Came from India anyway, and then soaked in with syncreticism with Taoist practicesIs there buddhisism in Cathay? Buddha is already considered a god ( or god-like). I'd imagine he'd be OP in WHF smiting down demons all willy nilly
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 (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
NCRTrooper
Wishing For A Nuclear Winter
- Location
- New York
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I don't know if GW ever explicitly said that they wouldn't, but it is obvious that they probably had no intention of making the non Old World human nations playable, given that the amount of attention and information given about said nations was next to nonexistent, and as others mentioned, badly researched and stereotypical.
SaltyWaffles
I am dissapoint, son
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Isn't it that vampires can't use the Lore of Light, not the Lore of Life? Vampires aren't quite Undead--indeed, you can only make a vampire from someone who is alive. It just does very funky stuff to their souls, tying their souls directly to their bodies irrevocably (and, in a sense, unnaturally).
The Lore of Life isn't inimical to vampires, just like the Lore of Life isn't super-effective against undead--the Lore of Light is. It makes more sense to me that the reason the Lore of Light is inimical to vampires and undead is that they're fundamentally unnatural in terms of how their souls work. Undead are basically animated by dark magic (and may not have souls at all, like skeleton warriors), while vampires have their souls tied directly and absolutely to their bodies, and daemons are basically concentrated warp-stuff.
Mopman43
Mountain-Hermit of Nitpeak
- Location
- Vermont
As far as I'm aware, it's Life.
Blackout
Fed By Comments
- Location
- Who knows?
As far as the Eight Edition armybook says, even with the Forbidden Lore upgrade vampires cannot use the Lore of Life (but can use Lore of Light).
It extends into 7th Edition as well. And then in 6th, even Necrarchs, the wizardiest of vampires, only real have 'hey you can use even more necromancy than the others' as their magic boost. It's weird.
I don't really fully disagree with Salty, either. As I ponder the matter more, I might change things, but for now, that's just how it is.
I don't really fully disagree with Salty, either. As I ponder the matter more, I might change things, but for now, that's just how it is.
- Location
- Pennsylvania
Speaking of vampires...
I just finished Drachenfels and now I'm seriously confused. Why do all the wikis say Genevieve channeled Sigmar? That's not what happened! Genevieve saw her mortal lover in danger and went full vamp blood rage on Drachenfels. Then her boy toy Detlef got away for a minute grabbed a sledgehammer and came back swinging. It was Detlef who did the divine channeling and ultimately finished off Drachenfels. Just to prove I'm not talking out of my ass here's the verbatim events of the final battle copied here:
...Behind the monster's mask, evil eyes glowed. Then Genevieve jumped.
X
Three times before had the killing frenzy fallen upon her. She always regretted it, feeling herself no better than Wietzak or Kattarin or all those other Truly Dead tyrants as she wiped the innocent blood from her face. The faces of her dead sometimes bothered her, as the face of Drachenfels had been tormenting her dreams these last few years. This time, however, there would be no regrets. This was the righteous killing for which she had been made, the killing that would pay back all those whose lives she had sapped. Her muscles corded, her blood took fire, and the red haze came over her vision. She saw through blood-filled eyes.
Detlef hung from Drachenfels' fist, screaming like a man on the rack. Oswald—smiling, treacherous, thrice-damned Oswald—had his knife in Karl-Franz's throat. These things she would not tolerate.
Her teeth pained her as they grew, and her fingers bled as the nails sprouted like talons. Her mouth gaped as the sharp ivory spears split her gums. Her face became a flesh-mask, the thick skin pulled tight, a mirthless grin exposing her knife-like fangs. The primitive part of her brain—the vampire part of her, the legacy of Chandagnac—took over, and she leaped at her enemy, the killing fury building in her like a passion. There was love in it, and hate, and despair, and joy. And there would be death at the end.
Drachenfels was knocked off balance but stayed upright. Detlef was thrown away, landing in a heap.
