Warhammer Fantasy: A Dynasty of Dynamic Alcoholism

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torroar said:
Also, so ya'll know, I may be playing Icarus here but I think the next update'll be out sometime tomorrow. I definitely won't have any time to work on it this weekend, as I'll be in an entirely different state many hours and miles away from a computer for the vast majority of that time. So I'm really gunning to have it done tomorrow.
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I hope things turn out well for you. I will endeavor to not distract you unless it helps your muse.
 
Turn 23 began September 6, 2015
Karak Ungor was from October 11, 2015 (The reclamation of Karak Ungor: Turn.25) - December 20, 2017 (Turn 24)

Name: Arthur
Birthdate: 2309

Diplomacy: 9+1-1-1+2=10
Martial: 13+1-1-1=12
Stewardship: 15+1=16
Intrigue: 13-1+1=13
Piety: 7
Learning: 17+1=18

Trait: Tall – As an adult he shall tower over the heads of almost anyone. (+1 Martial, +1 Diplomacy)
Trait: Nervous – Is quite skittish around the people. (-1 Martial, -1 Diplomacy, -1 Intrigue. )
Trait: Stutter – Suffers a relatively bad one. (-1 Martial, -1 Diplomacy)
Trait: Attractive – Adorable as a child, extremely handsome as a man. (+2 Diplomacy)
Trait: Patient – Is capable of calmly waiting out many things. (+1 Stewardship, +1 Intrigue, +1 Learning)
Trait: Envious – His brother Magnus has already begun to outshine him.
Trait: Avenger - ????

Name: Arthur
Birthdate: 2309

Diplomacy: 9+1+2+4=16
Martial: 13+1=14
Stewardship: 15+1=16
Intrigue: 13+1=14
Piety: 10+3+3+2+2=20
Learning: 17+1+3=21

Trait: Fraternal Triplet – Differs in appearance, personality, and ability to their siblings; Magnus von Hohenzollern and Oskar von Hohenzollern.
Trait: Tall – As an adult he shall tower over the heads of almost anyone. (+1 Martial, +1 Diplomacy)
Trait: Attractive – Adorable as a child, extremely handsome as a man. (+2 Diplomacy)
Trait: Patient – Is capable of calmly waiting out many things. (+1 Stewardship, +1 Intrigue, +1 Learning)
Trait: Faithful of Morr – Found true faith at a young age, and has retained it growing up. (+3 Piety)
Trait: Racial Hatred - Necrarch vampires and undead in general have found a permanent place of hatred in their heart.
Trait: Scholar of Morr - Has studied vast amounts of texts and learned from speaking to Priests of Morr from across the Old World, resulting in being extensively well learned in all things relating to Morr. (+3 Learning, +3 Piety)
Trait: Convincing Theologian - Long hours, days, weeks, and years debating amongst priests and faithful of numerous Gods has crafted a persuasive theologian indeed. (+4 Diplomacy, +2 Piety)
Trait: Priest of Morr - A fully ordained member of Morr's clergy. (+2 Piety)

Name: Arthur
Birthdate: 2309
Titles: Prince of Ostland, Priest of Morr, Founder of the Order of the Garden, Augur
Fate Points: 0

Diplomacy: 9+1+2+4-1=15
Martial: 13+1=14
Stewardship: 15+1=16
Intrigue: 13+1=14
Piety: 10+3+3+2+2+4+3+2=29
Learning: 17+1+3=21

Trait: Fraternal Triplet – Differs in appearance, personality, and ability to their siblings; Magnus von Hohenzollern and Oskar von Hohenzollern.
Trait: Tall – As an adult he shall tower over the heads of almost anyone. (+1 Martial, +1 Diplomacy)
Trait: Attractive – Adorable as a child, extremely handsome as a man. (+2 Diplomacy)
Trait: Patient – Is capable of calmly waiting out many things. (+1 Stewardship, +1 Intrigue, +1 Learning)
Trait: Faithful of Morr – Found true faith at a young age, and has retained it growing up. (+3 Piety)
Trait: Racial Hatred - Necrarch vampires and undead in general have found a permanent place of hatred in their heart.
Trait: Scholar of Morr - Has studied vast amounts of texts and learned from speaking to Priests of Morr from across the Old World, resulting in being extensively well learned in all things relating to Morr. (+3 Learning, +3 Piety)
Trait: Convincing Theologian - Long hours, days, weeks, and years debating amongst priests and faithful of numerous Gods has crafted a persuasive theologian indeed. (+4 Diplomacy, +2 Piety)
Trait: Priest of Morr - A fully ordained member of Morr's clergy. (+2 Piety)
Trait: Religious Revelation – Has seen the awful majesty of the Realm of the Dead and the Land of Sleep in his dreams. Some would call it a curse, yet he calls it a gift for it is a wondrous showing of his connection to Morr. (+4 Piety)
Trait: Dreams of Omens - The reading of portents and omens has ever been one of the main focuses of Augurs within the Cult of Morr. Reading them correctly is nigh impossible but receiving them at all is seen as a major blessing of connection to the God of Dreams and Death. (+3 Piety)
Trait: Morrish Pallor - As a result of foolishly crossing further into the Realm of the Dead than the living can be allowed during initial communions with the God of Death, the skin of this man has been left with a tinge of grey. It frightens many, but to those who know it is an almost peaceful new coloration and a sign from Morr himself. (+2 Piety, -1 Diplomacy)

