia, his being still dedicated to those half-remembered ideals - albeit twisted to serve the ends of his new mistress and her nightly squabbles with her neighbors. He spent years - decades - in this unlife until he was able to beg a boon - a chance to establish himself, as any good knight ought to.

Despite her rather twisted affection for him, she allowed him to go.

And so it was one black and moonless knight, he crossed over the border and rode east.

He is a strange sort, for a part of his old honor lives on in his breast still. He follows a creed of chivalry and will not willingly break his word; similarly he feels responsible for those beneath him - after all a knight and a ruler must protect them and in turn they provide him their labor and taxation. And if his taxation should include blood... what is a little of that?

Specialty/Boon: Morgan is a vampire; not, to be sure, one of the powerful bloodlines, but a vampire all the same with all the prowess and assorted magics that tends to come with it. Closest to the Blood Dragon line.
 
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Name: Serafina Antonacci
Species: Human, Estalian
Religion: Follower of Myrmidia
Pronouns: She/Her
Titles: Scourge on the Enemies of Mankind, Master of Strategies, Eternal Conductor and Forger of Matrimony
Personal Stats:
Slaanesh: 1​
Khorne: 2​
Nurgle: 2​
Tzeentch: 3​
Institutional Stats:
Slaanesh: 2​
Khorne: 2​
Nurgle: 3​
Tzeentch: 1​

Location:


Biography:

To Serafina Antonacci the Border Princes are not the start of a grand dream, but rather the end of a neverending nightmare. Born into a long and storied family history that saw the family three growing just as wildly as it was ruthlessly cut down every few years, she surprised none when she spent her formative years as a Dilettante and fob, a time of flashing swords, plentiful drinks and companions that were was ever changing as the fashion they clothed themselves in. But while there were some of her companions and rivals that did not make it out of that age in one piece or even alive, Serafina belonged to those who strode from the streets and bars with the feeling of superiority and invincibility that such a dueling life cultivated.

While everyone may think that Nobles have it easy,it's a treacherous life and you're always standing in someone's way - and the flashing ways of fencing were not always able to keep you safe. Trusting in her belief in her own sword, Serafina joined the retinue of a distant grand-uncle, donning breastplate and morion before swinging herself onto a horse with the fiery temper of youth. Wasn't that the life? The flash of battle, the rivalries and balls, the plundering and the roasting of chicken stolen from dumb founded peasants left behind in the mud?

It was easy to feel like a great warrior when one ran down shepherds and armed farmers, while setting fire to the rural villas of rival families seemed like a great sport. She wined, she fought, she laughed with the same old companions of her youth and then…they died.

They had been camping at the edges of the Irrana mountains, another campaign, another dance between her distant relative and his not so distant rivals, the blades raised for each step and blood drawn in measured portions. It was a good little war in her opinion.

At least till she woke to her head bounding not just from the wine, but from the sound of hooves upon the dried earth. At first she had thought that some outriders must have lost control of a cattle herd they had brought towards the camp - then something far larger than a human crashed through her tent, braying with a wicked axe raised high above her horned head and then…she ran. She had not stopped to help her comrades, had ignored the orders she had heard shouted over the battle, had not even stopped when she had seen their Colonel in battle with the herds leaders…

She ran without her breastplate, without her morion, even her sword forgotten, as she crawled and stumbled through the Chaos, panic having struck her heart, even her fiery steed left to the ravages of the beastman. She had fled - and when the men of her distant uncles rival had found her in one of the drainage ditches, they had brought her to the side of disaster, where nothing but the hacked apart bodies of men and…the signs of hatred the beastmen had left upon all man made things.

Since then she had these nightly terrors, saw the faces calling for her, saw the fighting as she cowered in the mud, imagined the battle in all its terror and…for a time she turned to the bottle, falling into her old habits, seeking satisfaction at the bottom of her wine or at the tip of her sword. But no matter how often she felt deaths steel tip brush against her rubs nor how many of her rivals she sent into the dust of the streets…the nightmares remained.

She tried to overcome them like one would overcome a fear after having fallen down: she joined wars and campaigns, dueled and fought on the battlefields both close and distant - sold her skin dearly and killed men, greenskins, pirates and other foul things on the battlefield. But her nightmares would only grow in intensity, would leave her drained and ill tempered even on the eve of battle.

Was it that surprising that she found her salvation not in the throws of drunkenness, but at the feet of the Goddess Myrmidia, having sought shelter and having found an old knight of the Order of the Righteous Spear, who had taken his spear and shield to march into the wilderness to bring Myrmidia's glory into the dark places, and to seek a valiant death, spear in hand.

Was it not a Penance she needed? A way to wash away the stains that clung to her soul, to place herself, her money, her contacts and those comrades that stuck to her into the service of something greater? The Knight she met had been planning to end his life fighting in the Border Princes, a region beset by Orks and worse every few years, full of the weak that deserve to be preserved from the horrors of war.

It was with some surprise that the peasants and fishers who had written for help, found themselves greeting a series of small ships carrying not only the promised Knights - but also soldiers and adventurers, trusted comrades and the detritus of a life spent by the blade.

She would save these people - would lead them in defence of their home. And maybe, under the wings of the eagle, she may find a full night of sleep once more.

Speciality: Order of the Righteous Spear Detachment (Trainers, Commanders and Knights)

=}+{=
 


Laurelorn Gilthoniel
Lady of the New Moon
The Darkstar
Lady of Tol Gilthir

Species: High Elf of Ellyrion
Religion: The Elven Pantheon, Devotee of Hekarti
Pronouns: She/Her
Age: 138
Titles: Lady of the New Moon, The Darkstar, Lady of Tol Gilthir
Personal Stats:
Slaanesh: 3
Khorne: 2
Nurgle: 1
Tzeentch: 3
Institutional Stats:
Slaanesh: 2
Khorne: 1
Nurgle: 1
Tzeentch: 1
Location:



Biography:

Laurelorn was born to a minor nobleman of the Kingdom of Ellyrion on the paradisical island of Ulthuan. She dwelt for eighty years in such idyllic pursuits that are offered to the elite of that sacred land. She rode horses upon the plains of her homeland, danced in high towers, painted art which would be the envy of any private gallery of the Lands of Men. She charmed and learned and excelled in all things that were asked of her.

