GhostKing 666
Bringing Nightmares to life evey minute
Araby would fit 2 better then 3. 3 is supposed to be centered east of the world's edge mountains where as Araby is right next to the Tomb Kings(and currently filled with Bretonnia colonies).
Warhammer Fantasy: A Dynasty of Dynamic Alcoholism
- Thread starter torroar
- Start date
- Mature
-
- Tags
- warhammer warhammer fantasy fantasy intrigue happens male protagonist ck2 quest belief stronk count of cannons drunken wisdom foes in the shadows graf of guns if you have a question check the front page first it begins... mountain vietnam ogres paranoia rising unseen enemies everywhere use the search function before asking waifu wars wake the bull
I suppose Pygmies are also fairly unique(which might be worked into a Halfling DLC in general if there's enough of a market for them). And that the Norscans of Skeggi would have to be pretty dramatically divergent from regular Norscans given that they live in a tropical area far removed from the Chaos-spewing poles in close proximity to the genocide lizards.
Personally, I'd be interested in a Naggarothi Beastmen DLC. Lore-wise, them being craggy-scaled bipeds means they should be able to utilize existing Lizardmen assets to some extent(which would enable them to tweak the stats/rules for a more unique faction feel while saving on development time/effort) and while it is a bit of an open question whether or not Naggaroth has a native Cygor/Centigor analogue, that just leaves room for other kinds of horrible monster.
The Conclave of Zhufbar 4
[X] All Four: A deed unheard of, never performed, and for good reason. One has always been enough Two is horrible. Three excessive. But the Guildmaster demanded four as an answer, instead of blood or money. Four absolute humiliations and punishments, levied against your engineers. Anna and Helga would not survive the Quaffing. But you can. Performing them all, and absolutely answering the Grudge levied against your people, would likely permanently shut down those who desired any kind of punishment. It might also be exceedingly painful. But you are no stranger to pain. None of this will beat what Jung did when he was alive and still a priest of Sigmar.
The Conclave of Zhufbar 4
They gaze at you expectantly. To be fair it is quite the decision, in terms of time if nothing else. Pulling up your last flask of Bugman's Best, you shake it a moment in your hand before popping the cork and drinking the entire thing down to the last drop. What escapes your lips next is a heavy belch which nearly fills the entire chamber. Then you slot it back into your belt, letting the burn of it down your throat join with the anger already filling your veins. Stomping forward, you walk past the Reckoners and over to the piles of garbage who did this. Trying to use your family, your people, to punish a dead woman? Valma made mistakes, the dwarf herself made sure no one could say otherwise. But this goes too far, against those who were lucky enough to be taught by her. First Helga, then your daughter. An insult and a threat to your daughter cannot, will not, go unanswered.
You loom over the four Master Engineers, and while they are too stubborn to shrink back from you, never before in your life have any of Sigmar's great allies seemed so…small.
"Hell I'll do them all," you snarl out of the corner of your mouth.
It takes a solid thirty seconds for the Reckoner to silence the shouting and talking which explodes after your words. The entire time you do not look away from the four before you.
"You are aware, Frederick," the Reckoner says slowly, "That such an endeavor has never been done before."
"This is a day of many firsts," Anna answers for you.
You study your enemies. Carving their every feature into your mind, from the sound of their voices to each wrinkle on their hands and faces. Only once that is done do you turn to face the Reckoners, and the Guildmaster who stands at the bottom of their podiums.
"Aye. Let's do this."
All three of the Reckoners study you, or at least give the appearance of such given that their faces are largely obscured. Finally, their leader nods firmly, and with a crack of his hammer, it is as finalized as it can possibly be before you actually perform the deeds specified.
"Well then…let it be known that Frederick von Hohenzollern will perform all four of the Rituals of Explusion…and that the matter at hand between the Engineers of Ostland and the Engineering Guild of the Karaz Ankor is done," the Reckoner booms, but the vast majority of his voice is directed at the four who brought this about in the first place.
You don't even bother with the illusion of enjoying the clear anger on the faces of the bastard dawi who tried to drag your daughter and your people through the dirt. But it only lasts that instant before a small grouping of junior red robes gather about you, one personally coming over to tug you on the pant leg.
"If you will follow me, sir," the beardling says in a quavering voice, "I can…take you to the chambers for preparation."
"Right, sure," you murmur, back, your eyes not leaving the faces of your enemy until absolutely required so that you don't snap your neck. "One second though, aye?"
"Of course, sir."
Helga and Anna are ahead of you, though both stop and quickly confer amongst their fellow engineers.
"You're in charge for now," Helga musses up her daughter's mohawk as best as can be done, "Get everything back to the room, and safely, all right?"
"Yes mother."
"Don't fuck it up Idette," Anna says flatly in passing.
"I'll do my best," the older engineer grimaces, though the expression is lighter on her face than you expected.
Younger your daughter may be, but her position is nigh unassailable in the hierarchy regardless of her age.
Meanwhile, you walk over to Urgdug, who has watched all of this happen with a sort of horrified fascination.
"Politics and the court of law," you say sourly up to him, "Civilization is quite a thing, huh?"
He blinks for a moment before looking down at you.
"I guess," his words are thickly coated in doubt. "Almost makes me wonder if it's worth it."