Name: Arthur
Birthdate: 2309
Titles: Prince of Ostland, Priest of Morr, Founder of the Order of the Garden, Augur
Wargear: Obsidian Blade (Magical Weapon, Massive Two Handed Black Blade, Feather-light For Wielder, x10 Weight Against Non-Wielder)
Fate Points: 1
Fortune Points: 2 Per 'Day'

Diplomacy: 9+1+2+4-1=15
Martial: 13+1=14
Stewardship: 15+1=16
Intrigue: 13+1=14
Piety: 10+3+3+2+2+4+3+2=29
Learning: 17+1+3=21

Trait: Fraternal Triplet – Differs in appearance, personality, and ability to their siblings; Magnus von Hohenzollern and Oskar von Hohenzollern.
Trait: Tall – As an adult he shall tower over the heads of almost anyone. (+1 Martial, +1 Diplomacy)
Trait: Attractive – Adorable as a child, extremely handsome as a man. (+2 Diplomacy)
Trait: Patient – Is capable of calmly waiting out many things. (+1 Stewardship, +1 Intrigue, +1 Learning)
Trait: Faithful of Morr – Found true faith at a young age, and has retained it growing up. (+3 Piety)
Trait: Racial Hatred - Necrarch vampires and undead in general have found a permanent place of hatred in their heart.
Trait: Scholar of Morr - Has studied vast amounts of texts and learned from speaking to Priests of Morr from across the Old World, resulting in being extensively well learned in all things relating to Morr. (+3 Learning, +3 Piety)
Trait: Convincing Theologian - Long hours, days, weeks, and years debating amongst priests and faithful of numerous Gods has crafted a persuasive theologian indeed. (+4 Diplomacy, +2 Piety)
Trait: Priest of Morr - A fully ordained member of Morr's clergy. (+2 Piety)
Trait: Religious Revelation – Has seen the awful majesty of the Realm of the Dead and the Land of Sleep in his dreams. Some would call it a curse, yet he calls it a gift for it is a wondrous showing of his connection to Morr. (+4 Piety)
Trait: Dreams of Omens - The reading of portents and omens has ever been one of the main focuses of Augurs within the Cult of Morr. Reading them correctly is nigh impossible but receiving them at all is seen as a major blessing of connection to the God of Dreams and Death. (+3 Piety)
Trait: Morrish Pallor - As a result of foolishly crossing further into the Realm of the Dead than the living can be allowed during initial communions with the God of Death, the skin of this man has been left with a tinge of grey. It frightens many, but to those who know it is an almost peaceful new coloration and a sign from Morr himself. (+2 Piety, -1 Diplomacy)

Name: Arthur von Hohenzollern
Birthdate: 2309
Titles: Prince of Ostland, High Priest of Morr, Founder of the Order of the Garden, Augur, Cleanser of Templehof, Scourge of Sylvania, Eradicator of the Red Abbey, Purgator of the Wolf Crag, Slayer Of Helgrid Harkon, The Black Bull of Ostland
Wargear: Night's Razor (Magical Weapon, Massive Two Handed Black Blade, Feather-light For Wielder, x3 Weight Against Non-Wielder), Black Plate Armor of Morr's Black Guard, Hand-Hatchet
Fate Points: 3
Fortune Points: 6 Per 'Day'

Description: Arthur von Hohenzollern is a triplet-by-blood with his living brother Magnus von Hohenzollern. However, there are a great many differences in their appearances which developed early into their adulthood. Arthur is notably more slim than his brother, yet still lined by a whip-cord amount of musculature and strength. Arthur's formerly jet-black hair now possesses a silvered grey streak along the temple, while being cut extremely short to the point of being shaved, but not quite. His pale skin is greyed ever so slightly, yet notably, which casts him into a frightening pallor, only emphasized by his natural inclination to quiet consideration over boisterous conversation. Yet he shares with his brother Magnus the same blue that burn with a zealous light, while standing ever so slightly shorter.

Notable Kills: Alexandru Morten (Necromancer Ruler of Templehof), Ghoul Honor Guard x5, 'Abbess' Lupei of the Red Abbey (Vampire), The Wolf Knight (Vampire), Helgrid Harkon (Vampire), Unknown Wight King

Diplomacy: 9+1+2+4-1+4+2+2+2+2=28
Martial: 13+1+1+2+3+1+2=24
Stewardship: 15+1+2=18
Intrigue: 13+1+1=15
Piety: 10+3+3+2+4+4+3+2+3+3+1=38
Learning: 17+1+3=21