She was frightfully bored. Such is the stultifying life of the never-aging nobility of that ancient land that Laurelorn could not bear the comforts of that gilded cage. She wanted sensation and truth. And she found them in the stars. She removed herself to a tower in the mountains and studied the stars with her friends and wise guests. They studied magic and ruminated on the courses of the heavens. She became a great practitioner of that Lore and the Wind of Azyr. Such was the might of her knowledge and spells, and of her voice most of all which seemed to compel those around her, that she was named Laurelorn Gilthoniel, Daughter of the Stars.

But all the lore of the Asur could not provide anything which inspired her. Instead she found a voice in the Winds of Magic, in the twinkling of the starlight amid the black sea of night, and the wine-dark mirror sheen of water which reflected the heavens. She heard the voice of Hekarti and her revelations. She learned magic, darker than any which could be countenanced or forgiven by the laws of the Phoenix King, so blinded by their love of Asuryan.

She delved and delved, learned much and more, and soon her friends left or joined her. And that tower in the mountains was no longer the home of a young stargazer but the den of a cult of magic and orgiastic pleasure. All sensations were honored there, knowledge and the flesh most of all. Transcendence through experience and the arcane.

But word got out and the King of Ellyrion sent his knights to bring her to him and to face the justice of the law. As Gilthoniel looked into her mirror pool and pondered her fate she heard the whisper of Hekarti. And lo! a crown of stars appeared above the shadow of her head.

And she fled with her companions, taking the New Moon and the Starlight as her sigil and sailed across the sea to make herself a Kingdom of Magic and Love and Truth. And she came to a promontory upon the tip of Black Peninsula and found a dreary tower. And she named it Tol Gilthir and made it strong.

Specialty: Studied in the Lore of Heavens.
 
App One: The Advisor

"There is another matter... A blind man awaits an audience."


Name: The Advisor
Species: Human, old
Religion: flexible
Pronouns: He/Him
Titles: A Humble Advisor
Personal Stats: 4/4/4/4
Institutional Stats: -/-/-/-.
Location: Anywhere
Biography: Along a broken path comes a crook backed man. His eyes milky with blindess, his limbs stiff with age. He carrys a gnarled walking stick and a small napsack. His clothes are worn but whole. A white raven perches on his shoulder. You feel like you trust this man, what threat can he be. He tells you that he has come far to see you. War is coming and he has arrived to provide you with advice.
Specialty: Something and good honest advice


App Two: The Merchant

Name: Ea'Nassir the thrice burned
Species: Dawi, 88
Religion: Hashut.
Pronouns: He/Him
Titles: Foreman of the silt-water trading post, Failure, Exile, Worthless Cur
Personal Stats: 1/4/3/0
Institutional Stats: 1/3/4/0
Location: 1. Fork of the river second from left, 2. Mouth of the middle river.
Biography: The forges of the Dawi Zhaar must expand. The capitol needs blood, minerals and coins to grease the wheels of industry. The forgemasters of the black tower have sent dozens of trading expeditions throughout the world. This is one of the least. Ea'Nassir afterall is a failure. Once a rising star his pig headedness lost a shipment of slaves and copper under his oversight. Not only did this failure reflect badly on him it prevented the completion of a great work; a new form of train devised by the Ashen. The slave revolt saw the contraption he was building destroyed. It was only his good fortune than kept his head on his shoulders; a disastrous unrelated battle had drained much of the Infernal legion around the same time and the legion needed new bodies.
Friend and foe alike mock him as the thrice burned. First burned in the slave revolt which took his honour, then as punishment by the Sorceror who he had inconvenienced and finally as he was incased within the scalding armour of the infernal legions.
It was only thanks to his numerical skills that he isn't dying in some pointless skirmish in some pointless scrubland. The leadership cadres of the black towers are streched to the limit and so as a last, releclutant choice, he was given command of teh Siltwater river trading post.
His mandate is to sell metal weapons, light firearms and whatever else takes his fancy to the locals. The shoddyest craftmanship of the forges surpass even the best of this sorry land.
In return for this he is charged to return to the capitol slaves, minerals and money. Should he fail, should the flow stop he will be replaced.
Specialty: Ironclad transport/warship & accompanying land train. Your weapons shipment will reach you.

App Two: The Nobel

Name: Webber Von Cartstien
Species: Human, Vampire, circa 65
Religion: N.A /
Pronouns: Your Grace/ Your Majesty
Titles: The Border Prince, Lord of Bones, The King in Shadow, The Undying, The Exiled King, Lord of the Midnight
Personal Stats: 1/3/2/2
Institutional Stats: 1/4/3/-
Location: Colour: Edgy as possible, 1. Estuary of the westernmost borderland river, 2. Moutanins above the left fork of the middle river.
Biography: A jumped up thinblood vampire apping his better. Webber has the airs and arrogance of the court of midnight. He spent some two decades in its murderous circles. He thinks though that it has delcined and degenerated, and that he can make the Ideal vampire kingdom. It has of course dengerated but Webber will not make it better. So in his arrogance with those preening fledglings weaker than himself he decamped to the border princes to build his nation. Overthrowing a small despotic kingdom he has set about creating the world he believes is his due.
Specialty: Cabal of fledgling fellow vampires and a competency in Necromancy.
 
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Name: Orwain Gavánn
Species:
Asur, of Nagarythe.
Religion: The Cadai. Hoeth and Kurnous more than Asurian or Loec.
Pronouns: He/Him
Age: 70 years old (young, for an Elf).
Titles: Asur ranger, Sea Elf, the Elf of Sea and Forest.
Personal Stats:
Slaanesh:
2
Khorne: 3
Nurgle: 2
Tzeentch: 3
Institutional Stats:
Slaanesh:
1
Khorne: 2
Nurgle: 2
Tzeentch: 1
Biography:
The Asur. Known to all as the Sea Elves. Aloof, formidable, graceful, knowledgeable, unsufferable. Supposedly perfect. Can one of them fail?
Yes. Especially when facing their long-lasting foes. Their dark mirror. The Druchii.