Genevieve fastened her legs about the monster's midriff, and sank her claws into his padded shoulders. Strips of Lowenstein's stage costume fell away, disclosing the festering meat beneath. Worms crawled through his body, twining around her fingers as she dug through his flesh to get a snapping grip on his bones. She had no distaste for this thing now, just a need to kill.
There was pandemonium in the audience. Oswald was shouting. So was everyone else. People were trying to escape, fighting each other. Others stood calm, waiting for their chance. Several elderly dignitaries were in the throes of heart seizures.
Genevieve pulled a hand from the monster's opened shoulder and • tore at Drachenfels' mask. The leather straps parted under her knife-sharp nails and the iron plates buckled. It came free and she hurled it away. There were screams from the audience. She avoided looking him in the face. She retained that much rationality. She wasn't interested in exposing his face anyway. She just needed to get the iron guard away from his neck.
Her mouth opened wide, her jawbone dislocating itself as new rows of teeth slid out of their sheaths, then snapped shut. She bit deep into the monster's neck.
She sucked, but there was no blood. Dirt choked her throat, but . she still sucked. The foulest, most rancid, most rotten taste she had ever known filled her mouth and soaked through to her stomach. The taste burned like acid, and her body tried in vain to reject it. She felt herself withering as the bane spread.
Still, she sucked.
The scream began as Lowenstein's last gasp, then grew in sound and fury. Her eardrums coursed with pain. Her skeleton shook inside her body. She felt mighty blows on her ribs. The scream was like a hurricane, blasting all in its path.
A stale trickle flowed into her mouth. It was more disgusting than the dry flesh.
She bit away the mouthful she had been working on, and spat it out, then sunk her teeth in again, higher this time. The Great Enchanter's ear came away, and she swallowed it. She scraped a patch
of grey meat away from the side of his skull, exposing the cranial seams. Clear yellow fluid seeped through between the bony plates. She extended her tongue to lick it up.
A hand covered her face, and pushed her back. Her neck strained, near to snapping point. She bit through the thick glove, but couldn't lodge her teeth in his palm. Another hand gripped her waist. Her legs unwound from Drachenfels.
The killing frenzy ebbed, and she felt her vampire teeth receding. Convulsing, she vomited the ear she had eaten, and it stuck to the hand over her mouth.
She felt death touching her again. Chandagnac was waiting for her, and all the others she had outlived in her time.
Drachenfels tore her clothes, baring her veins. Her blood, the blood she had renewed so many times, would make him whole again.
By her death, she would resurrect him.
XI
Detlef was still alive. Half of his body was numb with shock, and the other half crawling with pain. But he was still alive.
Drachenfels' scream filled the hall, pounding like nails into everyone's heads. Stones were shaken loose from the walls by the noise, and fell on members of the audience. Every pane of glass in every window shattered at once. Old people died and young people were driven mad.
Detlef got to his knees, and crawled away.
Genevieve had sacrificed herself for him. He would live, at least for the moment, and she would die in his stead.
He could not allow that.
On his feet, stumbling, he knocked over a section of scenery. The person who had been hiding behind it—Kosinski—fled. Ropes fell around Detlef, and weights from above. Flats collapsed, buckling upon each other. A lantern fell, and a ring of burning oil spread from it.
He had lost his sword. He needed a weapon.
Leaning against the wall was a sledge-hammer. Kosinski had hefted it when the scenery was being put together. It should have been packed away. It was dangerous where it was. Someone could easily trip over it on their way backstage. Detlef had fired people for less.
This time, if he lived, he would treble Kosinski's salary and cast the brute in romantic leads if he wanted it...
Detlef picked up the hammer. His wrists hurt with the weight of it, and his wounded shoulder flared with pain.
It was just an ordinary hammer.
But it was no ordinary strength which flooded from it into Detlef's body.
As he raised the hammer to strike, Detlef imagined a slight glow about it, as if gold were mixed
with the lead.
"In the name of Sigmar!" he swore.
His pains vanished, and his blow connected.
XII
Drachenfels took the full force of the swing in the small of his back. He held Genevieve to him, unwilling to give up the blood that would revivify him.
Detlef Sierck swung round with his blow, and faced the Great Enchanter.