Trait: Fraternal Triplet – Differs in appearance, personality, and ability to their siblings; Magnus von Hohenzollern and Oskar von Hohenzollern.
Trait: Tall – As an adult he shall tower over the heads of almost anyone. (+1 Martial, +1 Diplomacy)
Trait: Attractive – Adorable as a child, extremely handsome as a man. (+2 Diplomacy)
Trait: Patient – Is capable of calmly waiting out many things. (+1 Stewardship, +1 Intrigue, +1 Learning)
Trait: Faithful of Morr – Found true faith at a young age, and has retained it growing up. (+3 Piety)
Trait: Racial Hatred - Necrarch vampires and undead in general have found a permanent place of hatred in their heart.
Trait: Scholar of Morr - Has studied vast amounts of texts and learned from speaking to Priests of Morr from across the Old World, resulting in being extensively well learned in all things relating to Morr. (+3 Learning, +3 Piety)
Trait: Convincing Theologian - Long hours, days, weeks, and years debating amongst priests and faithful of numerous Gods has crafted a persuasive theologian indeed. (+4 Diplomacy, +2 Piety)
Trait: High Priest of The Order Of The Garden - A fully ordained member and elected leader of the Order of the Garden, a new sect of the Cult of Morr preaching more active involvement in the realm of the living. (+1 Martial, +4 Piety, +4 Diplomacy With Cult Of Morr)
Trait: Master of Religious Rhetoric - Constant sincere theological conversations on the meaning of Morr's edicts, on the place of Gods in the Empire with the Grand Theogonist, of warfare and purpose with the Ar-Ulric, and on the Empire's relationship with the divine with Magnus the Pious what they should be, coupled with discussions with soldiery and common men and women of the Empire, has sharpened the mind and turned this one's tongue into a weapon and shield all in one. (+4 Diplomacy, +1 Piety)
Trait: Harsh Lessons Learned - Spending time as part of the deathly conflict in Sylvania for a considerable amount of time, at the side of some of the greatest champions of the Empire, has lent a great amount of experience and knowledge being absorbed by this one. (+2 Martial, +2 Diplomacy, +1 Intrigue)
Trait: Religious Revelation – Has seen the awful majesty of the Realm of the Dead and the Land of Sleep in his dreams. Some would call it a curse, yet he calls it a gift for it is a wondrous showing of his connection to Morr. (+4 Piety)
Trait: Dreams of Omens - The reading of portents and omens has ever been one of the main focuses of Augurs within the Cult of Morr. Reading them correctly is nigh impossible but receiving them at all is seen as a major blessing of connection to the God of Dreams and Death. (+3 Piety)
Trait: Calm - It takes a significant amount to rattle this man, who can remain calm in all but the most trying of situations or provocations. (+2 Diplomacy)
Trait: Humble - Despite his accomplishments and history, he remains a humble man despite it all. (+1 Diplomacy, +3 Piety)
Trait: Morrish Pallor - As a result of foolishly crossing further into the Realm of the Dead than the living can be allowed during initial communions with the God of Death, the skin of this man has been left with a tinge of grey. It frightens many, but to those who know it is an almost peaceful new coloration and a sign from Morr himself. (+2 Piety, -1 Diplomacy)
Trait: Raventouched - Amongst those who repeatedly channel the powers of the Gods, occasionally they become touched by said Gods. In this case, an acknowledged touch of Morr is upon this man in that ravens seem to simply...follow them around. They are not particularly disruptive, but are simply...there. Just sort of around. This bothers some, who fear the birds, but for those who know that they are also the signs of the God of the Dead, they are a fortuitous portent indeed. (+3 Piety, +/-1 Diplomacy With Certain Characters)
Trait: Encyclopedic Exterminator Of The Undead – Brutal and unforgiving combat, against foes numerous and dire, in one of the darkest realms of the Old World. From skeleton, to zombie, to vampire and terrorgheist. Patchwork zombies, risen grave guard, barrow kings bound to battle, and more. Experience has been engraved in his bones, that can be put to use against the undead or the living alike. (+3 Martial, +2 Additional Martial Against Undead)
Trait: Conviction – Has seen the horror of the undead unfurled to its horrifying fullness, and stood strong against it. (Martial +1)
Trait: Peacemaker – The scuffing between the Order of the Garden, the Order of the Shroud, and the Order of Augurs has demanded that Arthur become a voice of reason and calmness along with a few others. (+2 Diplomacy)
Trait: Knights Raven Trained – Experience only grows with time. While sparring against his brother, his father, his uncle Urgdug, these were all valuable, but more awaited him. Fighting alongside and training with the aggressive Knights Raven has only added to the arsenal. (+1 Martial, +1 Additional Martial Against Undead)
Trait: Experienced Quartermaster – Having had to organize the Cult of Morr and its warrior orders in the conflict of Sylvania gave this one a crash course in logistics and organization. While he does not possess an instinctual skill at it like his father who barely even considers it consciously, he is now somewhat learned. (+2 Stewardship)
Trait: Well Worked Body – While he was not born as naturally strong as his brother Magnus, long conflict in grueling conditions accompanied by halfling meals has given him a bulked form, an improved musculature that is greatly useful in combat. (+2 Martial)
Trait: Heavily Scarred – Fighting against the undead and their masters, scarring is inevitable. His hide has been torn at more than once by a ghoul's claws or skeleton's spear.
Trait: Intercult Coordinator – To properly coordinate between the three 'sects' of the Cult of Morr, and to temples and gardens that have little to not contact between each other before now? Requires experience, knowledge, and skill. (+2 Diplomacy)

So, while yes, fighting encourages growth. There are quite firmly fights that should not be fought when the person you are is not quite geared for the fight. Arthur is a priest of Morr, this matters alot against undead, and granted him an advantage in Sylvania. Arthur had at least one Fate point for Sylvania, had a ridiculously insane piety score by the time he was 16, 17, or 18. Ridiculously insane, I can't find the words to express a piety score of 29 is obscene.