Though he does his best to remain quiet, the fact of the matter is that no natural being as big as Urgdug is capable of it when speaking. The sheer airflow makes it impossible. There is a great stiffening amongst the many dawi who hear his voice, likely hearing more than a little insult in his innocent words, but none of them say anything. That you can hear at least. Plus, he has a bit of a point, and that's probably not just your general irritation at the situation talking.
"Well," you slap him on the thigh, "Sometimes it seems that way. But it is. Usually. Most of the time."
Urgdug sits back slightly, his weight scraping the ground slightly with the motion, his doubt somewhat schooled away now. Then he blinks and leans forward again, down at you.
"What are we going to tell Natasha?"
Your hands find their way to your hips as you look up at him, eyebrow raised.
"The dwarfs made me drink some things."
"But what if-,"
"I won't die," you growl. "I'll be fine. And if it gets bad enough, I'm sure…," you wiggle your fingers beneath the faint gleam of the Light of Summer. "Right?"
"I don't think that's what it was intended for," he rubs at his multiple chins, but shrugs regardless. "It's your choice. At least Anna and Helga don't gotta do that part."
"Well, there is that. Look," you sigh, "It's not charging into a wall of blades, it's not a daemon, it…I'll be fine."
At that, he chuckles.
"If you're not, she's gonna make you regret it."
"If I'm not, she'll make the dawi regret it more," you snort, turning away to follow after Anna and Helga.
"What's she gonna say about Anna having to be naked, then?"
That makes you freeze in your step.
"Uh," you blurt. "Anna. Anna!"
It is not the most dignified exit from the conclave meeting, you chasing after your daughter as you are. As the doors begin to close shut behind you, there is another crack of a gavel before you hear the announcement of another grudge to be settled. Your sudden departure minus several engineers and Urgdug is obviously surprising, your Greatswords shifting about to cover you instinctually while Hass comes over with clear concern on his face. He even got up so quickly he nearly left his blade behind, only beginning to sweep it up and hold it against his shoulder in standard posture when he gets to you.
"Count, what is happening?"
"Solving a problem before it becomes a bigger problem," you grunt at him. "We're doing something probably stupid, but it's better than violence or owing money we can't pay."
Then you halt, and unstrap Brain Wounder.
"We're going to be naked for a bit. Hold on to that, will you?"
Captain Elric Hass opens his mouth and closes it again several times. Finally, he squeezes his eyes shut and sighs through gritted teeth. Here was a man who fought through Karak Ungor. Who had fought nightmares in the darkness beneath the surface of the world.
"No fighting?" He eventually says.
"Nope."
"Risk to yourself and the Lady Hohenzollern?"
"Nothing fatal. I might be ingesting something not meant for ingenstion."
He sighs again.
"Well, then I suppose that's the best we'll be getting."
"Yep."
It is a hard life to be a bodyguard for the Hohenzollern family.
=======================================
It is a small chamber, not quite a barracks room, not quite a foyer, simply a room set to the side. All the hallmarks of dwarf aesthetics are on full display. Stone benches. Stone artwork. Murals with harsh yet pleasing geometric designs. Rich colorings through paint and dye on the stone, accompanied by gemstones encrusted here and there. Only the three eldest and most prominent dwarf ancestor gods are represented fully here in statuary form, though markings of Morgrim are always present throughout Zhufbar. You have a feeling you are going to get even more familiar with the symbol by the end of today. But you look at none of this, and focus on something else entirely and far more horribly important.
"Have you considered-,"
"The only reason," Anna turns so suddenly that you have to force your neck to twist aside so sharply it nearly snaps, "That I am not performing the quaffing ritual as well, is because I do not have the constitution to bear it nor possession of the Light of Summer."
"I know, you were her student," you say towards the furious grimace of Valaya, "But-,"
"We both were," Helga interrupts you. "And for god's sake, man, stop acting as if this is the first time you've seen a naked woman. There's proof right there it isn't!"
All but one of the junior Reckoners left the room soon after to prepare the implements of the rituals, with the one remaining stubbornly facing the doors and away from the three stripping humans behind him. Good lad, that one. A quiet sloshing can be heard from behind you as both women wash out the grease keeping their hair from sticking upwards. Not that you don't think they couldn't use them as, perhaps, some sort of cockamamie brushes, but they'll need them washed and loose to perform part of the rituals at hand. At least the dwarfs were kind enough to provide some buckets. An hour you've been in here, wearing nothing but your pants, your blade set aside.
"It is representative of the greater symbolic relationship between Valma and all that was built with her aid," Anna shakes her head out of the corner of your eye. "I had envisioned multiple scenarios, from proposing that we cease to be acknowledged as engineers at all, possibly as entities known as 'Valmites' in the same vein as how skaven engineering is dismissed, to financial repercussions, to a duel to the death."
Leather plops onto the stone as she shucks off her boots, and thus, the last piece of clothing remaining on her now nude body. Nearby, you are somewhat sure that Helga is naked as well. The woman who would be about your mother's age now, that is, mother of one, former wife. Whose hair is white enough that she does not need to dye it as Anna or others do. You've no doubt that the two of them carry a few scars here and there, you do as well, but for the moment you have yet to remove anything below the waist save for your own boots.
"I would have, of course, requested the Light of Summer before agreeing to the latter."
"I would hope so," you say at the statue of Valaya.
"For the record, all power to you Count on that front, I'm too old to be putting something like that in my body," Helga snorts, slapping at one of her muscled thighs with the motion. "I've only got a few more years left in me anyhow."