The Asur of Nagarythe don't know pampering, nor are they ignorant about the magnitude of the threats that lie across the seas around Ulthuan, just at a stone's throw. Their attitude is a strange mix of grim and enthusiastic, well embodied by Loec, the Dancer in the Shadows. Their land only barely touches the shores of Ulthuan, mostly spanning from the Naggarothi hills around Arnheim - a fortress often changing hands - to the more forested lands to the North, up to the Monoliths.
This mostly wild land, of forests rich in timber, game, heinous beasts and freezing weather, is contested between the Asur of Nagarythe - occasionally supported by expeditions from Ulthuan - and the Autarii Druchii, occasionally supported by expeditions from Naggarond or scourgings by the slaver cities like Karond Kar. The Autarii are the forest-dwelling, "feral" Dark Elves: on the positive side, they are more ferocious than cruel, unlike their more decadent and sadistic city cousins; on the negative side, their knowledge of the forest rivals the Nagarythians.

And that was exactly the root of what happened, a dark day of twenty years ago. That Orwain remembered like yesterday, as it is the Elves' wont.
It was a difficult, but worthy endeavour. A strong Druchii contingent from Hag Graef had just met with a slaver caravan from Karond Kar, to bring a boatload of prisoners from corsair raids - humans and dwarves from the Empire's coast, but also a few Asur from an outlying island near Ulthuan. The prisoners would be tortured and broken and enslaved in the mines - in any order - and then die without ever seeing the sun again. The troops from Hag Graef formed a hollow rectangle around them.
The battle started well, with the Shadow Warriors pelting with arrows the Druchii troops from elevated, forested positions. The magic of the Wind of Shadows ensnared and confounded the Hydra the enemy had, that was made into a pincushion and then decapitated with a Penumbral Pendulum spell.
Then, however, the Autarii came. Their shades had managed to approach without being spotted; they sent deadly volleys and then charged, trapping part of the Nagarythians between them and the cliff that faced the enemy. The Shadow warriors started shifting to the side, moving out of the trap, and not faring particularly badly in this deadly duel under the trees.
Then, the Cold One Riders came. The fast and ferocious lizards broke through the branches and boughs without issue, and caused quite the massacre. Part of the Nagarythians managed to retreat to the East, aided by more magic - this time Light spells like a Net of Amyntok to hold the enemy back.
While others could only run deep into the West, held by the Druchii. Orwain Gavann was one of them.
Eventually, he was the last of them, as the others got reached and eaten by a couple of Cold One Riders on their trail.
Returning to the East coast was a long and harrowing journey. He could hunt and survive in the forest, of course, but watching for the signs of the Autarii and avoiding them and their various beasts was not easy.

Once returned after such a close brush with death, mourning some friends that were lost in the battle, Orwain reflected upon how he had always felt constrained by the terrible duty falling upon the Asur of Nagarythe, and after this debacle had just reached the breaking point. He needed to be elsewhere, badly, otherwise he ran the risk of fading after having barely reached fifty summers. The time when the people of Ulthuan barely start being militiamen.
Orwain paid with pelts the passage on a fisherman's modest vessel to Ulthuan, and then thought that he wasn't just content with Ulthuan. He wanted to see the world.
So he went all the way to Marienburg's Sith Rionnasc, the Elven quarter, and looked for work. But his Nagarythian's eye did not quite leave him: he saw the games of influence that the various Asur played, the race for gold, the hunt for spies from Naggaroth. And being a Nagarythian so far from home did leave him quite exposed, with his light complexion and dark hair. The Asur of Nagarythe are normally too militant to be in the Old World, and tend to attract attention. The wrong kind of attention.
So he traveled further: Altdorf, Nuln, Averland. In Averland, having taken up a job to help guard a merchant convoy, he fell in with a few guards and disjointed mercenaries, that were curious of his stories from Elvenland and understood enough to respect his military prowess. They talked of a land to the South, disjointed, in flux, where many things seemed poised to happen.
To follow the flame of his curiosity, and also to help calm a pang of guilt at having been so neglectful of late in making a difference in the world - as it is usually the Asur's wont - he decided to spread the word among these guards, soldiers, and wannabe merchants, and find a place to settle in the Border Princes.

Specialty/Boon: Despite eventually leaving them after ten years, Orwain Gavann learnt the fighting of the Shadow Warriors of Nagarythe as well as a Great Eagle learns to fly, becoming an excellent archer even among Elves, and a good melee combatant that is also adept at stealth.
 
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MORMANDO the MANMASHER

Species: Man
Religion: The Skull Throne
Pronouns: He/Him
Age: 25
Titles: The Manmasher, The Mighty Three-Arm, Champion of the Pit, Headmasher of the Manmashers
Personal Stats:
Slaanesh: 2
Khorne: 4
Nurgle: 2
Tzeentch: 0
Institutional Stats:
Slaanesh: 1
Khorne: 4
Nurgle: 2
Tzeentch: 1

Location:


Biography:

Mormando was born a whelp, a mutt from Sartosa born to slaves and sold to a fighting pit in Remas. He was born and raised in blood, trained since childhood to bite, gnash, maim, and mash his enemies for sport. And he was damn well good at it. Mormando was one of the greatest fighters of his time, and for that he was cheered with many epithets. The wealth, the fame, and the thrill all appealed to Mormando, who accepted his lot in life as a slave fighter with glee.

But in time, Mormando made the wrong folks angry, the powerful folks who ran his Crimson Zoo. He refused to take falls, refused to pull punches, and refused a particularly odious request to not wretch some noble smuck's head off his shoulders. For these trespasses, Mormando received an effective death sentence: in a headlining event, Mormando was scheduled to fight in a bout pitting him against a pair of ogres and their pet rhinox. For once feeling fear, Mormando wept and pleaded in his cell, calling for anyone, anything to help him. But his wish was not for escape, but for the annihilation of his enemies.

And for that fact, Khorne answered.

In the midst of his fight, Mormando was broken and lying in a pool of his own blood when Khorne's foul blessing took form. Mormando stood on breaking, stretching legs and before the audience grew in size and stature. Afflicted with horrid mutation, Mormando used his new fleshy arm-stumps to mash his opponents into mush. And as the crowd, revulsed and afraid, watched, Mormando tossed the slain rhinox into the stands. In the chaos ensuing, he escaped the arena, escaped Remus, and took to the wilds of the Borderlands.