The druchii are an uncommon enemy. They are not greenskins, beastmen, necromancers, vampires, or chaos warriors. They are elves. A foe Frederick Jr is not best fit to fight. Elves have magic! Maaagic! Magic we really have problems facing, that Freddy hired Grey wizards for. The druchii have poisons. Arthur had a magic sword, Frederick Jr does not have a magic sword.

Magnus will have nobody expendable, and no magic user backup beyond the grey wizards, if the grey wizards would help him during Wulfenburg being seiged by a whole lot of beastmen. The only real hero unit Magnus will have is himself without Frederick Jr there. Leaving Frederick Jr in Wulfenburg is just as likely to give Frederick Jr his trial by fire as the siege in Salkalten. If not in Wulfenburg, then elsewhere when the beastmen strike the province. At least against beastmen Frederick Jr is likely to be more comfortable facing those foes.
 
Freddy junior should go fight as well but perhaps not in the field maybe on the walls of Salkalten he can learn from his uncle or freddy senior the ways of war and if everybody is afraid for his savety then Grey wizard can follow him that is what they are for

And after the conflict we really should go looking for spouses for any grandkids that are of age
 
Well, votes that he's staying behind for now.

IMO, I think just having him and Magnus as the backup and worse scenario happens, they're still able to continue on.

Eitherways, if we do need reinforcements, he'll prob come anyways.
 
Is there an information post anywhere for how unit power levels rank? Like Swordsmen are (Decent Attack, Good Defense, Good Mobility), but what does that mean stat wise? And is there scale list?
 
Dragonofelder said:
Is there an information post anywhere for how unit power levels rank? Like Swordsmen are (Decent Attack, Good Defense, Good Mobility), but what does that mean stat wise? And is there scale list?
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Nope. Nothing out there with numbers put to it. Seems like more narrative definitions for Torroar to refer to.

*Swordsman roll well on the attack* checks description. They do decent, but not terrible damage to the Drucchi slave legion they are engaged with.

So on and so forth.
 
Yeah. That's about how I do it. I really, really didn't and still don't want to get bogged down in exact precise scales like TT numbers would imply, do. They're useful benchmarks, but they're simply not 1-to-1able in a writing setting where I have to at least try and mix each of the armybook/lore/individual story/video game interpretations into something vaguely coherent.
 
Likely much easier/more freedom to do combat that way, yeah.

On another note I could not find any information about dark elf slave units, if they use them at all since not sure if that is canon or not, and curious how they compare to units like skavenslaves and such.
 
Massgamer said:
Likely much easier/more freedom to do combat that way, yeah.

On another note I could not find any information about dark elf slave units, if they use them at all since not sure if that is canon or not, and curious how they compare to units like skavenslaves and such.
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It's sort of implied in some places I think, for the most part it's more wholly used by Torroar, so it makes sense you wouldn't find anything outside of here.

Eldyra's POVs have the most info, and maybe that bit where Sadrina talks about Alarielle and the assault on that Black Ark.
 
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Dragonofelder said:
Against Skaven slaves? Probably poorly. Skaven have vast, vast numbers of them, and they're driven mad by their Black Hunger. Delf slaves might be hopped up on drugs or similar, but I don't think it'll be universal
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Actually based on Eldyra's recollection of them in Lovely Laurelorn part 8 they not only compare favorably to skavenslaves, some of them compare favorably to stormvermin.
torroar said:
Creatures raised wholly in captivity, cruelly raised and cruelly trained, their souls swallowed up and bodies warped forever by the evil of Ghrond's daughters. They had been stripped of all that had made them independent beings, forced to swallow or otherwise take in a no doubt dizzying array of alchemical concoctions while surviving numerous dark rituals for every year they survived. The Shackled had given her nightmares, for they had not made a sound even as she killed them, even as they'd fought against her with more strength and speed that most humans should rightly have ever possessed. Some of those that still possessed faces had presented a flattened caricature to the world, devoid of emotion or almost any sign of exertion even as they fought for their lives and died for their masters. Others had been grotesque things of ritually carved meat, sigils of Khaine and darker powers engraved through flesh onto exposed bone. None of them died with a yell of defiance or fear, only a final soft exhalation. Sometimes, not even that much.
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basically all that matters is roll well = don't die and hope enemy roll worse = they die and do that enough times that all your important people make it out alive.
 
EVA-Saiyajin said:
In some ways they die easier than Stormvermin though. I imagine decent metal armor isn't wasted on slaves.
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Eh, this is a faction that has hordes of brides of Khaine wearing little more than bikinis in battle that are dire enemies of the best bow faction in the world, but still manage to survive to engage in close combat.

Lack of armour will not matter as much as we would like.
 
I expect most dark elf slaves would just be chained up, given minimal equipment, and pushed in front of the witch elves or corsairs carrying mantlets, but inevitably there'll be dark elf heroes with retinues of their own horrible personal experiments and weapons.
 