"Oh you're too spiteful to die you old bitch," Anna says with clearly affected…affection.
You are granted salvation by the doors swinging open again and revealing another trio of younger Reckoners. In their hands they bear the implements required for the rituals, such as you can understand them. Three large lengths of chain, woven through the center of dozens of hefty looking cogs, glitter in the light of the torches and glow of the runes. Even from a glance you can tell that they have some weight to them. Rated for dwarfs, after all. The concern outweighs everything else for an instant and your risk a panicked look at Anna and Helga. Your daughter, you think, might actually manage to hold up against the weight. Beneath her leathers and engineering gear she is thoroughly muscled, perhaps even to an extent that some might find overly so. Helga, on the other hand…is older. And has never adhered to the same regime as the Hohenzollerns nor has she had access to the same recuperation resources.
"Brother Furgil, we have brought the Cogging Chains forth. Let they who are to be…expelled," the young Reckoner stumbles over his obviously rehearsed words and comes to a halt. "Er. Remove- no, no that doesn't work either."
"They're not in the guild. They're taking on the legacy of debt by another," one of the Reckoners holding the chains says, hefting them slightly in his hands. "But the ritual words say that…it's for when you're being expelled…"
"But the elders said that Valma Bronzeheart fulfilled her Slayer's Oath and-,"
"Oh for – enough of this," one speaks up from behind the three holding the chains, a brawny looking youth whose arms are so broad that the robes are pulled tight against them that pushes his way past.
Hefted over one of his shoulders is a small stone keg which sloshes ominously as he thumps it onto the ground. A band of runes glow green and red, slightly brighter as it hits the ground before dimming again. Turning around, he grabs the three by looping a hand through the chains they hold and dragging them inwards. With them no longer holding the doors closed, curious onlookers no longer have the ability to see your naked daughter and Helga.
"You'd think you'd just started your apprenticeships, for Morgrim's sake. They want to do the Cogging, they'll do it. Hell, one of the rituals is Blackbearding and I don't know if you three have noticed yet but two of 'em don't have beards," the brawny dwarf snorts, waggling a thick finger down at the three who are struggling to stand. "Just give 'em the damn chains. As for you, Count," he turns back around and kicks the keg. "You don't have to drink it all at once."
Only then does he pause at the sight of your daughter and Helga.
"Oh. Right. Women. Don't know why I thought they'd…hrmph," he blusters as he yanks the chains out of the other dwarf's hands and places them at your feet. "Er, jewelry is acceptable to retain, if that's something you'd like to keep," he then turns around again and begins haranguing the other Reckoners, including the one who was already in the room.
Very carefully, you glance at your last flask of ostka and drain the whole thing, while out of the corner of your eye you see twin vaguely defined shapes of pale flesh pass in front of you and then head back. Behind them they leave the last of the cogging chains. A loud series of clanking echoes from behind you as you finally grit your teeth and strip down entirely. All save for the Light of Summer. It isn't as if this is the first time you've been naked in a dwarf hold. Then you take the chains and lift them up around you, feeling the definite strain as you raise them up. Carefully, you stretch them out, hefting them along your shoulders. They are heavy, but they are not at weight where you would just collapse outright.
You are, after all, supposed to carry them around the entire hold after all. You've no doubt that they will grow only heavier as time goes on.
"Well Count? How do we look?" Helga chuckles from behind you, a faint bit of strain in her voice.
Breathing in deeply, you turn about…and blink, at the sight of them.
"A potentially interesting note," Anna says, shifting her weight slightly with a wild clanging of the lower hanging cogs. "But the 'Cogging Chains' were built for dwarf frames in mind, in terms of general width."
Helga releases an ugly snort laugh as she cocks her hips, the cogs covering everything important, before gesturing at herself. Both of them have woven the cogs and their chains about their bodies, from bottom and upwards, the size of the cogs and length of the chain allowing them to be practically bound almost as clothing.
"Quite the fashion statement, eh? If my husband hadn't gone and died, I bet he'd have another heart attack from seeming me dressed like this!" She cackles wildly for an instant before it cuts off abruptly, her eyes becoming shadowed at some memory or another. "Good lord I'm a grandmother," she mutters as she shoves past you, cogs clanking.
"Do not worry father," Anna grabs you by the shoulders. "Thus far I have only ever been in such a compromised state as to be concerned with my physical appearance once," she then pats you with one hand on the cheek. "And he is dead now. I feel nothing."
Then she passes by you as well. Two naked women in front of you, your eyes on the ceiling.
"Right then," the muscled dwarf turns about to face you all again. "I'll say this once. Follow these Reckoners, they'll lead you to the workshops. Follow the path they set. You will be led to the machines that have been chosen for your Blackbearding. You cannot push your way through the crowds. If there is one, you will wait as part of the punishment – whether that takes a moment or an hour to move forward. You are," he slams a fist down onto an open palm, "Lesser, for the course of the rituals. A beardling amongst beardlings, really. You wait for permission, clean what you are told to, and…so on. As for you, Count…I am the watcher of the quaffing."
You feel like there should be more emphasis on the words than he gave them, perhaps more graveness in his tone. But instead he just seems sort of tired.
"Wait," you mutter, "We're missing one."
"Trouser Legs comes last," the Reckoner says gruffly. "After the others."
Oh.
"Well, all right then."
