Awwwwww yeah, peak Haclad dunking incoming
To Shield the World (Warhammer High Elf Mage Quest)
- Thread starter Voikirium
- Start date
- Fantasy
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Not like it's hard
They're kind of short to be good basketball players
- Pronouns
- He
Just don't try to play football or handball against them, they always start walling, and before you know, their half consists of a single giant fortress.Not like it's hard
They're kind of short to be good basketball players
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I liked your post on the Cytharai.
@Voikirium
Given his focuses, does Verdanis know anything about Talyn?
@Voikirium
Given his focuses, does Verdanis know anything about Talyn?
Last edited:
MortusPrime27
Turtles are Fabulous and I'm undead skeleton
- Location
- Science class room
Ooooooh, this is a interesting quest to try a hand at
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
So just a general note, I will have the update up this weekend.
(I presume when you say Talyn you mean Talsyn, let me know if I'm wrong)
Ah, sorry I missed this, early November has been uh, well, A Month, I will offer a fuller response tomorrow but I can say right now that of the Big Three elf civs (Asur, Druchii, Asrai) Vardanis knows the least about the Asrai since they are predominantly in the Old World which the Asur have not returned to in any real kind of force since the War of the Beard.
(I presume when you say Talyn you mean Talsyn, let me know if I'm wrong)
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I fucking hear you about this month. Now imma go back to ignoring the world.
No I definitely mean Talyn, King of Eagles, friend of Asuryan, he-who-ferried-Ereth Khial, ancestor of Gwindalor
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Ah, I see, I will hit the books and try and give you a not dumbassed answer.
Irrespective of that, for the sake of nobody accusing me of bias or cooking the books or anything and so it can stare me in the face saying "write you fat bastard" could somebody roll a D100 titled Delivery?
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Rolling
- Pronouns
- He/Him
There's only two references. Three if you count the End Times (it's nothing bad, just a one sentence mention…aside from being another way to equate him and Araloth taking his place)
8th edition High Elf and Wood Elf army books.
I personally think that given the Old World Bestiary states the Great Eagles messengers of the Old Ones immune to mutation and Storm of Magic has upgrades like the Iron Phoenix and Flame Roc, the existence of Amphion, and his connection Asuryan that one could make a strong argument on some lineage shared with the phoenixes.
Explanations
New
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Explanations
How to explain? A ball of failure, sadism, idiocy, thoughtlessness and violence, of people who should have known better, making the worst possible decisions at the worst possible time, again, and again, and again. Lies.
Deceit.
Dishonor.
There is a reason Hoeth turns aside from such duplicitous means. A lie, any lie, every lie, exacts a toll and the truth will always demand interest. And Asuryan, for His part? He does not eschew trickery quite so completely as the God of Wisdom, but He is the Keeper of Balance and there can be no balance that stands on a falsehood. The Creator God, and as one who teaches law and right from wrong one that must not let Creation be marred with deceit. Lord of the Gods, and a lord who lies shall not remain a Lord for long even in this world.
And the Emperor of the Heavens? What of He, the thundering voice that screams through the mountains, Asuryan who negotiated with Dragons, That Asuryan?
There are lies and misdirections.
But sparse and rare beyond rarity. For the sun shines, not lurks in shadow. If you wanted to lie, Loec, Kurnous, Ladrielle would all serve your ends much the better.
No, you will speak truth.
And nothing but the truth.
"There are things," you say at last, even as Tethia looks at you with a look you can't read (which is surprising, given how much time you've spent around her of late) and army, slowly approaching, looks at you in a way you definitely can, the way of many who would rather take the easy road than the honest one. "Things I have to tell you, Haclad, lest I be accounted derelict in my oaths; lest I be held violator of my vows. I have made promises gods, and so there are promises I will keep."
"Haclad?" A new insult, formed long after the Norse Dwarfs would have been lost thanks to Malekith's ineptitude.