Drachenfels saw the shining hammer in his hands, and knew a moment of fear. He didn't dare say the name that came to him.
Long ago, he stood at the head of his defeated goblin horde, humbled by the wild-eyed, blonde- bearded giant who held his hammer high in victory. His magics deserted him, and his body rotted as the hammer blows connected. It had taken a thousand years to claw his way back to full life.
The light that shone in Detlef's eyes was not the light of genius, it was the light of Sigmar.
The human tribes of the north-east and all the hordes of the dwarfs had rallied to that hammer. For the first time, Drachenfels had been bested in battle. Sigmar Heldenhammer had stood over him, his boot on the Great Enchanter's face, and ground him into the mud.
Genevieve struggled free of him, and darted away. Another blow fell, on the exposed plates of his skull.
Deep inside Constant Drachenfels, Laszlo Lowenstein floundered in death. And Erzbet, Rudi, Menesh and Anton Veidt. And the others, the many thousand others.
Detlef jabbed with the hammer, using it like a staff, and Drachenfels felt his nose cave inwards.
Erzbet's heart burst, flooding bile into his chest. Rudi's fat turned liquid and gushed down into the cavity of his stomach. Menesh's skin split and sloughed off him in swathes. Veidt's bones cracked. Drachenfels was betrayed by his kills.
Waiting in the wings, Drachenfels saw the monk-robed figures. That semi-human ape tribesman would be there, and the thousands upon thousands who had followed him into death.
Detlef, paint streaming from his face, berserker foam in his mouth, swung his hammer.
Lowenstein's thin body stood alone in the ruin that would have been the Great Enchanter. Drachenfels cried out again, feebly this time.
"Sigmar," he bleated, "have mercy..."
The hammerblows landed. The skull cracked open like an egg. Drachenfels collapsed, and the blows continued to come.
It had been cold on the plains, and he had been left behind to die, too sickly to be supported by the tribe. The other man, the first kill, had chanced by and he had fought to take the life from him. He had won, but now... fifteen thousand years later... he knew he had lost after all. He had only held off death for a few moments in the span of eternity.
For the last time, the life went out of him.
X
Three times before had the killing frenzy fallen upon her. She always regretted it, feeling herself no better than Wietzak or Kattarin or all those other Truly Dead tyrants as she wiped the innocent blood from her face. The faces of her dead sometimes bothered her, as the face of Drachenfels had been tormenting her dreams these last few years. This time, however, there would be no regrets. This was the righteous killing for which she had been made, the killing that would pay back all those whose lives she had sapped. Her muscles corded, her blood took fire, and the red haze came over her vision. She saw through blood-filled eyes.
Detlef hung from Drachenfels' fist, screaming like a man on the rack. Oswald—smiling, treacherous, thrice-damned Oswald—had his knife in Karl-Franz's throat. These things she would not tolerate.
Her teeth pained her as they grew, and her fingers bled as the nails sprouted like talons. Her mouth gaped as the sharp ivory spears split her gums. Her face became a flesh-mask, the thick skin pulled tight, a mirthless grin exposing her knife-like fangs. The primitive part of her brain—the vampire part of her, the legacy of Chandagnac—took over, and she leaped at her enemy, the killing fury building in her like a passion. There was love in it, and hate, and despair, and joy. And there would be death at the end.
Drachenfels was knocked off balance but stayed upright. Detlef was thrown away, landing in a heap.
Genevieve fastened her legs about the monster's midriff, and sank her claws into his padded shoulders. Strips of Lowenstein's stage costume fell away, disclosing the festering meat beneath. Worms crawled through his body, twining around her fingers as she dug through his flesh to get a snapping grip on his bones. She had no distaste for this thing now, just a need to kill.
There was pandemonium in the audience. Oswald was shouting. So was everyone else. People were trying to escape, fighting each other. Others stood calm, waiting for their chance. Several elderly dignitaries were in the throes of heart seizures.