The doors open before you, and with nary a glance back Anna advances out into the world, cogs clanking around her. The sheer movement of the damn things is going to cause bruising, if the weight of them don't do enough damage. Helga, on the other hand, gives you a jaunty wave.
"Normally, I'd be blackout drunk before doing something like this!"
But before you can leave yourself, the Reckoner stops you, gesturing down at the keg once more.
"Right. What are the rules of this?"
"Well," he hefts it up in both of his hands. "You drink until your stomach is full."
"And if I vomit it up?"
He points at another Reckoner, the one left inside the room originally in fact, who is now in possession of what looks like a keg strapped to his back and a mop.
"You're expected to try and keep it down but no one ever has," he whispers at you. "It's not like it could properly pass through your bladder anyhow…well, without your az handle falling off."
Az handle?
Oh.
Oh.
"Right, but you need to drink first. Expulsion rituals are rare enough, but most of the time the one doing the quaffing sits and drinks it all until it's gone. You, on the other hand…," he aborts a move to run his hand over his hair, the motion nearly shifting his hood enough until you can see his face. "Well, you made your choice."
"Fine, whatever, give it here," you snarl, grasping both ends of the keg and lifting it out of his grasp.
A twist of your hand opens the spigot, and liquid the same color as pitch flows into your mouth.
(Maintain: 38+Gazulite Testing(10)+Ostlander(5)=53/100)
You stumble backwards, every part of your body attempting to revolt against the actions you are currently undertaking. But you hold it, barely, some of it sloshing past your lips and down your chest. It is vile. Vile and horrific tasting, with its own entirely unique flavor. You have tasted the attempts of the cult of Gazul, as well as what they are attempting to replicate. You are of Ostland. In Jegow, the best drinks you could get were essentially bull piss. This does not…quite beat out what you may or may not have drunk in Karak Ungor. No, it cannot, it is something of pure mortal preparation after all. But by all the God's does it taste like shit. Not actually excrement, but something more like the concept of bad tasting liquids at all forced into your mouth. The chemical burn of it sliding down your throat and into your stomach is one of the more awful sensations you've ever felt outside of battle. Your fingers tremble, legs nearly buckling underneath you, but the keg is snatched back and held carefully by the Reckoner before it can smash into the stone floor.
The nausea comes immediately, while the overwhelming stench and taste seems to be burning its way into your nostrils and onto your tongue at the same time. For a moment, it is all you can do to stand there, hands on your knees. But eventually, you do. You are far from steady, but you are at least not falling over. Even if it does feel like you have a belly full of burning coals. That will have to be enough for now.
So you push forward, the Reckoner nodding at you and leading the way.
Then you are out, into the halls, a group of Greatswords nearby. Some, you can see in the distance, are already skirting the lines of the rituals by forming a vaguely protective half-shell around Anna. Captain Hass, on the other hand, remains present. His expression is, as you knew it would be, a mixture between granite stoicism and mutinous despair. He had not taken kindly to knowing that both of his main charges would be naked, Anna more than you. But, all the same, your authority was absolute.
"Right," you wheeze, belching a bit of black liquid onto the stone.
The squeak of a mop and splashing of water sounds out behind you, the younger dwarf clearly already at work cleaning up what spills you made.
"Here we go."
=============================================
(Ritual Issue Potential: 94+Neutral Support(10)+Radical Support(5)+Traditionalist Wavering(5)=114/100)
You do not see Anna or Helga immediately on your own circuit. While the cogs clank and slam against your pounding legs, you think you might have heard something of them in the distance. Or seen them. But it is hard to tell. The Cogging ritual involves going through every workshop in the hold. Zhufbar, being the bastion of the Engineering Guild of the whole of the Karaz Ankor, has a lot of these. But damn do these cogs bang against your legs as you walk. Struggle as you may to wrap them as the other two had, your frame simply doesn't accommodate you. Or at least, not in the same manner as them. Lingering amounts of shame try to rear up in your mind, but frankly, it doesn't work. The banging of the heavy cogs against your skin, the beating of your heart, it's close enough for purposeful mental readjustment.
It's just one more fight. If you can run naked next to the bloody White Dwarf and High King, then you can do this. Hell, it's their damn ritual that would be having a naked dwarf running around regardless!
Eventually, you end up winding the cog chains about your chest and arms, saving your knees from aching nearly as badly from swinging cogs.
All the while the oil in your stomach drives pain outwards in every direction.
"Right, here we are, Engineer Rangni's workshop," the Reckoner grunts as he shoves the door open ahead of you. "Maybe now I can catch a damned breath," he huffs in your direction while putting the keg back down and sitting heavily on a bench.
"It's not like," you begin saying before another pang nearly brings you to your knees, "You said there weren't any rules against running."
"Rangni!" The Reckoner calls out instead of responding to you.
It is a reasonably sized workshop, one clearly built with the intention for multiple dawi working inside. Handguns, gyrocopter parts, and a wild assortment of various devices are likely meant to be strewn about the place in a seemingly haphazard manner to casual observers. All while the owner knows where each individual item is. You know this because almost every engineer in Ostland seems to have the same tendencies. Even Anna, and, startlingly, eventually yourself during your instruction. Out of nowhere, the dwarf appears, their beard struck through with grey and small patches turning fully to white. He holds a wrench in one hand that could pop a goblin's skull, but quickly slides it into his belt when he sees who has come uninvited into his domain.