"Long, long ago, your king Snorri Whitebeard made oaths and vows with a Prince of Ulthuan by the name of Malekith. He made trust with your people, and over decades the two grew to be friends, oath-brothers in all but name; they say, in Karaz A Karak, or did once upon a time anyway, that Malekith attended him on his deathbed. The root of alliance; the root of amity; the root of friendship, solidifed in an army of elves marching to save Karaz A Karak from a Beastmen siege, burned away in the furnace of dragon fire."
An image of the greatest of Karaks rises up from twinkling mystical light, saved by an army of Caledor, saved by an army of Elves, flickering, spirit images of abominations put to fire and sword at the edge of the greatest force this world has ever seen. Not a spell, not magecraft, not weaving, simply spirits Remembering under the auspices of a mage of worth in this land that has otherwise proven so terrible.
"This same prince, this Malekith, would one day rise up in revolt against the true Phoenix King; he would be a bane to all. He would rebel, shatter much, test himself in the Fires of Asuryan and be found wanting. This would begin the Sundering."
Karaz A Karak fades away, replaced with Ulthuan, replaced with kinstrife and brother war and bloodshed and destruction.
"And the Sundering would begin the end.
After centuries, we believed him defeated and cast out in battle, to die in the frozen wastes of Naggaroth; but we were decieved. We had been lax in maintaing contact with the Dwarfs, with your kin to the south, and so he saw an opportunity, a chance to bring suffering and to destroy that which would defeat him. Clad in our armor he would raid your trading caravans, he would attack your people, under our guise, in deceit, led by the knowledge he had gained in his amity with Whitebeard."
Raids. Betrayal. Deceit, darkness, deception, oaths broken, friendships betrayed, word made meaningless, truth buried under lies. He insults his father, he insults his people, he insults his oath-brother, insult upon insult upon insult, and worst of all he insults himself.
"So your king, Gotrek Starbreaker, had ambassadors sent to demand an explanation from the Phoenix King, an explanation that would not be forthcoming, as they were jerked about for many reasons.
His need to maintain a good appearance."
A terrible dishonor on your people. An image of the Phoenix Court, jovial, celebratory, after war, after bloodshed, after civil strife, interrupted by these stunted interrlopers from a far kingdom.
"But worse, rumors, swirling and pungent, of a Dwarf army led by Snorri Halfhand burning Kor Vernath to the ground."
A worse dishonor for the Dwarfs. Wisps of smoke arise from the image of the city, debatable.
"Until eventually confirmation arrived, and we learned it was the truth, dreadful and terrible."
Your eyes go very distant, as the magic bursting in Norsca seems to flow around you even more, taking you from the cold clearing to the city proper, the paved cobblestone roads and tall walls, mages studying new mysteries, smiths forging great wonders, adventurers and explorers and merchants and more, a heart of civilization.
All of it burning, harsh and sharp Khazalid in the distance. Distant spirits, those who fought in the war, seem to allay themselves in the clearing, summoned by your will perhaps, or by painful memory, or by a desire for vengeance, or for all of the above, though Tethia's magic and your own scraps from the Beastwalkers, such that they are, mean perturbances in Ghur keep them quiescent, for a time at least.
Either way it doesn't matter.
"Every hatchery was set alight, everyone was killed. The dragon eggs were stolen, and used as reagents by you scratchmages. There are generations of our old allies, who gave everything, who promised their youths to us, unborn because of your arrogance, your love of vengeance, your desire for treasures. The defenders, the inhabitants, innocent and guilty alike, it didn't matter. You killed the lot of them, elf and dragon. Eagles. Lions. Phoenixes. Everything was burned in the furnaces of your lust for revenge, and the bits used for your damned Runes."
The hatcheries are split open, sundered, torn apart by Runesmiths and Runelords greedy for power. Aeries have been plundered. Groves, present since the time of the Old Ones, hacked apart by ax and shattered with hammer, the spirits within killed.
The inchohate desire of the Dryads to kill every Dwarf they can get their hands on, to drench themselves in Imperial blood, it did not come from nowhere, no matter what cheap excuses those Dwarfs and their puppets in Altdorf make. The city fades away.