Shine said:
I expect most dark elf slaves would just be chained up, given minimal equipment, and pushed in front of the witch elves or corsairs carrying mantlets, but inevitably there'll be dark elf heroes with retinues of their own horrible personal experiments and weapons.
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The ones raised as slave soldiers from birth and heavily drugged and ensorceled likely wouldn't need to be chained.
 
What would be the defence plan be let the dark elfs mash them selfs against Salkalten walls seeing we have put the entire coast/spoils into it and use all our ships(Plus the manaan greatships)

as cover fire against the not Black arks and landing craft because we would be needing the varr ships to if not destroy then drive of thos arks And if we are Lucky maybe the greatships prove them selfs good this would be the test for them
 
Spikes, Horns, and Stone .50
  • Threadmarks
    • [] Plan: Who goes and who stays
    -[] Those who march north are Arthur, Anna
    -[] Those who stay are Magnus, Sabine, Serhild and Arthur's Son Frederick

    GM Note: Vote Moratorium For 3 Hours. See ya'll after the weekend. Highly unlikely to see anything from ya'll till then, so please keep it chill while I'm gone.

    Spikes, Horns, and Stone .50
    ​
    You cannot delay forever and wouldn't want to either. It is one of the great mysteries of the world, or perhaps one of its greatest ironies. The horror of war, the beat of metal and bone, and spilling of blood and tears, can happen with shocking suddenness. But when you are readying yourself for it, preparing for it for days and weeks, it is the wait that grows all the more horrible. The anticipation is its own special sort of poison. Slow, but constantly burning. It is with that in mind that your troops are set to march, and you along with them. You, your wife, and your brother. And some others of course. Though, as you knew would be the case, some are not so pleased with your final decisions as the head of the family.

    "Frederick. Frederick!" Arthur calls out as his son, red faced and furious, storms from the dining room and slams the door shut behind him. "Damn it," he slumps slightly where he sits.

    High Priest of Morr he may be, skin greyed with the touch of the God of the Dead Himself, but Arthur it seems is no more immune to the struggles of parenthood than anyone else. Serhild, his wife, nods at him and then you while putting a hand on his shoulder and murmuring in his ear. You can't hear the conversation from the head of the table, but you don't really need to. Their conversation is a quick and intimate one, and Serhild gets up and curtsies to you before heading for the door to comfort her son. You've known for a long time now that young Frederick has suffered from, quite unfortunately, a similar complex as you've known that Magnus himself has suffered with. It was around the same age that Frederick is at now, that Magnus was marching to Karak Ungor. That Arthur was rallying up a force to battle in Sylvania.

    "He's been blooded already," Arthur sighs as he pours himself a very large tankard of Bugman's Best. "But I suppose that's just not enough for him."

    "These past few years, the beastmen have been almost nonexistent, same for the forest goblins," you shrug, hefting a tankard of your own and toasting it to the air. "Which is a blessing in its own way."

    "I'll drink to that," Magnus says, raising his own tankard with a half-smile.

    "Not going to complain about staying yourself?" Natasha raises her brow while drinking down an entire glass of Eonir wine.

    Magnus opens his mouth, closes it, and shakes his head with a sigh, setting his lips in a thin line.

    "I am outraged," he says grimly, standing himself after draining his mug. "But I understand the necessity. If the worst should happen, as father keeps reminding us every single day, someone must remain to take up the burden. I should be standing at my father's side, ensuring that such 'worst' does not in fact come to pass. But I should also see to my own family," he says with a bit more warmth, putting a hand on Sabine's shoulder.

    Your daughter-in-law puts one of her hands atop your son's and smiles up at him, cheeks a bit flushed from affection and the drink both.

    "If I were not here to defend them from the Druchii, to be with them…," he trails off, Sabine's expression firming in tandem with his own before both turn to look at you fiercely. "I do not quite know what I would do."

    He does not say it aloud. He does not need to. You informed everyone of your decision to not send anyone from Ostland south to aid the forces rallied by the Emperor, to aid the dwarfs. Your son, intelligent as he is, knew that he was one of those likely to be tapped for such a thing, if you had in fact decided on it. But you did not, and so it was a matter deferred in perpetuity. But you know your son, and he knows you, and in this moment, this drunken haze, the possibilities unfold with liquid ease. Your son is strong. He no longer loses every spar against you. And as he gazes first at you and then lovingly down at Sabine, you know in your bones that you could have ordered him south instead.

    And you know, just as well, he would refuse. Utterly, and completely.

    You are not entirely sure of what the conclusion of that argument would be, but cannot quite thank the Gods that it no longer has a reason to occur.

    "I have no strong feelings one way or the other," Anna abruptly declares as she stands as well. "Goodbye. I will prepare to leave."

    With that said, she strides out of the room without another word, swiftly followed by Magnus and his wife. Arthur drinks another mug and wipes his lips, standing with a pat against his thighs.

    "I suppose I'll go find my wife and son," he grunts, but pauses as he reaches the doorway and turns back to look at you and Natasha. "Were we ever so eager, father? Mother?"