Genevieve pulled a hand from the monster's opened shoulder and • tore at Drachenfels' mask. The leather straps parted under her knife-sharp nails and the iron plates buckled. It came free and she hurled it away. There were screams from the audience. She avoided looking him in the face. She retained that much rationality. She wasn't interested in exposing his face anyway. She just needed to get the iron guard away from his neck.
Her mouth opened wide, her jawbone dislocating itself as new rows of teeth slid out of their sheaths, then snapped shut. She bit deep into the monster's neck.
She sucked, but there was no blood. Dirt choked her throat, but . she still sucked. The foulest, most rancid, most rotten taste she had ever known filled her mouth and soaked through to her stomach. The taste burned like acid, and her body tried in vain to reject it. She felt herself withering as the bane spread.
Still, she sucked.
The scream began as Lowenstein's last gasp, then grew in sound and fury. Her eardrums coursed with pain. Her skeleton shook inside her body. She felt mighty blows on her ribs. The scream was like a hurricane, blasting all in its path.
A stale trickle flowed into her mouth. It was more disgusting than the dry flesh.
She bit away the mouthful she had been working on, and spat it out, then sunk her teeth in again, higher this time. The Great Enchanter's ear came away, and she swallowed it. She scraped a patch
of grey meat away from the side of his skull, exposing the cranial seams. Clear yellow fluid seeped through between the bony plates. She extended her tongue to lick it up.
A hand covered her face, and pushed her back. Her neck strained, near to snapping point. She bit through the thick glove, but couldn't lodge her teeth in his palm. Another hand gripped her waist. Her legs unwound from Drachenfels.
The killing frenzy ebbed, and she felt her vampire teeth receding. Convulsing, she vomited the ear she had eaten, and it stuck to the hand over her mouth.
She felt death touching her again. Chandagnac was waiting for her, and all the others she had outlived in her time.
Drachenfels tore her clothes, baring her veins. Her blood, the blood she had renewed so many times, would make him whole again.
By her death, she would resurrect him.
XI
Detlef was still alive. Half of his body was numb with shock, and the other half crawling with pain. But he was still alive.
Drachenfels' scream filled the hall, pounding like nails into everyone's heads. Stones were shaken loose from the walls by the noise, and fell on members of the audience. Every pane of glass in every window shattered at once. Old people died and young people were driven mad.
Detlef got to his knees, and crawled away.
Genevieve had sacrificed herself for him. He would live, at least for the moment, and she would die in his stead.
He could not allow that.
On his feet, stumbling, he knocked over a section of scenery. The person who had been hiding behind it—Kosinski—fled. Ropes fell around Detlef, and weights from above. Flats collapsed, buckling upon each other. A lantern fell, and a ring of burning oil spread from it.
He had lost his sword. He needed a weapon.
Leaning against the wall was a sledge-hammer. Kosinski had hefted it when the scenery was being put together. It should have been packed away. It was dangerous where it was. Someone could easily trip over it on their way backstage. Detlef had fired people for less.
This time, if he lived, he would treble Kosinski's salary and cast the brute in romantic leads if he wanted it...
Detlef picked up the hammer. His wrists hurt with the weight of it, and his wounded shoulder flared with pain.
It was just an ordinary hammer.
But it was no ordinary strength which flooded from it into Detlef's body.
As he raised the hammer to strike, Detlef imagined a slight glow about it, as if gold were mixed
with the lead.
"In the name of Sigmar!" he swore.
His pains vanished, and his blow connected.
XII
Drachenfels took the full force of the swing in the small of his back. He held Genevieve to him, unwilling to give up the blood that would revivify him.
Detlef Sierck swung round with his blow, and faced the Great Enchanter.
Drachenfels saw the shining hammer in his hands, and knew a moment of fear. He didn't dare say the name that came to him.
Long ago, he stood at the head of his defeated goblin horde, humbled by the wild-eyed, blonde- bearded giant who held his hammer high in victory. His magics deserted him, and his body rotted as the hammer blows connected. It had taken a thousand years to claw his way back to full life.
The light that shone in Detlef's eyes was not the light of genius, it was the light of Sigmar.