Your heart beat, when did it get so fast? When did the world gain that little glaze of brass around everything?
Not that it matters.
Truth. Let that be your northstar, and the wrong can only be so terrible.
"And as the Phoenix King heard what came upon his people, these ambassadors had the audacity, the nerve, to draw their weapons on the Chosen of Asuryan. So he did the most foolhardy thing he could:
He had them clapped in chains, and shaved them totally, leaving their chins bare for the world."
The Dwarf, who has been so quite, makes a grunt like someone has put their knee into her back and forced out all of the air as the images and the lights show the Phoenix King's court, show fools advancing on the bound Dwarfs with razors and scissors and more.
Cruelty against cruelty. Hate against hate. If it was foolish for the Druchii to cast themselves as nothing but killers, soldiers, and slavers, monsters and tyrants and animals, how much worse was it for the Phoenix King to do something so petty, so sadistic, so humiliating, for what? What was the purpose? What goal?
Revenge is a poison, and to let it into your heart is naught but madness. Let that, if nothing else, be the lesson of the war of the Beard: That torture, punishment, cruelty, sadism and worse things than that have no place in the heart of the excellent. A lesson learned at too high a cost: but a lesson you may at least integrate, and so a lesson you may hope to hold.
"So began the War of the Beard. With cries of Haclad and Kor Vernath and Asuryan on our lips, we marched to war in the colonies, in the Old World; with cries of Elgi and traitor and vengeance on theirs, your people marched to war. Centuries it would last. You could not assault Ulthuan, were shattered like kindling upon the fleet and upon our magic the only time you tried and so resoundingly at that that you never tried again, fearful of the Ironwill who had sworn vengeance for every dragon slain, every spirit murdered, every phoenix maimed; we could not take your Karaks, for your scratch magic, depraved as it is, wrought in blood as it may be, was strong then, bolstered by the greatest of your number to ever live, Kurgaz.
Strong enough, at his hands, that for all he died early into it, it was enough to buy you the time you needed.
For in the end, we were defeated at your hands, a victory not worth the cost. Your king killed a surrendered man in cold blood, and stole the Phoenix Crown, still locked up in Ulthuan; your people went on a murderous rampage throughout the forests of the Old World seeking to kill every spirit, on the suspicion they may have helped us and, unspoken, to use them to make yet more of your depraved craft; and even still they torment the elves of Athel Loren and then, like children, whinge that those elves fight them off. But the Grudges were considered settled in the end, as we returned to Ulthuan to recover, called back to fight the Druchii, called back to save the world."
And in the end your victory meant nothing, for in the end the grounds themselves would shake and the earth roil and shake, breaking the Underway and allowing the goblins to enter your homes. And so your people have been pressed, by the greenskins ever since."
There is silence.
Cold winds whip about the clearing as she consumes everything you've said.
Considers it.
Thinks about it.
And then she turns her back, to begin speaking with the Thane, well-armed as he is. You immediately grab your sword yourself, for it would not be the first time the Dwarfs have attacked unprovoked in your history. She tries to glare at you, but the displeasure of Cireon Whitemane is a much worse thing than any Haclad could draw up if they had a lifetime.
She's a damn sight scarier with an ax, for one.
Finally, the Runesmith turns away from the Thane and towards you. "Let it never be said that Hadra Trueheart ever turned an ax on those who didn't raise an ax against her; let it never be said that that story of madness, idiocy, arrogance and cruelty would make me lose my temper. And even if it was, you saved my life, broke his spellwork and let none ever say that I leave a debt repaid. There will be a reckoning one day, Elgi, for much, but I am at the moment much the more concerned with the slaves this oathbreaker," She gestures at the shaman's dead body, "has in Stahlheim. All else can wait for that, and I'll drag you before the Council of Ancestors then to explain and have the truth for everything you've said is monstrous and idiotic and yet, and yet, I believe you believe it if nothing else and that alone had kept your head on your shoulders."
"Now would be the time to attack." Tyrial speaks up, breaking the spell that seems to have fallen on the armies. "They are, if nothing else, still weakened from our recent battle."