    You and your wife glance at each other. The bond, fully unrestrained, flows strongly with the utter storm of emotion that your children bring out in both of you. So many emotions, so many memories, swirling together in the same instant. Bouncing off of each other, inspiring new thoughts. To see your sons as the men they are now, and to remember them as the young boys they were. As the young triplets they were, in fact. Though it is a well healed wound by now, there will always be a scar, though it has faded with time. That old grief and shock at the suddenness of it all, the ever-burning ember of hatred in your heart for Zacharias. But despite it all, you and Natasha can remember with crystal clarity as your memories resonate together. Three little boys, two young men, two grown veterans.

    "Perhaps," you and Natasha say together with simultaneous shrugs.

    "Though, Magnus was taken with my direct persmission to Karak Ungor," you raise a finger, glancing towards Arthur now, "He did not appropriate military resources and gather up a substantial amount of recruits and volunteers-,"

    Arthur's humor dips into half-remembered panic, an absurdly boyish expression which utterly transforms the face of the normally so very serious High Priest of Morr.

    "Well it's all done with anyhow and good works were done so I'll be off to see my son," he rushes the words out and quickly exits.

    Leaving you, Natasha, and Urgdug.

    "So," your brother says after a moment, putting down the barrel of ale he's been one-handing.

    You and Natasha sober quite quickly, looking up at his melancholic face.

    "Yes, brother?" You raise an eyebrow.

    "Never fought elves before," he grunts. "Not like this. A raid or two, back before the Great War Against Chaos, but nothing on this scale."

    "Me neither," you admit, propping your chin up with a hand and letting your head tilt so you can regard wife and brother at the same time.

    Natasha pours some more wine, swirling it in the glass and downing it before she speaks again.

    "Well you sort of did. There were some Druchii amongst the Savage Hunt, weren't there?" She asks, pouring another glass as she does.

    "Some, but…they were still operating vaguely like what I imagine the Wild Hunt would be," you waggle a hand in the air.

    "Shoulda been there," Urgdug mutters.

    "Well you'll be there for this one," you pat him on the foot before flicking your gaze back to Natasha.

    Here, amongst family, she has no need to hide what the Ancient Widow did to her. She does not need to wear the gloves to disguise the fact that her Goddess transformed her nails to iron on one hand, or that one of her eyes has become that of a Frostfiend. Or the unnatural aging of portions of her hair. Though you know that it distresses the Witch Hunters fiercely, because you could not keep it from them forever, and you also know that it would probably anger quite a few to hear you say it aloud, she is still so very, very beautiful. Many would recoil, in fear or disgust or both, but not you. In fact, you reach out to lightly brush her cheek with your knuckles, making her glance at you and clasp a hand atop yours against her cheek with a small smile of her own. One that you return.

    "Should I go?" Urgdug coughs like a localized windstorm, making you and Natasha blink and look up at him together.

    "Wh-no, that's not necessary," Natasha says quickly, a sentiment you echo, but Urgdug just raises an eyebrow and makes to stand anyway, the stone groaning as he does so.

    "Uh huh. Maybe not necessary, technically," he adds at the end with a smirk. "But I get it," he stretches forward slightly until something in his shoulders and back pop like boulders falling into place. "Sadrina said she was going to help us with planning, right?"

    "Right," you clear your throat, trying to force a bit of the warm heat in your body and mind to go down, at least long enough to finish the conversation. "She's fought the Druchii a lot more than us."

    "Good to hear," he yawns loudly and shuffles to the one door capable of letting him in and out of the kitchen. "I'll see you two in the morning for the march north."

    He pauses, halfway ducked through the massive doorway, and smirks back at you.

    "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he chuckles as the door begins to swing shut after him.

    "I can't!" You call out after him, "I don't think I've got the gut for it!"

    Urgdug's belly-deep laugh damn near shakes the castle's foundations, the humor so infectious that you and Natasha can't help but end up laughing yourselves, holding onto one another slightly as you do so.

    "Ah, well," she says, wiping her eyes slightly before they grow a bit more lidded. "What shall we do, then?"

    "I have some ideas," you smile and lift her upright in your arms.

    ==================================================================
    ​
    Traveling north to Salkalten is a tense affair. The Army of Ostland is traveling with you, while the Army of the Forest is still making its various patrols, broken up into its disparate pieces. Your mercenaries, however, break off from such similar duties and march with you as well. But you are not assaulted. Not once. Your troops still make their camps, still make the nightly patrols around the temporary grounds, scouts are still sent out, but that is all you face. Years now, years of the forest goblins and beastmen and Norscans being so damned rare. It makes you itch, for all that it has been a boon for your people to have some rare peace. It isn't that you weren't responsible for it, it was that no one you could be certain of it was. If there was some vast battle elsewhere in the Empire which involved such forces, it would be understandable, but there hasn't been as far as you know. It's the uncertainty that annoys you.

    Even as you focus the majority of your attentions on what is coming, that you at least can confirm is coming, some part of your mind can't help but wonder.