The human tribes of the north-east and all the hordes of the dwarfs had rallied to that hammer. For the first time, Drachenfels had been bested in battle. Sigmar Heldenhammer had stood over him, his boot on the Great Enchanter's face, and ground him into the mud.
Genevieve struggled free of him, and darted away. Another blow fell, on the exposed plates of his skull.
Deep inside Constant Drachenfels, Laszlo Lowenstein floundered in death. And Erzbet, Rudi, Menesh and Anton Veidt. And the others, the many thousand others.
Detlef jabbed with the hammer, using it like a staff, and Drachenfels felt his nose cave inwards.
Erzbet's heart burst, flooding bile into his chest. Rudi's fat turned liquid and gushed down into the cavity of his stomach. Menesh's skin split and sloughed off him in swathes. Veidt's bones cracked. Drachenfels was betrayed by his kills.
Waiting in the wings, Drachenfels saw the monk-robed figures. That semi-human ape tribesman would be there, and the thousands upon thousands who had followed him into death.
Detlef, paint streaming from his face, berserker foam in his mouth, swung his hammer.
Lowenstein's thin body stood alone in the ruin that would have been the Great Enchanter. Drachenfels cried out again, feebly this time.
"Sigmar," he bleated, "have mercy..."
The hammerblows landed. The skull cracked open like an egg. Drachenfels collapsed, and the blows continued to come.
It had been cold on the plains, and he had been left behind to die, too sickly to be supported by the tribe. The other man, the first kill, had chanced by and he had fought to take the life from him. He had won, but now... fifteen thousand years later... he knew he had lost after all. He had only held off death for a few moments in the span of eternity.
For the last time, the life went out of him.
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Maybe they wanted to give some vampires Lore of Light so tabletobbers could use mages easier in UD vs UD matches?
Well shit dude, I'm not exactly sure what I'm supposed to do now. I never had the book, so...great. Awesome. Awesome to the max. So I guess Genevieve can't do anything like that, so Magnus and the GT kill her, and Johanna dies, and two critical members of the final group who went up against Zacharias are gone. Johanna's not a vampire, so her father doesn't see her status as a desecrated corpse, so...basically massive portions of the past portions of the quest are apparently impossible now. Wonderful.
I'm going to need some time, here.
Annatar
Lord of Gifts
- Location
- Pittsburgh
- Pronouns
- He/Him/They/Them
I'm going to be honest Tor, it's been literal years both in and out of quest, at this point it's just another point of divergence. I mean you've already gone AU with the handling of matters like Laurelorn and pretty much all of the Far East, why should this bit matter? It's not entirely unreasonable that maybe rather than going full Vampire Bloodlust, instead Sigmar creeped in with help from her boytoy and allowed her to use his power for righteous smiting. Then decided to let her keep it as a testament to her own character regardless of being a vampire.
Just as well, as far as I know Sigmar himself doesn't have beef with Vamps specifically, but rather necromancy in general. And since Genevieve never did any of that, her only obstacle to being just like everyone else is her own forced conversion to vampirism. For all his faults I don't think Sigmar would hold that against her.
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- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
I'm with @Annatar . This works better as a point of departure than as anything else.
Thors_Alumni
Proud member of Thors Class VII from Liberl
- Location
- Liberl Zemuria.
Just chalk it up to UA divergence stuff Torroar and leave it at that. Besides its been years OOC and decades IC since that happened. So please don't put yourself in a position where you think you need to make massive changes to the thread that are really not needed to be frank.
- Location
- Somewhere
Torroar can't retcon Genevive for this quest anyway, because Genevive being accepted by Sigmar was a plot reason for Freddy to survive colluding with a vampire and telling Sigmar's head priest and the man chosen by the gods he colluded with an enemy of man/faith. Also Genevive wouldn't be in Ostland if Sigmar didn't send her.
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- Location
- Underground
If she wouldn't have been in Ostland then no mini inquisition by Magnus and GT to be had anyway.
But this is an AU where Genevieve actually is blessed by Sigmar and I'm fine with that. Sigmar can bless whomever he likes.