"And why," she says with coldest gaze, "Would I listen to the likes of you after the story you just told me?"
The village must be taken.
[] Allow Tethia to try and negotiate
[] Try to negotiate yourself
--
Moratorium until .
[X] Be very honest. Let none say you are afraid to be painfully truthful: The Burning, The Shaving, The Murder. The Haclad will know all of it, and let the chips fall where they may.
How to explain? A ball of failure, sadism, idiocy, thoughtlessness and violence, of people who should have known better, making the worst possible decisions at the worst possible time, again, and again, and again. Lies.
Deceit.
Dishonor.
There is a reason Hoeth turns aside from such duplicitous means. A lie, any lie, every lie, exacts a toll and the truth will always demand interest. And Asuryan, for His part? He does not eschew trickery quite so completely as the God of Wisdom, but He is the Keeper of Balance and there can be no balance that stands on a falsehood. The Creator God, and as one who teaches law and right from wrong one that must not let Creation be marred with deceit. Lord of the Gods, and a lord who lies shall not remain a Lord for long even in this world.
And the Emperor of the Heavens? What of He, the thundering voice that screams through the mountains, Asuryan who negotiated with Dragons, That Asuryan?
There are lies and misdirections.
But sparse and rare beyond rarity. For the sun shines, not lurks in shadow. If you wanted to lie, Loec, Kurnous, Ladrielle would all serve your ends much the better.
No, you will speak truth.
And nothing but the truth.
"There are things," you say at last, even as Tethia looks at you with a look you can't read (which is surprising, given how much time you've spent around her of late) and army, slowly approaching, looks at you in a way you definitely can, the way of many who would rather take the easy road than the honest one. "Things I have to tell you, Haclad, lest I be accounted derelict in my oaths; lest I be held violator of my vows. I have made promises gods, and so there are promises I will keep."
"Haclad?" A new insult, formed long after the Norse Dwarfs would have been lost thanks to Malekith's ineptitude.
"Long, long ago, your king Snorri Whitebeard made oaths and vows with a Prince of Ulthuan by the name of Malekith. He made trust with your people, and over decades the two grew to be friends, oath-brothers in all but name; they say, in Karaz A Karak, or did once upon a time anyway, that Malekith attended him on his deathbed. The root of alliance; the root of amity; the root of friendship, solidifed in an army of elves marching to save Karaz A Karak from a Beastmen siege, burned away in the furnace of dragon fire."
An image of the greatest of Karaks rises up from twinkling mystical light, saved by an army of Caledor, saved by an army of Elves, flickering, spirit images of abominations put to fire and sword at the edge of the greatest force this world has ever seen. Not a spell, not magecraft, not weaving, simply spirits Remembering under the auspices of a mage of worth in this land that has otherwise proven so terrible.
"This same prince, this Malekith, would one day rise up in revolt against the true Phoenix King; he would be a bane to all. He would rebel, shatter much, test himself in the Fires of Asuryan and be found wanting. This would begin the Sundering."
Karaz A Karak fades away, replaced with Ulthuan, replaced with kinstrife and brother war and bloodshed and destruction.
"And the Sundering would begin the end.
After centuries, we believed him defeated and cast out in battle, to die in the frozen wastes of Naggaroth; but we were decieved. We had been lax in maintaing contact with the Dwarfs, with your kin to the south, and so he saw an opportunity, a chance to bring suffering and to destroy that which would defeat him. Clad in our armor he would raid your trading caravans, he would attack your people, under our guise, in deceit, led by the knowledge he had gained in his amity with Whitebeard."
Raids. Betrayal. Deceit, darkness, deception, oaths broken, friendships betrayed, word made meaningless, truth buried under lies. He insults his father, he insults his people, he insults his oath-brother, insult upon insult upon insult, and worst of all he insults himself.
"So your king, Gotrek Starbreaker, had ambassadors sent to demand an explanation from the Phoenix King, an explanation that would not be forthcoming, as they were jerked about for many reasons.