    You have to put that aside, however, and fully focus when you reach Salkalten proper. You are greeted at the city gates by your former Greatsword, now Prince of Salkalten, Waldemar von Sterneck and some of his personal soldiery. It is the right of the nobility to assemble and retain such men, who are themselves not counted neither amongst the Salkalten Guard, the militia, nor the armies proper. In the years since you'd seen him last, his hair has now fully whitened, whether from stress or age or both, though he retains a bushy mustache and beard all the same. His wife, who suggested the rather brutal but not wholly without merit plan involving the flagellants, is at his side. She curtsies to you, Natasha, and Urgdug before you are brought into the city and to their castle.

    It does not surprise you whatsoever that Sadrina made it here first, though you are somewhat surprised to see that the strange Asrai is here as well. You aren't even sure what to call Kerillian. An explorer, maybe? Regardless, for once it is not you that is leading the initial briefing, nor even is it Prince Sterneck. It could have been, but that would have been ridiculous when you have the incredibly rare and incredibly valuable opportunity to learn from a veteran who has been battling the Druchii a great many generations. Sadrina may have enjoyed her colorful dresses, her cheerful wanderings, but all of that has been submerged now beneath the veteran Handmaiden of the Everqueen. This is not the hunter, but the warrior, the killer, who has walked across more battlefields than you ever have simply by virtue of being alive for so long. You've never precisely gotten an exact number out of her, but you know it's more than a thousand years.

    The meeting proper takes place in what would otherwise have been a ballroom on any day but today. Prince Sterneck's office quite simply could not hold all of you inside including Urgdug, and besides that Sadrina has apparently been working on things in her own time since hearing about the incoming Druchii. She is, as she has been since that day, dressed in her armor, bow and sword at her side, additional Indan enchanted whip sword spun and clung around one of her calves. But you barely pay attention to any of that. One, because you've seen it before, and two, because of the surprisingly large portraits that she's drawn out in incredible detail out of charcoal. There are many of them, held up on easels in a crescent moon shape, letting all of them be seen while a desk she's appropriated from somewhere sits in front of it with her behind. The room is almost cavernous, the sky outside cloudy and grey, a quiet Salkalten stretching out in all directions past the windows of the ballroom.

    "Sadrina, Kerillian," you greet her with a nod.

    "Count Hohenzollern. Countess, Sir Knight," she nods back to each of your group in turn, "Prince Sterneck."

    Kerillian does not respond verbally, just lifts her chin at you before returning to studying the portraits. Although calling them portraits sounds nicer than the images depicted are. Frankly, they are horrific. Not from lack of artistic ability, but the opposite. The outstretched fangs, the grim sneers, all of them are quite vivid despite being entirely without color. How Sadrina managed to make so many in such a short amount of time you don't quite know. Actually, you probably do. She's a Handmaiden of the Everqueen, who spends much of each year in Avelorn, the Kingdom of artists and poets. Even if Sadrina had been born in another Kingdom, she could easily have spent fifty or a hundred or more years studying arts as a casual matter and still managed more time at it than any mundane human.

    "So what are these, then?" You ask politely, sitting down in one of the chairs before the desk and drinking deeply from one of your flasks.

    Even with a thick green veil covering all below her odd eyes, you can tell Kerillian is wrinkling her nose at the smell of it. Sadrina simply turns about at attention, shoulders straight and arms clasped behind her back with feet wide and knees slightly bent.

    "These," she raises one hand and taps a finger against one of the portraits, "Are what I hope to be the various assorted threats that will be bearing down upon us. I am sure that there have been Druchii raids upon the costs of the Sea of Claws before, but aside from you Frederick and a handful of the navy I do not think anyone here has personally fought them. And even then," she glances over to Kerillian who momentarily freezes as attention turns on her before suddenly straightening her spine as if she hadn't. "According to the Waywatcher here, the Druchii you faced were hardly typical."

    "That's one word for it," Kerillian mutters in Fan-Eltharin under her breath, but twitches slightly when she sees the blatant comprehension in your eyes.

    "I thought it best if I attempted to educate you all with my own knowledge," Sadrina says with a tight smile. "Unless there are any objections, I would begin posthaste."

    You shrug and lean back in your chair, crossing your arms, an act that Natasha copies. Sterneck just leans forward, forearms on his knees, and scrutinizes the various portraits. Urgdug sits, the stone groaning beneath his weight as he does so, legs sprawled outwards. He cannot quite cross his legs, not with a gut like his, and so this sort of posture will have to do for all that it looks terribly undignified to most.

    "Very good," Sadrina nods curtly and then points to a rather large looking map, sparse on geographic details save for a few black towers with circles beneath them. "A brief primer, there are a number of major fastnesses, fortress-cities I suppose, in Naggaroth. Each of them with their own notable…character. Naggarond is ruled directly by the Witch King himself, is eldest and largest. Hag Graef is spectacularly wealthy through its mines, rich in soldiers, slaves, and coin, but so competitive that the Khainite Assassins flourish there like almost nowhere else."

    There, she pauses, and looks back at you, Natasha, and Urgdug.

    "Though I would note that the Khainite Cults exist in each of the cities, so do not assume that the one which attempted to capture your son Magnus was from there, or at least was ordered by one within."

    "I thought it was Ghrond," you murmur, folding your hands beneath your chin.