"I'm here, I'm here, no need to cause such a ruckus, now," Rangni mutters as he approaches, wringing his hands the whole way over. "Hello there, young Reckoner," he bows his head respectfully before turning to you.
And bowing at the waist.
"Ah, and…hello, Zakdrungi a Dum," he intones with remarkable respect towards a mostly naked human in his workshop. "Welcome to my workshop…"
"Yes yes," the Reckoner sniffs, "Show him to the machinery he must clean. The Blackbearding must be done."
Rangni looks over at the Reckoner who seems perfectly happy to catch his breath, then over at you.
"Ah, of course," the engineer nods.
"But first…," the Reckoner continues, hefting up the keg again and looking at you expectantly.
"Oh for…fine," you grouse, lifting it up again and putting your lips around the spigot.
(Maintain: 63+10+5=78/100)
The second one is easier than the first. But isn't that true of almost any drink? Or at least that was your initial assumption as it stabbed its way down your throat. This time, you nearly fall completely, hands hitting the ground and just keeping your knees from striking the stone. A cough escapes your lips, forcing some of the oil up through your nose which is its own unique flavor of horrifying. It spills out onto the ground, to your immense distress, but this time, finally, you feel a blazing warmth near your throat. The Light of Summer has steadily begun pulsing the longer you went on, the oil giving you the sensation of shredding your innards, but now it fully activates. The pains fade slightly from your body, not receding entirely, but enough to let you stand.
"Sorry about that," you cough again, wiping the oil on your thigh.
"You'll have to clean that," the Reckoner says, his voice somewhat apologetic.
Blinking, you look at him, then over to the mop-carrying Reckoner, who has not in fact stepped inside the workshop.
"What?"
"You're inside the workshop now, Azul," Rangni says, his voice halting uncomfortably. "The Blackbearding has begun."
Looking down, you can see the droplets and splashes here and there, and sigh.
"Well," you grunt as you lean down, pulling your beard out to its furthest length. "Least we'll definitely get the name down."
You aren't a dwarf, after all. Hell, if the damn thing is irreparable, you'll cut it off and grow another.
But…as it turns out, it is nearly the only thing you end up cleaning. For after standing, you are escorted to an irondrakes gun assembly. A weapon which fires such scorching flames should absolutely be covered in soot and grime, even after a single burst. But the materials before you are – while not sparklingly pristine – significantly cleaner than they should be. The Reckoner is the one who mentions it, even as Rangni gesture towards the device for you to clean.
"Engineer Rangni. You…are aware that when your lot was chosen for cleaning, that you were to prepare the most dirtied equipment for the ritual," he says slowly.
Rangni just shrugs at him.
"I know. I was informed almost an hour ago, you know. This is…what I have," the engineer just gestures at the gun again, then over towards some other things on the tables leaning against the wall.
"That's…well fine then," the young Reckoner says through grit teeth. "Let the Blackbearding be done."
You can't help but look at Rangni who just shrugs again…and then use your beard to clean a few nooks and crannies, scuffing more your knees as you bend than darkening your beard to any serious extent. Then you move over to a disassembled piece of forging equipment, a few specialized tools for shaping new devices, and the barrel of something called a drakegun. And you are out again, shoulders beginning to be chaffed raw by the shifting of the cogs. Moving through the thoroughfares.
Here, then, is where the greater punishment of cogging come about. Forced to stand, humiliated, naked and bearing the symbols of shame, while others can simply refuse to let you pass. As if you a particularly dumb beast who couldn't figure out how to push forward, lest you bump another with your cogs.
Save for the fact that the crowds part before you. Not like a break in the sea, or anything nearly so dramatic. Merely that as you step forward, they adjust and move slightly towards the right or left so that you are not forced to pause, that your cogs strike nothing but yourself, and that the young Reckoner seems to be growing more and more confused. You pass through a sea of dwarfs, hundreds to thousands strong, but as a barge in the river. And it is not just you. At one point, you see Anna, her hair blackened in spots here and there, outright jogging through the crowds with a cacophonous clanking from her cogs, her Reckoner practically sprinting in front of her. At another point, the elderly Helga crankily stomps her way forward, her own hair similarly spotted and her passage equally unimpaired. She seems to be suffering worse than either you or Anna, but she stubbornly continues regardless.
You are able to exchange but glances with either of them, but then you are proceeding to another workshop.
"This can't be all that you need cleaned."
"What, is my gyrobomber's bomb-bay not good enough for you beardling!?"
The white haired dwarf's bellow sends the far younger Reckoner practically skittering backwards, the behavior ingrained in the younger dawi's instincts regardless of whether or not he's wearing a red robe. Master Engineer Elmador was by far the gruffest of all those you'd encountered so far in your Blackbearding. His workshop was also one of the largest. Given the sheer length and white coloration of his beard, you wouldn't have been surprised if he was anything less than four or five centuries old.
"You know my great grandson fought in Karak Ungor," he mentions to you quietly as you finish up your work, stuffing your beard up into and scrubbing at a few points here and there on the bomb bay. "Said a charge by manling 'Bull Warriors' saved his life when some skaven burst through the lines and nearly savaged his cannon crew."
But before you can even properly respond to that, you are whisked away once more by your irritable Reckoner. With, of course, regular ingestions of the damned oil. Even with the Light of Summer flaring – and its flares grow less and less frequent as time goes on and its powers wane with strenuous usage – it hurts like every hell in existence.