His need to maintain a good appearance."
A terrible dishonor on your people. An image of the Phoenix Court, jovial, celebratory, after war, after bloodshed, after civil strife, interrupted by these stunted interrlopers from a far kingdom.
"But worse, rumors, swirling and pungent, of a Dwarf army led by Snorri Halfhand burning Kor Vernath to the ground."
A worse dishonor for the Dwarfs. Wisps of smoke arise from the image of the city, debatable.
"Until eventually confirmation arrived, and we learned it was the truth, dreadful and terrible."
Your eyes go very distant, as the magic bursting in Norsca seems to flow around you even more, taking you from the cold clearing to the city proper, the paved cobblestone roads and tall walls, mages studying new mysteries, smiths forging great wonders, adventurers and explorers and merchants and more, a heart of civilization.
All of it burning, harsh and sharp Khazalid in the distance. Distant spirits, those who fought in the war, seem to allay themselves in the clearing, summoned by your will perhaps, or by painful memory, or by a desire for vengeance, or for all of the above, though Tethia's magic and your own scraps from the Beastwalkers, such that they are, mean perturbances in Ghur keep them quiescent, for a time at least.
Either way it doesn't matter.
"Every hatchery was set alight, everyone was killed. The dragon eggs were stolen, and used as reagents by you scratchmages. There are generations of our old allies, who gave everything, who promised their youths to us, unborn because of your arrogance, your love of vengeance, your desire for treasures. The defenders, the inhabitants, innocent and guilty alike, it didn't matter. You killed the lot of them, elf and dragon. Eagles. Lions. Phoenixes. Everything was burned in the furnaces of your lust for revenge, and the bits used for your damned Runes."
The hatcheries are split open, sundered, torn apart by Runesmiths and Runelords greedy for power. Aeries have been plundered. Groves, present since the time of the Old Ones, hacked apart by ax and shattered with hammer, the spirits within killed.
The inchohate desire of the Dryads to kill every Dwarf they can get their hands on, to drench themselves in Imperial blood, it did not come from nowhere, no matter what cheap excuses those Dwarfs and their puppets in Altdorf make. The city fades away.
Your heart beat, when did it get so fast? When did the world gain that little glaze of brass around everything?
Not that it matters.
Truth. Let that be your northstar, and the wrong can only be so terrible.
"And as the Phoenix King heard what came upon his people, these ambassadors had the audacity, the nerve, to draw their weapons on the Chosen of Asuryan. So he did the most foolhardy thing he could:
He had them clapped in chains, and shaved them totally, leaving their chins bare for the world."
The Dwarf, who has been so quite, makes a grunt like someone has put their knee into her back and forced out all of the air as the images and the lights show the Phoenix King's court, show fools advancing on the bound Dwarfs with razors and scissors and more.
Cruelty against cruelty. Hate against hate. If it was foolish for the Druchii to cast themselves as nothing but killers, soldiers, and slavers, monsters and tyrants and animals, how much worse was it for the Phoenix King to do something so petty, so sadistic, so humiliating, for what? What was the purpose? What goal?
Revenge is a poison, and to let it into your heart is naught but madness. Let that, if nothing else, be the lesson of the war of the Beard: That torture, punishment, cruelty, sadism and worse things than that have no place in the heart of the excellent. A lesson learned at too high a cost: but a lesson you may at least integrate, and so a lesson you may hope to hold.
"So began the War of the Beard. With cries of Haclad and Kor Vernath and Asuryan on our lips, we marched to war in the colonies, in the Old World; with cries of Elgi and traitor and vengeance on theirs, your people marched to war. Centuries it would last. You could not assault Ulthuan, were shattered like kindling upon the fleet and upon our magic the only time you tried and so resoundingly at that that you never tried again, fearful of the Ironwill who had sworn vengeance for every dragon slain, every spirit murdered, every phoenix maimed; we could not take your Karaks, for your scratch magic, depraved as it is, wrought in blood as it may be, was strong then, bolstered by the greatest of your number to ever live, Kurgaz.