Since then, Mormando has become his own man, master over himself and many others. Through brute force and the callings of Khorne, Mormando has emerged as a leader of a warband known as the Manmashers. To augment his unnatural body, he's turned himself into a weapon, with reinforced stumps, an armored head, and a scythe-wielding third arm. None understand his goals, not even Mormando, save for that fact that their completion calls for blood, skulls, and manmashing...

Specialty: Chaos mutant with the strength to match
 

Lady Isabella d'Arpini

Species: Human (Tilean)
Religion: Cult of Shallya
Pronouns: She/Her
Age: 25
Titles: Countess, Protector of the Meek, The Bleeding Heart
Personal Stats:
Slaanesh:
3
Khorne: 1
Nurgle: 1
Tzeentch: 3
Institutional Stats:
Slaanesh:
2
Khorne: 2
Nurgle: 2
Tzeentch: 2
Location:

Biography: The Countess is a kind and generous soul, in spite of the continuous tragedies that have marred her life. Born as the youngest child and only daughter of a profligate lord of the Border Princes, her gentle disposition and lack of importance saw her bundled off to the Cult of Shallya to gain favor, where she excelled as a healer and tender to the sick of mind.

Much to her sorrow, she would be recalled to join her eldest brother's court as a personal healer after her father's death in battle against goblin raiders. There, she continually counselled mercy, caution, and charity, only to be overruled and ignored as her siblings fell into increasingly bloody feuds for control, seemingly perennially incapable of ever making peace with one another for more than a moment.

In the end, her isolation would be the only thing that spared her, as the fratricide culminated in a triply poisoned reconciliation feast that saw the last of her brothers dead, along with their remaining partisans. With great reluctance, she has stepped forward to take the reins of the territory and ensure the safety and prosperity of the realm.

Specialty: Skill with healing miracles, medicine, and poisons. A fully staffed temple to the Godess of Healing.
 
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Name: Julién d'Reinhart
Species: Human, Brettonian
Religion: the Lady of the Lake
Pronouns: He/Him
Age: Fifteen.
Titles: Baron Reinhart, nicknamed "the Young Griffin" for his family heraldry or "the Little Lord" for his youth.
Stats: (Personal/Institutional)
  • Slaanesh: 4/0
  • Khorne: 4/0
  • Nurgle: 4/0
  • Tzeentch: 4/0
Location:


Biography:
Julién is the third and last son of the late Baron, Lanzel d'Reinhart, a recent arrival in the region. Julién's lordly status itself is a recent condition - for Lord Lanzel died with most of his family retainers and two eldest sons in a battle against an Ork Waagh less than a month ago.

With little experience in his name, but a strong sense of honor, religious fervor, personal responsibility, and traditional Brettonian noblesse obligé, the Young Griffin is determined to turn around the waning fortunes of his house - and to spread the worship of the Lady throughout the godless lands of the untamed frontier.


Specialty: True Knight - Despite his scant few years, Lord Reinhart is a terrific warrior - and skilled in all things martial.
 
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Name: Sun Yoon Fat
Species: Man, Cathayan
Religion: Chi'an Chi and the Monkey King
Pronouns: He/him/they
Age: 27 (nine thrice)
Titles: The Cathayan, The Fat, The Ogre, Paymaster, Chi'an Chosen
Personal Stats (S/K/N/T): 2/1/2/3
Institutional Stats (S/K/N/T): 2/3/2/1
Appearance:
Location:
Biography: Sun Yoon Fat, the master alchemist. Sun Yoon Fat, the adventurer. Sun Yoon Fat, slumming it in the ass end of the world after the winds (not to be confused with the Winds, which also seem to hate him) twist and blow his expedition ship off-course enough that he arrives at the wrong Southern lands. He is quickly relieved of his personal retinue and channeling artefacts, those not decimated by the disaster, by the Sartosan pirates. It's not all doom and groom, though - his great rotundity, ponderous gait and deep-throated proclamation combined with a divinely-ordained ways of makeuppery has led outriders and rangers from four great Lizardmen cities of Tlaqua, Cuexotl, Nahuontl and Zlatlan to trickle up to join him. His mission, communicated to him by a patient Skink with a mysterious golden plaque: as the first of the Sixth Spawning of the Slaan, establish a new Temple City and prepare for the end of the world.
Specialty: 3 Sauruses, 1 Kroxigor, 7 Skinks and the potentiality to get more.
 
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Prince Sigismund Johan Ruprecht Adler
Son of Myrmidia, Count of Lichtenberg and Rightful Ruler of all the Empire
Species: Human (Averlander, Empire)
Gender: Male (He/Him)
Age: 25
Stats: (Personal/Institutional)

Slaanesh 4/2
Khorne 2/2
Nurgle 1/1
Tzeentch 2/2

Biography:

How dare they?

These mud-blooded Counts trading the throne between themselves, little more than petty warlords. I am a descendant of Sigismund the Conqueror himself, but when I offered them glory, new frontiers, a stronger Empire, what did they say? They laughed at me! They laughed at me and saw me out and seated another of their aged rears on the throne that is mine by right.

Well, fine! And I meant every word I said to them, I really did. The sons and daughters of pigs! What a fool I was to appeal to them. I may as well have been addressing a room of Norscans.

I'll do as Sigmar did - rule by the hammer! I will march to the frontiers, restore Lichtenberg as my county, and then we shall see if they have the temerity to laugh at me.

Boon: A number of Knights of the Blazing Sun, discontent with the petty squabbling of the Elector Counts, have accompanied him into the Border Princes to reestablish Lichtenberg.