(Maintain: 29+10+5=44/100)
Eventually, it's just too much for you. Running on a belly full of liquid is hard enough, but this stuff? At one point, forced to take yet another drink, you vomit your guts out. It is a monstrous black tide that comes roaring out of your guts onto the floor, practically coating everything from the knees down in the stuff. The stomach ache is the worst you've ever had, but at the least you've had far worse actual injuries that rather mute its effect on you. The same cannot be said for your mouth. Every breath you suck down tastes of the oil, every movement of your numbing tongue feels wrong in your mouth. You've no doubt your teeth are stained black as well. Something else to deal with after this is over. The next drink barely even makes it down to your stomach before coming right back out again. The poor Reckoner with the mop and keg of water doesn't even start working, just staring at you as you continue going. Eventually, the tide passes, and you move on again, leaving black footprints behind you as you move up and down the hold.
From one workshop to the next, you go. Cleaning somewhat, your beard darkening slightly with every destination, but nothing truly grievous. On, and on it goes. Time stretches out. And as it does, you see more and more dwarfs talking to themselves. Hearing snatches of conversation here and there, your ability to understand Khazalid remaining perfectly functional unlike your tongue. And there is anger. Anger not necessarily at you, but that you have to be doing this at all. That a human should partake in such a ritual is unheard of, and offensive to some. The reasons behind it angering to others. You hear your name spoken as well in hushed tones, while the names of the Yadri, Skalf, Dwinbar, and Fimbur are spoken of as well. In…less soft tones.
You aren't an idiot. Even with the worst bellyache in existence, a heavy chain of cogs around you, and being naked doesn't keep you from being capable of critical thought. A number of dwarfs are not happy that you are having to do this, and word has spread. It is not so much that you are being granted purposeful leniency to make things somehow easier on you. But rather that those who are set to punish you find that the punishments put down are less than they might have otherwise been. None of them are stupid enough to leave their cleaning rags around, or to keep their exhausted looking beardling assistants present, but you can just tell when something has already been somewhat cleaned before you got there. That, and the crowds allowing you through regardless?
A certain four dwarf engineers have miscalculated, it seems.
As night comes to a close, you, Anna, and Helga end up in the same place for once. You've definitely run across all the workshops by now, and done what comparatively little cleaning was actually demanded of you. Instead, you were taken off to some back room or another through a series of very twisty passages. It is a pleasant little seating area, you suppose, there are no ancestors grimacing down at you while the area itself is well lit by runes and dutifully kept torches. Just the one passage leading back the way you came…and a large black stone doorway. With its own little compliment of runes inscribed along surface. Behind you, the 'watcher of the quaffing' or whatever the proper title might be lugs the now nearly empty keg with him. Helga and Anna, for their part, are resting on some stone benches near the doors, clearly luxuriating in the ability to relax. Well, Helga is, the bruises across her body are many. Anna, on the other hand, seems as unnaturally serene as ever. More importantly, viciously so for your neck, is that the cog chains have been removed from them.
Meaning that you are now staring at the ceiling as you feel the cogs lifted from you as well.
"I'll be taking that last drink now, Reckoner," you adjust yourself so that you are seated and facing away.
By now, as with most drinks, it is old hat. It passes down, you vomit it up, it gets cleaned, and the matter is dealt with.
"And with the last of the oil passing your lips, the Quaffing is done," the Reckoner clearly goes for a serious and grave sort of tone, but he's just too tired to manage it properly. "Even if...it passed right back out."
"And good riddance," you sputter as you hand him back the empty keg.
The Reckoner looks you up and down, at his keg, and then sighs as he leans up to take the cogging chain away from you as well.
"Right. I'm leaving," he mutters. "S'not even a proper ritual anyway, not a dwarf," his voice slowly disappears along with him around the corner. "S'fine, who wants to be the watcher anyway, could just lug around cog chains all day instead…"
Then you are left alone with Helga and Anna in this strange out of the way antechamber. And the Greatswords, though there's only twenty of them.
"Hell, I thought my old mane would be stained black by the end of this from root to tip," Helga says into the silence. "But they only had some secondary gear for me to clean for the most part."
"I believe I experienced this phenomenon you speak of as well," Anna adds. "Father, how was the quaffing?"
Blearily, you glance halfway in her direction before shaking your head and returning to look at the ceiling. At some point you laid down on it, though you can't precisely tell when that was.
"Well, I never felt like I was going to die, but the Light of Summer had to go into action a few times," you say wearily.
To be honest, the nice cold floor is a welcome change. You've been sweating all day, and are feeling generally miserable about the stomach. They weren't lying on how long the bellyache would last. But if they truly have somehow completely killed off your tongue, which you would hope not, you might need to visit the Jade Wizards and see if something can't be done. Because right now? It's awful.
You only get to contemplate the removal of your tongue for a minute before the doors are opening again.
This time, it is no junior Reckoner, keg carrying or otherwise, who emerges. It is the three from before.
"It is time…for the Trouser Legs Ritual," their leader says, arms folded within his robes. "You have felt the total humiliation of using your beard…or plaits…as a cleaning implement. Suffered the terrible aches and pains of quaffing, to remember it for all time hence. Been subjected to the judgement of all in your barest form, save for the cogs you bore as weight of the grudge given physical form."
Now this one, this one manages to get the grave tone right.
"I am sixty-two years old, and I've had a rough day," Helga growls as Anna helps her upright. "Let's do this."