Strong enough, at his hands, that for all he died early into it, it was enough to buy you the time you needed.
For in the end, we were defeated at your hands, a victory not worth the cost. Your king killed a surrendered man in cold blood, and stole the Phoenix Crown, still locked up in Ulthuan; your people went on a murderous rampage throughout the forests of the Old World seeking to kill every spirit, on the suspicion they may have helped us and, unspoken, to use them to make yet more of your depraved craft; and even still they torment the elves of Athel Loren and then, like children, whinge that those elves fight them off. But the Grudges were considered settled in the end, as we returned to Ulthuan to recover, called back to fight the Druchii, called back to save the world."
And in the end your victory meant nothing, for in the end the grounds themselves would shake and the earth roil and shake, breaking the Underway and allowing the goblins to enter your homes. And so your people have been pressed, by the greenskins ever since."
There is silence.
Cold winds whip about the clearing as she consumes everything you've said.
Considers it.
Thinks about it.
And then she turns her back, to begin speaking with the Thane, well-armed as he is. You immediately grab your sword yourself, for it would not be the first time the Dwarfs have attacked unprovoked in your history. She tries to glare at you, but the displeasure of Cireon Whitemane is a much worse thing than any Haclad could draw up if they had a lifetime.
She's a damn sight scarier with an ax, for one.
Finally, the Runesmith turns away from the Thane and towards you. "Let it never be said that Hadra Trueheart ever turned an ax on those who didn't raise an ax against her; let it never be said that that story of madness, idiocy, arrogance and cruelty would make me lose my temper. And even if it was, you saved my life, broke his spellwork and let none ever say that I leave a debt repaid. There will be a reckoning one day, Elgi, for much, but I am at the moment much the more concerned with the slaves this oathbreaker," She gestures at the shaman's dead body, "has in Stahlheim. All else can wait for that, and I'll drag you before the Council of Ancestors then to explain and have the truth for everything you've said is monstrous and idiotic and yet, and yet, I believe you believe it if nothing else and that alone had kept your head on your shoulders."
"Now would be the time to attack." Tyrial speaks up, breaking the spell that seems to have fallen on the armies. "They are, if nothing else, still weakened from our recent battle."
"And why," she says with coldest gaze, "Would I listen to the likes of you after the story you just told me?"
The village must be taken.
[] Allow Tethia to try and negotiate
[] Try to negotiate yourself
--
Moratorium until .
welp this went better than I expected.
Vardanis tried to be neutral about telling the story but he failed at the end when reporting what the Dawi did which is understandable, but honestly that's a lot better then most elves would do.
Hadra Trueheart isn't happy with what she heard which is totally understandable since the War of the Beard was a horrible and avoidable tragedy. But she does respect what Vardanis has done today and feels like he's telling the truth to her.
Hadra Trueheart isn't happy with what she heard which is totally understandable since the War of the Beard was a horrible and avoidable tragedy. But she does respect what Vardanis has done today and feels like he's telling the truth to her.
I'm surprised Vardanis didn't use Malekith as a scapegoat. He made a promise to Snorri Whitebeard in his deathbed and he broke it by instigating the War of the Beard to make both Dawi and Ulthuan try wipe each other out so that the Witch King will finally claim what he believed to be his that was denied to him even though Asuryan said otherwise with being burned alive inside out.
- Location
- Australia
After Vardanis laid out the situation with brutal (if biased) honesty; I think Tethia might be better as a diplomat in the form of a good-cop bad-cop routine... but it depends on her feelings on the Dawi. Can she be objective? Have we seen her be particularly anti-dwarf? I'm pretty sure I remember her being more of a social butterfly to Vardanis's autistic straightforwardness/focus. Also, this whole expedition is Tethia to command after all.
[] Allow Tethia to try and negotiate
[] Allow Tethia to try and negotiate
Last edited:
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Moratorium's still on.
Open Vote
New
[X] Allow Tethia to try and negotiate
I have indulged in dwarf dunking enough for now.
I have indulged in dwarf dunking enough for now.