 
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Name: Abenmesh.
Species: Human( Nehekharian)
Religion: Nehekharian Pantheon.
Pronouns: He/Him
Titles: Herald of the Legions, Conduit of the God, Speaker for Setep

Personal Stats:
Slaanesh: 2
Khorne: 2
Nurgle: 2
Tzeentch: 2
Institutional Stats:
Slaanesh: 2
Khorne: 2
Nurgle: 2
Tzeentch: 2

Location:


Biography: Before the lands that are now the Empire or Brettonia even dreamed of civilization the shining light of Nekharia shone, the greatest human Empire that ever was or ever will be. Though the lands of the Border Princes have since seen a thousand thousand kingdoms rise and fall in its earlier days it was Nehekharian land. Like any empire Nehekaria had its moments of decline, sundered by the evil of Neferatem, but Setep of Bhagar, First and only King of the Fifth Dynasty would reunite the Empire and see it expand further. His legions resubdued the northern regions of the Empire, crossed blackfire pass and ruled what is now Averland. With his death his tomb was built in the lands he had conquered, his greatest warriors entombed and his followers settled to guard the tomb. They have been there ever since. Millenia have seen the people of Setep reduced to a meager territory but they retain their culture, their faith, their pride and their utter certainty that one day Setep will return to retake his Kingdom. Abenmesh is the current of the leaders of Setep's people, proficient in a handful of ancient Nehekarian incantations he is spiritual and temporal leader both. More than his predecessors he truly believes the time of Setep's return is nigh and works hard to bring about his awakening.
Specialty:
The Great Necropolis-Fortress of Setep. Though the King has yet to awaken and disgorge his vast legions the handful of ancient warriors who are awake are mighty and one day he will awake and sweep away all opposition with his legions.​
 
Very much enjoying apps so far. Do remember to join the discord!

Specialty/Boon: Orwain Gavann is an Asur, with keen senses and the capability to see the Winds of Magic, and spent five years among the Nagarythian Shadow Warriors.
Just being an elf isn't enough to 'cost' a full boon, you would either need to have a team of Shadow Warriors, be a dedicated mage, or something else.

Specialty: Skill with healing miracles, medicine, and poisons. A fully staffed temple to the Godess of Healing.
Note the specific book on the Border Princes says that no Shallyan has ever risen to power there, so be aware of how high risk your rule will be.

I have to deny this, as the OP outright states no lizardmen.

The Great Necropolis-Fortress of Setep. Though the King has yet to awaken and disgorge his vast legions the handful of ancient warriors who are awake are mighty and one day he will awake and sweep away all opposition with his legions.
The app is fine so long as you do not expect this to be more than a stronger holdfast than most in the game, very rare circumstances notwithstanding.
 
Very much enjoying apps so far. Do remember to join the discord!


Just being an elf isn't enough to 'cost' a full boon, you would either need to have a team of Shadow Warriors, be a dedicated mage, or something else.


Note the specific book on the Border Princes says that no Shallyan has ever risen to power there, so be aware of how high risk your rule will be.


I have to deny this, as the OP outright states no lizardmen.


The app is fine so long as you do not expect this to be more than a stronger holdfast than most in the game, very rare circumstances notwithstanding.
Yeah we don't actually live in the tomb complex
 

Principality of Vallespania


Cecilio of Valor and Dexterity
Crimson Prince of Vallespania, Beloved Son of Myrmidia, The Bastard Prince of the Vault


Name : Cecilio of Valor and Dexterity
Species: Human/Estalian
Religion: Cult of Myrmidia
Pronouns: He/Him
Age: 26
Title: Crimson Prince of Vallespania, Beloved Son of Myrmidia, The Bastard Prince of the Vault

Personal Stats:
Slaanesh: 2
Number: 4
Nurgle: 2
Tzeentch: 0

Institutional Stats:
Slaanesh: 2
Number: 3
Nurgle: 3
Tzeentch: 0

Location:


(Or anywhere South really)​

Biography:

Prince Cecilio de Valor y Destreza was not born a prince. He was born in the shadows of the court of Cantonia, the bastard son of King Alvaro IV, sired in a fleeting affair with a noblewoman of uncertain origin. For years, he was simply Don Cecilio, a polite presence in the palace, educated with the royal heirs yet excluded from the line of succession, living on the edge of privilege, neither noble nor common, neither denied nor truly acknowledged.

It was only after the death of his mother—and the quiet political usefulness of his loyalty—that King Alvaro publicly legitimized him, granting him the stylized title Infante de Valor y Destreza, a name that spoke to the virtues he was expected to embody but not the power he would ever be allowed to hold.

To the court, he was a curio. To his half-brothers, a threat or a joke.

But to himself, he was something else entirely: a man with the blood of kings yet no lands nor territories to rule over.




Where others lingered in comfort, Cecilio chose purpose. He began gathering companions—loyal retainers, bastard knights, wandering sellswords, and zealots disillusioned with the decadence of Estalian courts. With no claim in Cantonia, he turned his gaze to the Borderlands, where ruins outnumber rulers, and monsters feast upon the weak.

Leaving the court behind, Cecilio declared his intent to carve a principality by right of conquest, not inheritance. In the cursed frontier between man and darkness, he raised the banner of a new realm: Vallespania—a land forged by fire, faith, and fury.

They call him mad. They call him a pretender. But in the half-forgotten marches of the east, the Bastard Prince rides in crimson, bearing a blade kissed by sunlight and a will carved of iron. He names himself not king, but Protector of the Borderlands, a prince who will prove that blood and name are nothing without purpose.

And those who follow him do not kneel for birthright—they kneel for vision

Specialty:

A contingent from the Order of the Eagle dissatisfied with Estalia in Cantonia.
 
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Tian Rem Shadowborn,
Eparch of the Black Sky

Name: Tian Rem
Species: H?ma?(Border Princes)
Religion: Cult of the Black Sky
Pronouns: He/Him
Age: 27
Titles: Shadowborn, The Last Flamen, Eparch of the Black Sky.

Personal Stats:
Slaanesh: 2
Khorne: 1
Nurgle: 3
Tzeentch: 4

Institutions:
Slaanesh: 0
Khorne: 2
Nurgle: 1
Tzeentch: 3

Location:


Biography:

My people arose on the fragments of Reman, the greatest empire of people. Then, in those times, to the great grief of people, the smartest Orc of his millennium was born. He had enough foresight to leave alive some of the inhabitants of the territories he had devastated and drive them deep into the burrows of the mines reclaimed from the Dawi. There, in pitch darkness, hunger, cold, frantic fatigue, our ancestors mined iron, copper, tin under the blows of whips. All for the Greatest WAAGHA under the blue skies.