"I believe I am similarly prepared," Anna says as she stands, "Though I am significantly younger."
"Rub it in, why don't you," Helga mutters from her side. "Speaking of, when do I get to wear my clothes again? My feet are freezing!"
"A question I'd like answered as well," you say as you approach, cracking your neck slightly as you come forward.
"After this, the final ritual," the Reckoner says firmly, before turning and gesturing into the darkness of the chamber beyond. "Come. We must witness the ritual first-hand."
All three Ostlanders share a glance before simultaneously shrugging – though Anna's timing is off slightly as she makes to copy your own emotive gesture a half second after you did your own.
"Fine, let's get this over with."
And the three of you enter, the Reckoners coming behind you as the doors come slamming shut.
==================================
"We'll never speak of this again," Helga growls as she pulls her pants off of her head, practically breaking her shoulder as she shoves the doors open to let more light into the chamber. "Never, you hear me?"
"I found the dancing portion intriguing, when we were made to-,"
"No, Anna," you put your hand over your daughter's mouth, "I'm with Helga on this one. We're not going to talk about it."
Despite you hoisting one of your eldest children as if she were nothing more than a log beneath your arm, Anna does not look perturbed in the slightest.
"We swore no oaths of secrecy on this to the dawi, I do not see-,"
"How about an oath between the three of us," Helga interrupts.
Somewhere in the now closed room behind you, you know the Reckoners are likely still laughing. Of course, that would be the point, wouldn't it? You're practically made a pariah with cogging, while Blackbearding is a personal pride issue, while Quaffing is a personal health issue. But none of it involved that sort of ridiculousness you just had to do. Nothing. You can easily understand how some forced to undertake such things might become slayers or the like.
Helga, meanwhile, writhes her arms about in wild whirling motions to get her boots off of her hands, the poor things slapping against the walls where they strike and fall.
"If…that is what you think should be done," Anna manages to sound doubtful, a remarkable amount of effort.
"Yep. No one is talking about it. Ever again," you snarl, putting her down and readjusting your own clothing.
Meanwhile, all twenty of your Greatswords stare at the completely confused state of their principals.
"Uh, Count," Captain Hass begins before you thrust a hand in his face.
"No, Elric. Not right now. Not ever. Just get us back to our rooms so we can bloody sleep and leave this place."
============================================
"You…are certainly as interesting an individual as the tales say," King Ulther says in a dry tone. "Never has any of the rituals of expulsion been performed…quite like that."
"I assume so, oh King," you bow slightly, now safely once more inside of a suit of armor.
Anna is currently dressed fully as well, though in the night you placed the Light of Summer around her neck for a few hours while you prepared for the rest of the day. Helga, on the other hand, drank half a barrel of beer and passed out, not waking up since. You aren't worried, yet, but she is very much older and less hale than you. There is absolutely no sign of your previous distress within the throne room. Your beard is cleaned, Anna's hair returned to form, a hefty number of your Greatswords present, and Brain Wounder in its sheathe.
"Hmm. Well, I'm sure the Guildmaster would have loved to tell you himself but he's already moved on to a few new projects," Ulther sighs, fist rising to prop up his chin as he gazes down at you from his throne. "The grudge is well and truly settled now. And yet now I hear tell that you are preparing to leave, without experiencing true Zhufbaren hospitality?"
You cannot help but shrug.
"Just as the Guildmaster has his own business, we have ours. We must return to Ostland and prepare – my wife has been most…insistent on things like this. I apologize profusely, of course."
"No no," he waves off the potential diplomatic issue with seeming ease. "I understand – the throng cannot remain too distant from the hold for long. If that is the case, then I wish you luck and safety in your travels back home."
"Thank you, King Ulther," you bow deeper before turning about.
"You may be interested to know…," Ulther calls out as you begin to exit, causing you to turn slightly.
"Your grace?"
"Two of my Master Engineers have left for Karak Kadrin," he grunts, shifting in his seat to loom a bit more than before. "Apparently they could not bear the weight of disapproval from their peers for perceived misdeeds."
Hmm. Perhaps he didn't care too much about the hospitality part, if that is the case. Even so…
"Ah, well," you turn back to face him fully, and shrug again. "May they find absolution in glorious dooms."
Then you turn and leave, more than ready to head back home.
Conclave of Zhufbar Completed
- Issues of Ostland Engineers vs. Guild of Engineering concluded decisively.
- Two of Engineers Responsible Becoming Slayers.
- All Four Rituals of Expulsion Performed By Frederick, Three By Anna/Helga.
- Prestige Rises/Falls Equally Due to Inherent Humiliation In Actions/Respect Gained For Audacity/Dwarf Culture/Previous Prestige and Networking Changing Outlooks On Actions/Etc. No Change.
- Grudge Settled By Engineering Guild Conclusively.
- Example Set Removes Toolmaker's Guild concerns.
- As a result, Dwarf Trade returns to form, +200 Dwarf Trade.
- Certain Portions of Dwarf Relations +1 Realmwide.
- Slight increase in dwarf engineers coming to Ostland school due to favorable impressions with Radicals and certain Neutrals.
Last edited:
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
Oh that was fantastic!
- Location
- Somewhere
If I'm not wrong, that would put Freddy at 10/10 with Karaz Ankor in less than 25 years.
That is a big deal.
Last edited:
- Location
- Madness realms
Glad we dealt with the Dwarfs cultural bullshit, and have no need to fear anything like that again.