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
Yeah. I'm pretty sure Genevieve wouldn't have done something that would risk outing herself as a vampire among multiple armies of trigger-happy vampire hunters without something besides her naturally sunny disposition to convince people she's That One Good Vampire. If she couldn't channel Sigmar, she'd be pretty stupid to go at all.
- Location
- Pennsylvania
...I really hope I didn't just torpedo another quest I enjoy like I inadvertently did with that Nehekharan quest. I'm sorry @torroar I didn't mean to ruin this quest too. I honestly believed that thing about Genevieve being blessed by Sigmar too...but as far as I can tell that was a fan invention popularized by 1d4chan same as that thing where they mention that traitorous prick Oswald as having survived the poison feast (he couldn't have, according to the 1st ed Warhammer RPG supplement Emperor Carolus and the poison feast of Drachenfels happened in 1907 IC).
...maybe they mention Sigmar's blessing in the other Genevieve books? I will have to read through them. If all else fails just handwave the whole matter away with a retcon (maybe the cult of Sigmar covered up the matter) or have her channel some other deity's power like the lady of the lake. She did once empower some undead before...albeit accidentally. That old Warhammer computer game mentioned some Black Grail knights of Mousillon. They were knights who had drank from the Grail and then perished in battle only to be resurrected by an ally of Nagash who had been freed from some magic imprisonment at the start of the game.
So...maybe change it so Genevieve channeled the lady of the lake and/or used some Kung fu/magic bs to free Freddy from Solkan's illusion. Then maybe have Sigmar step in and speak on her behalf through the Theogonist...
Then again maybe instead of trying to salvage the mess I made it's just better if I unfollow you lest I rain on everyone's parade again in some other way.
- Location
- United States
Please don't worry about it https://forums.sufficientvelocity.com/members/torroar.328/, it would be to much work for yourself, and as the GM it is fully within your power to ignore a piece of lore that doesn't fit with the story you've told. Especially if it means you would have to retcon several years worth of content.
- Location
- Germany
The way I see it, it's not really about what Genevieve can or can't do. It was Sigmar who blessed her in this quest, and he is a god and can do whatever he pleases; and if he decides to channel his power through a vampire, then that's what will happen.
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- Location
- Pennsylvania
He's right, gods and stupidly powerful spellcasters like Nagash can do whatever the fuck they want. I mean Khorne and Nurgle once empowered vampires. There was a band of blood dragon vamps who turned to Khorne worship during the Storm of Chaos, Nurgle resurrected and corrupted Isabella during the end times. Nagash killed and raised literal divine servants/angels of the Nehekharan sun god as undead. And Sigmar is not immune to this trend either as he resurrected Settra as a Stormcast Eternal in AoS. And there was also that one devout Ulrican who became a vampire in canon. GW rules about this divine and stuff are pretty fast and loose. Don't worry about it @torroar I'll keep my mouth (So to speak) shut from now on.
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Okay, back. Had some thinking to do, and did it. I've decided that it doesn't matter, Genevieve got blessed by Sigmar, and that's just where that'll end for now. Maybe I'll write up a thing later where I can slot in the when/what/why/how within the canon of this quest's timeline. Just going to move on from it, for now I think. No worries, no harm done @Zrayz10. It's fine, I just sort of got frustrated for a bit there. Not with you, but with me, because once more I've failed to somehow fit the entirety of all Warhammer Fantasy canon into my skull despite the foolishness of such a thought. S'all good.
Mopman43
Mountain-Hermit of Nitpeak
- Location
- Vermont
I think the contradictions would drive you mad first.
- Location
- Underground
So no firm answer on when/where/why Genevieve was blessed by Sigmar in the quest's timeline, at least for now.
That doesn't mean we can't speculate, though.
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Antiochus Bland the former Priest of Morr turned vampire from Night's Dark Masters still has the Petty Magic(Divine) talent as a vampire. With a note that:
which indicates that vampires can wield a divine lore as long as the patron deity consents. Or that it is at the very least GW-approved homebrew.