People cried, howled, lost heart, prayed... Oh, how frantically, with what fervent faith, hope they prayed! Only the prayers did not pass through the stone sky... or did all the gods of the world decide to ignore them?

Then, amidst the madness of blood, pain, human filth, one of the people had a Vision. Since the Gods do not answer, it is necessary to create a God himself. And what kind of God could form in the dungeon among the reflections of rare orc torches? Only the God of Shadow.

The sacrificial ritual filled with hatred, a sense of abandonment, an unbearable thirst for life, a thirst for peace was performed by those who knew nothing about magic. An amazing revelation, Magic doesn't give a damn whether anyone knows about it or not. The rules by which it works are immutable, the boundaries are defined and even the Gods can only move them, but not erase or cross them. So. The ritual was a success, the "god" was born, but like a baby, he turned out to be too weak. Most people were disappointed in their "weapon" that could hardly stop even a weak goblin. A smaller part went into distant mines with the hope of "raising" this "baby".

Of course, after ten years, the Orc died. They burn brightly, quickly go out, that's what they say about Orcs, he held out for a long time. The few slaves who survived until this time killed the guards and ran away to all sides of the world, trying to forget what happened. It was not us. This World rejected us, betrayed us, trampled on expectations, but gave us hope for self-correction.

The Cult of the Black Heavens periodically changes its name (it has existed for only 148 years), its goals, but not its means. Being initially non-magicians, creating a stable magical bloodline took a lot of time, relying on in fact a single weak demon, we had to gain power, strength, and magical knowledge ourselves.

Somewhere around half a thousand years ago, the Tides began - periods when the Cult is active in the world, gaining resources. Then its leader is killed by the Chaosites (nasty competitors who lured a lot of people in their time), the Imperials (go fuck hammerheads), or some adventurer of a completely different race. The last tide was 111 years ago.

I am Tian Rem Shadowborn, whose bloodline was formed over tens of hundreds of years of constant contact with the Shadow Demon, and I am the current head of the Cult. Chosen for my success in magic (primarily for the favor of our patron-lord), I will break this chain of failures and forge the World with this very chain. Then the goal of our thousand-year existence will be fulfilled:

The Black Sky will hide this world from the mocking attention of the indifferent Gods.

Specialty: "Fury of Desolation"
An old Shadow demon literally created by your ancestors. Far (very far) from the strongest, but their shared history makes them surprisingly tolerant of equal interaction with humans.
 



Commodore Khaz Modan

Name: Khaz Modan
Species: Dwarf, Zhufbar
Age: 51
Religion: Ancestor Gods - Morgrim
Pronouns: he/him
Titles: Commodore of Modan's Marauders, the Mad Wanderer, the Little Admiral
Personal Stats:
Slaanesh: 0 (Modan's lack of tact has got him bounced around much of the Old World, and many find his obsession to be off-putting)
Khorne: 3 (A decade of hard-won experience has made Modan a formidable tactician and fighter, among the humans at least)
Nurgle: 2 (Modan's path has been quite unorthodox, and he has not let the repeated setbacks to his dream faze him)
Tzeentch: 2 (Modan's driven by an overarching goal, but he lacks subtlety and is often tunnel-visioned by a sole focus on his goal of sailing to Lustria)
Institutional Stats:
Slaanesh: 1 (Dwarfs are not a very diplomatic bunch, but learning the basic trappings of society to obtain contracts has allowed the Marauders to accumulate a slight amount of tact)
Khorne: 3 (A company of experienced dwarf artillerymen fighting for about a decade have amassed quite a bit of military acumen)
Nurgle: 3 (The life of a mercenary company is always tumultuous, and the Marauders have learned how to deal with setbacks and run their company efficiently.)
Tzeentch: 2 (Under the leadership of Modan, the Marauders have a clear vision and are willing to do whatever it takes to accomplish that, although more fanciful schemes are disregarded in favor of a blunter, more dwarf-like approach)
Location: Please select a province on the map (plus rgb color if you want to), and a runner up as well.
(Lower left corner)
Biography:

Deep underground, a young dwarf dreaming…

For most Dawi, the Karaks were enough. The glimmering mines, the warmth of the forges, and rhythmic sound of machinery make most Dwarfs reluctant to leave the comforts of their own Karak, let alone travel the world. Few Dwarfs voyage across the Known Worlds; even fewer seek to leave the comfort of the earth for tumult of the seas.

As such, to the leaders of the Stonebreaker Clan in Zhufbar, the persistent visions of Khaz Modan were immensely puzzling. The beardling's repeated dreams of storms and a roaring ocean were punctuated by visions of an ancient mortuary lined with walls of Dwarfen skulls, and occasionally, a jungle roamed by towering, scaled beasts.

For two decades, Modan's dreams left him in a constant state of unrest, until at last, a visiting loremaster from Karaz-A-Karak was finally able to discern the location of the visions as an ancient mine in Lustria, likely predating the Time of Woes. Any hopes that deciphering his dreams would lead to closure were soon dashed however, and the visions continued, unabated. Modan then rapidly made up his mind to adventure to Lustria and seek the place of his dreams.

Upon completing his trials of adulthood, Modan immediately set off for Barak Varr and their Sea Engineers, hoping that the only major seafaring Karak could perhaps lend him a ship if he apprenticed and served for them. However, ill memories of the maverick Sven Hasselfriesian rapidly led to a falling out, and in the end, Barak Varr decided to part with Modan as the latter's drive to sail to Lustria became insatiable.

Now, without the patronage of the Engineering Guild and only a half-complete engineering apprenticeship to his name, Modan had to strike out on his own and find a way to build a proper vessel capable of crossing the Great Ocean. Fortunately, the fractious states of the Border Princes offered immense opportunity, and Modan bounced around the region for a while, amassing a small coterie of wandering dwarfs into a locally renowned artillery battery called Modan's Marauder's that served several different Dogs of War over the course of a decade.

However, Modan never lost sight of his original goals, and the dreams continued to plague him. When rumors of an Imperial stumbling onto a Lustrian mine with Dwarfen skulls reached the Border Princes, he decided to return to his original objective.