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
Well glad that's over and done with.
Hopefully we also got a few looks at things while we were working.
Still I did love the images of the increasingly exasperated reckoners panting to stay ahead of these idiotically tall and active umgi.
Hopefully we also got a few looks at things while we were working.
Still I did love the images of the increasingly exasperated reckoners panting to stay ahead of these idiotically tall and active umgi.
- Location
- Somewhere
edit: Nevermind, I just realized other humans learning about the outcome of this grudge, and the fact the grudge existed, are unlikely.
Last edited:
Its not like we do this on purpose!
Unfortunate loss, but well...they asked for it
- Location
- Somewhere
Wasn't that more a result of the 94 than anything we did?
Massgamer
Advance toward the Future
- Location
- The Future
Don't beat yourself up torroar, was a great update!
Makes sense one of rituals would be of total embarrassment.
I have no doubt though this will likely get to Nat somehow despite all agreeing to keep it secret, she is that good at getting people to talk. She will happily tease Freddy about this forever.
Shame about loss of skilled dwarfs but they brought it on themselves in the end.
All this good, we have thoroughly ground this problem down and will not come up again unless we intentionally try to piss dwarfs off which would be stupid on our part.
Evaunit02mark1
S-s-smell the Prey, S-s-start the Hunt.
The 94 certainly didn't hurt, but the main killer was our decision to do all 4 of the expulsion rituals at once. More importantly we decided to do it, as in Frederick The Dwarf Friend to the High King and Josef Bugman, The Manling that saved the Book of Grudges, led the Slayer King to a Doom unrivaled, that helped reclaim the oldest and most valuable of lost holds, that made Josef fucking Bugman start brewing and teaching others how to brew as he does, that has bled and sacrificed time and time again for dawi and asked for nothing in return save for aid against his own share of troubles, if that.
And we did this while speaking their secret language with the accent that only comes from Kings speaking it.
It isn't so much that we rolled a 94 as that they rolled a 1 when they decided to take a straightforward cultural issue that could be solved civilly, get personal, and put their dog in this fight.
Last edited:
- Location
- Somewhere
But, if we had a nat 1 replace that 94. I doubt the 4 dwarf master engineers would lose 2 dwarfs to the slayer oath. So, everything looks mediocre in my eyes compared to the 94.
This also may have been the most civil way the 4 behind this could come at us. They just picked a time that was best for them to deal with things. People don't like talking to those who have a conflicting hate boner.
Thors_Alumni
Proud member of Thors Class VII from Liberl
- Location
- Liberl Zemuria.
Soo how badly will the dwarven engineers suffer because of their bullshit?
Aramis
An unwilling witness
- Location
- Who cares?
Did you not read that two made Slayer Oaths because they faced so much disapproval? Karma has been paid for what they did to Valma, whose memory we get to preserve. Besides, we need the dwarves as strong as they can be, and hurting the guilds would really not help them at all.
Last edited:
Evaunit02mark1
S-s-smell the Prey, S-s-start the Hunt.
That's just it though, it might have been the most civil way to attack us, but it was stupid to make it into an attack in the first place. If it was just the issue of dwarf works being potentially stolen, all we would have to do is prove that we can come up with similar shit on our own to show that yes she might have pointed us in the right direction, but we're the ones that did the walking afterwards.
They turned it into a vindictive witch hunt after a witch that already decided to burn herself to regain her honor and who did that rather fucking well in my personal opinion. That's why it hit them so hard when we flipped it around during the trial, it showed that this wasn't a grudge for the good of dawi but a personal grudge that they dredged up, dressed up, and decided to use the Reckoners to solve for them.
They've made Traditionalists look bad in the eyes of other dawi (as much as such a thing can even happen at any rate) and when the High King hears about this he's going to want some answers. He won't angrily demand it, but he will be insistent in his questioning, which is even worse.
For the engineers as a whole, I doubt very much is going to happen, well besides a lot of radicals thumping their noses subtly at the old guard (very very subtly mind you), and some of the old guard being more crotchety and annoyed at the dwai that made this happen.
That's the whole reason those two took the Slayer oath, their peers, fellow Master Engineers started to look at them with either genuine confusion, pity, or possibly even disdain over their actions. They made themselves look bad, worse they made themselves look petty which in dawi society is pretty fucking hard to accomplish.
- Location
- Pennsylvania
The fluffy milk horse yet lives! yay! 
Well we didn't manage to keep the black goop down but eh whatever. Once again light of summer is MVP for helping us get through this shit. I'm pretty sure our wizards can fix our sense of taste no problem. Watch as Freddy gets a new title of black tooth cause of our teeth being stained by that gunk.
Also bwahahaha! Our high roll not only got two of those guys turned into slayers but, upped our rep and made the expulsion ritual SIGNIFICANTLY easier! :lol
Now back to our regularly scheduled build up in preparation for the Waaagh!
Well we didn't manage to keep the black goop down but eh whatever. Once again light of summer is MVP for helping us get through this shit. I'm pretty sure our wizards can fix our sense of taste no problem. Watch as Freddy gets a new title of black tooth cause of our teeth being stained by that gunk.
Also bwahahaha! Our high roll not only got two of those guys turned into slayers but, upped our rep and made the expulsion ritual SIGNIFICANTLY easier! :lol
Now back to our regularly scheduled build up in preparation for the Waaagh!