With a hefty war chest and a formidable field artillery battery backing him, Modan was fairly easily able to take over a small coastal settlement, establishing yet one more petty warlord amid the fractious region. However, building a seagoing flotilla was well beyond the capabilities of the hamlet Modan had seized, so he thus turned his eyes onto the neighboring warlords and petty states. If properly harnessed, a cadre of unified city-states under Modan's direction could provide the resources and manpower to man an expedition to Lustria. And then, Modan's dreams could finally end…

Specialty: A battery of dwarfen cannons, with the accompanying dwarfs to man them
 
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Forced into exile with nothing but the clothes on my back, most men would die, but me?

I'll make do.

Name: Luchinus Rosso
Species: Human (Tilean)
Religion: Follower of Myrmidia
Pronouns: He/Him
Titles: 'Unifier' of Tilea, Prince of Birds, The Vulture, The Exiled

Personal Stats:
Slannesh: 4
Khorne: 4
Nurgle: 4
Tzeentch: 4

Institutional Stats:
Slannesh: 0
Khorne: 0
Nurgle: 0
Tzeentch: 0

Location:

Yellow: Location 1 Red: Location 2

Biography:
Throughout the Tilean peninsula, few names are as infamous Luchinus The Vulture.

Born as a street urchin in the Principality of Trantio without even the knowledge of his own parentage, Luchinus' early life was one of pure struggle in a city that punishes the poor and rewards the rich, the disfigurement on his face being proof of that. Like most, he was expected to die nameless…but one thing made him stand out among the rest, one thing that could have very well saved his life when he caught the eyes of a certain astronomer: Potential in the Lore of Heavens.

Interested in an apprentice, Luchinus was taken in by this astronomer who proceeded to teach him everything he knew for the rest of his childhood. Every spell, every constellation, and every star chart. Luchinus devoured it all as his mentor beamed with pride. Indeed, when the elderly astronomer finally passed from old age, he believed Luchinus was destined for great things, capable of surpassing even him intime.

In a sense, he was right…but not in the ways he imagined.

Truth be told, Luchinus's passion for his mentor's craft was negligible at best. When he found himself alone again, he sold all of his mentor's possessions and departed back to his home on the streets with three things: hatred for the upper class, ambitions that would engulf all of Tilea, and a mountain of gold.

This would mark the beginning of the rise of an empire that spanned from Trantio to Luccini in the south. Presenting himself as one of their own, Luchinus recruited the poor and desperate into a newfledged criminal organization that would soon dominate Trantio's underworld, simply known as the Rosso Family.

Even then, as Luchinus accumulated both assets and wealth, it was not enough for Luchinus, and thus he began to expand his influence through crafty means. Using the Lore of Heavens, he would conjure brief storms that would conceal his ships filled with illicit goods until they were safe at sea. Through extensive use of the spell Birdspeak, he would gather a loyal following of avians who would spy on the nobles and wealthy merchants, bringing back with them secrets that could make one fall from grace.

It was through these schemes and many more that Luchinus' influence would begin to expand to the other Tilean City-States. So great was the Rosso Family's influence was that Luchinus was capable of establishing new branches of the organization within other city-states. He even trained a handful of capable people in Birdspeak as well, so their winged friends could also act as messengers. Eventually, some of his subordinates started to say his 'unified' Tilea for the first time in ages.

But…every great man must fall eventually, and Luchinus' fall would be at the hands of something he didn't quite expect: A newly ascended Merchant Prince, whose paranoia and willingness to spend coin far surpassed Luchinus' own. One day, mercenaries under the payroll of the Prince would scour the city and break down the doors to any facility suspected as being owned by Luchinus and indiscriminately arresting anyone caught. Luchinus, for his misfortune, was apprehended by a cordon of guards by the Trantio docs, but not before fighting with storm and fury in a last bid attempt to escape.

Of course, many genuine innocents would be caught in the crossfire and the Prince would eventually fall from grace himself, but the damage was done…the heart of the Rosso empire was torn out and the rest began to wither and die.

It was only by the skin of his teeth (and a hefty amount of blackmail material on several key figures-) that Luchinus would avoid execution. Instead, the Trantio government would exile him to the Border Princes, where they hope the ever-growing violence within that backwater region would slaughter him.

Perhaps he would be…or perhaps they unknowingly gave him the means to rise to even greater heights.

Specialty: Mastery over the Lore of Heavens
 
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Name: Sarythe Daggerheart
Species: Druchii (Dark Elf), Naggarothian Witch‑Elf
Religion: Khaine, the Bloody-Handed God (in service to Morathi)
Pronouns: She/Her
Titles: The Crimson Matron, Witch‑General of the Slaughter Host, Bride of Khaine
Personal Stats:
  • Slaanesh: 3 (Sarythe refined torture and pain into an art.)
  • Khorne: 4 (War is the bread and blood which Sarythe abides by.)
  • Nurgle: 1 (No concern for safety; only slaughter)
  • Tzeentch: 1 (No concern for scheming; only slaughter)
Institutional Stats:
  • Slaanesh: 2 (Her sisters know how to lure and unnerve.)
  • Khorne: 3 (They are blood‑hungry ritualistic priestesses of war.)
  • Nurgle: 1 (No concern for safety; only slaughter.)
  • Tzeentch: 1 (No concern for scheming; only slaughter.)
Location:

Biography:
Sarythe was hand‑picked by Morathi's Handmaidens to prove her worth during Death Night; the Witch‑Elf revel where Naggarond's boulevards run red with sacrifice. Leading a band of Sisters through the blood‑soaked fog of the City of Cold and pounding drums, she slew three rival matriarchs in their own manors, executed their guards in ritual precision, and seized their trophies before dawn.

Morathi herself witnessed Sarythe's merciless grace and granted her the title "Crimson Matron." Now, bearing Morathi's blessing, Sarythe ventures into the Border Princes as an instrument of Khaine's will. She has been tasked to carve a realm of unending slaughter and unite these fractured lands under a crown of skulls to serve the Lord of Murder. Every act of terror, every despair‑striken rite, is both devotion and strategy in her grand design for this region of the Old World.

Specialty (Boon):
Sarythe is the apex predator among a small company of fanatical Khainite warrior‑priestesses, assassin‑shades, and ritual executioners, all trained in the brutal ecstasies of Death Night. They are masters of ambush, mass slaughter, and cult‑terror tactics. They are utterly loyal to Sarythe, whose own blade was the first drawn and last sheathed on that sacred night.
 
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Nolisenne the Wise
High Elf
The Elven Pantheon
She/Her
Mage of Sapheny, High Queen of the Border Princes, Mistress of the Red Wind, the Red Witch of Khypris, Lady of Smoke and Cinders

Personal
Slaanesh - 0
Khorne - 4
Nurgle - 1
Tzeentch - 3

Institutional
Slaanesh - 2
Khorne - 3
Nurgle - 2
Tzeentch - 1


Location


Biography
Nolisenne was born in the Asur kingdom of Sapheny, upon the isle of Ulthuan. As a student of magic, she proved unexceptional in most areas when compared to her peers in Sapheny. An exception was in harnessing the destructive powers of the Red Wind. Despite her otherwise lacking abilities, she was noted by others as being brash, arrogant, and prone to dramatics.

After one too many arguments with her peers and professors, Nolisenne declared that her people and kingdom did not appreciate her, and that she would simply have to build a new kingdom; one greater than Sapheny; perhaps one greater than all of Ulthuan.

Ten years have passed, and Nolisenne rules a scrap of land in a war-torn backwater. She knows, however, that if anyone can forge these lands into something worthy of her rule, it can and will be Nolisenne the Wise.

Boon
Nolisenne is a practitioner of magic with her focus lying in the Red Wind.
 
Name: Alyssara
Species: Human (Mutated)
Religion: Slaanesh
Pronouns: She/Her
Titles: The Serpentine Angel, the Blessed of the Prince
Personal Stats: 4/4/4/4
Institutional Stats: 0/0/0/0 (What institutions can exist with but one person?)

Location:

Biography: Awash upon the shores of the lands known Border Princes, Alyssara's presence is more from fortune and the whims of Slaanesh than any firm plan; shipwrecked and ashore after a particularly exceptional pleasure voyage which ended in perhaps the most slaaneshi way to experience a morning after; A devastating shipwreck. Stranded with little idea where she is, and but a blade and armour at her side, this newcomer to the region has an intent to make her mark; Where the Angel of Slaanesh goes, so shall Their will be enacted, and pain and pleasure to be found in glorious excess!

Of course, such things take time, and after some travels from the shore, Alyssara installed herself to power in a minor princedom who's former prince are now forgotten, and renaming their seat of power to Angel's Rise, and it's from here that she looks outward towards the other princedoms, seeking to bring the enlightenment of Slaanesh to others.

Speciality: Chaos Champion of Slaanesh
 
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Name: Norgrim Norglimling.
Clan: Clan Izorgrug.
Species: Dawi (Grey Dwarfs).
Religion: Ancestor Gods.
Pronouns: He/Him.
Titles: Throngrink.

Personal Stats:
*Slaanesh: 1
*Khorne: 3
*Nurgle: 3
*Tzeentch: 1
Institutional Stats:
*Slaanesh: 1
*Khorne: 3
*Nurgle: 3
*Tzeentch: 1

Location:


Bio:
Norgrim Norglimling is tired of mining copper.

No sane dawi will ever be bored of digging the good rock. To delve deeper and deeper in a never-ending journey of discovery. Except that here, on Karak Izor, all you every dig is more copper. Sure, some precious gems come up now and then but those deposits always go to the nobles. Norgrim has never mined for anything else than umgak copper. Its always copper.
So one day, he and some of his fellows, went up to the wise Queen Astrid to humbly petition for a dispensation. Of sharp eyes and keen mind, she generously granted her boon to Norgrim and his followers. Anyone who claims this was because she was a fellow clan-kin of the Izorgrug clan and she wanted to get back at her husband is a filthy grobi lover and a liar as well and shall see a hundred hammers fall upon their mushroom-addled heads.
So off he went, along with his folk and kin, to travel the Black Mountains and see what riches the mountains of the world had to offer. Other than copper, that is.

Obviously they didn't went very far, as the world in the surface was hideously green and ugly, just like the grobi. The expedition stopped at the edges of the Kharnos Forest after getting tired of mauling wazzoks trying to rob them. It was decided then to settle for a dig in the mountains towering over the Lodestone River, praying to the ancestors for good and rich veins of precious metals. Eventually, all manner of umgi began to show up at their doors, begging for all sorts of nonsense like to plea fealty and pay tribute in exchange for protection. It would seem that the human mind, being notably of inferior quality in these lands, is not prepared to comprehend the concept of taxes.
To Norgrim and his folk, this is all good and fine as long as the people let them work in peace and bring other things to work with other than copper.

Speciality: A trusted contingent of grumbling and stout clan-kin copper miners and coppersmiths (they hate copper).
 
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Again, good apps so far.

Prince Cecilio has a certain charisma in attracting the faithful followers of the Goddess Myrmidia. Prince Cecilio's Army are devout and fanatical followers of Goddess Myrmidia.
The first part of the boon would only be in regards for people who believe in you as well, of course. By his army do you mean an army created within the Borderlands or brought from outside?
Tian Rem Shadowborn,
I would ask that you tone down the ancient ancestral power and cult to a lesser status, and just to clarify: your boon is that in times of dire need you can call upon a lesser daemon for support?
Now, stranded with little idea where she is, and but a blade and armour at her side, this newcomer to the region has an intent to make her mark; Where the Angel of Slaanesh goes, so shall Their will be enacted, and pain and pleasure to be found in glorious excess!
You have to start as the ruler of a small realm, even with 0 institutional stats, so she would begin after having arrived to that status, not as just a single person.
Eventually, all manner of umgi began to show up at their doors, begging for all sorts of nonsense like to plea fealty and pay tribute in exchange for protection. It would seem that the human mind, being notably of inferior quality in these lands, is not prepared to comprehend the concept of taxes.
Perfectly fine but you do need to want to, and act towards, expansion and rule; even if for other purposes than simple power.
 
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