    "I'll get to them," Sadrina nods before pointing back at the map. "Clar Karond, the main shipyard for all of Naggaroth. Over the years, thousands upon thousands of ships have been laid down here. It is also famed for its Beastmasters, those who have broken the dark beasts of Naggaroth and beyond. Where they go, they bring those horrors with them upon the battlefield. They love no God more than Anath Raema, even more than Khaine."

    "Ah," you say aloud, "Well shit."

    A shudder runs through Kerillian as she hears the name of the Goddess of the Savage Hunt. She was there at the battle of the Oak of Ages, and though you didn't specifically keep an eye on her, you know she felt the calling power of the corrupted Orion's horn. Hell, Eldyra wasn't even an Asrai, and she was turned mindless and feral for a few perilous seconds. You've no idea at all what it must have been like for one of the Asrai themselves, one not so protected as Araloth had been. You know, now, much better than many humans in the Empire, the story of Anath Raema's obsession with Orion. In fact, thanks to your continued education by Sadrina herself in Eltharin, you know a reasonable amount about the Elven Pantheon.

    "Apt," Sadrina says with a ghost of a smile before going on. "Next is Karond Kar, also known as the Tower of Despair and the Slaver's Gate. It is here," she taps the map again for emphasis, "That the raider fleets of Naggaroth return to from their plundering across the world. Its docks have seen the passage of millions since the Witch King's first flight from Ulthuan. Their ill-gotten goods are traded here, first and foremost."

    "They do so love their chains," Kerillian's arms, folded across her chest, tighten against herself ever so slightly.

    "They do," Sadrina taps two different cities, lips curling downwards in disgust. "Har Ganeth, where Khaine and murder are held above all others, even the Witch King. It is a place of madness and slaughter, of bloodlust that threatens to spill out and turn upon Naggaroth itself at any given moment. Their Executioners are rather infamous, though I'm sure you all know that," she says with a glance back at her audience.

    She's right, as well. Natasha's fingers have clenched down on her own arm, while you and Sterneck are drinking from some flasks. Urgdug just narrowed his eyes. The Executioners are a myth for many, but as one who rules a province that has suffered the touch of the Druchii many times before, a second princess of a nation whose western coast has been drenched in blood, and for a man who rules the largest settlement in northern Ostland, each of you know the truth. The dread Executioners are a terrible force. It is easy to know when they have come, as well, compared to the raiders. Druchii raiders torture, lay out corpses in patterns they find delightful, flay children to make masks to fit around the heads of their parents they leave chained to stakes in the middle of towns. But the Executioners have almost never left any survivors at all, their only dedication to killing. There have been reports like that stretching back for ages, literally to the time of the Udoses before they became Ostlanders. It happens perhaps once every few years, sometimes with larger stretches in between, but it is known. It hasn't, thank the Gods, occurred since you became Elector Count.

    But that, you know well enough, could very much have changed.

    "Finally, Ghrond," Sadrina pauses and sighs. "I could not relay to you the totality of the atrocities and dark magic that have been performed in that dread place."

    "Aye, the Weave itself is a blasted, broken thing there," Kerillian speaks up in her curious Reikspiel brogue, her words managing to throw Sadrina for a moment.

    "I – you've been there?" Sadrina asks, turning to face the Asrai fully, who blinks rapidly.

    "Just the once," the Asrai shrugs. "The Queen in the Woods was quite…angry at a certain few folk there, the one time. Wasn't quite a Wild Hunt, but it was…," she trails off, looking at something in her memories. "Something, all right."

    "So you know just how horrific Ghrond can be," Sadrina said pointedly.

    Kerillian uncrosses her arms, raises a hand, then mutters something to herself and crosses her arms again.

    "The Night Glens are a dark, dark place," the Asrai says instead, "But for all that I have seen in Modryn, Ghrond is so very, very much worse."

    "And those are the ones my son and his friends pissed off the most," you grunt.

    Sadrina sighs and nods.

    "I believe so, yes."

    "Both, then?" Natasha asks, glancing at the bare sketched map of Naggarond.

    "Now that, I somewhat doubt," Sadrina says, making you and Natasha blink in confusion.

    "But Ghrond is coming?" Urgdug asks.

    The Handmaiden purses her lips and thinks for a moment before answering.

    "It is, I would say, incredibly unlikely that one of the Arks coming to the Sea of Claws is not controlled by those loyal to or outright from Ghrond," Sadrina says, but raises a finger as you go to speak again. "However, what I do doubt, is that both are."

    You frown, as does Natasha. Sterneck just tilts his head. The sight of this makes Sadrina let loose a little despairing huff.

    "For all that your people have just come from the Era of Three Emperors-,"

    "The what now?" Kerillian scoffs to herself.

    "-there is still an expectation of unity in times of crisis," Sadrina finishes, hands on her hips for a brief moment. "In Ghrond…in Druchii society in general, the concepts of cutthroat politics, of competition, are magnified beyond what I think you may all be able to initially conceive. The idea that a Supreme Sorceress would just invite a rival to a place of power that she herself and her own coven could control is…unlikely."

    That leads to another round of drinks for everyone but Urgdug, who unfortunately managed to drink through his sheep-skin flask entirely by this point.

    "But there were two Arks," you say after a moment, glancing at Natasha to confirm your own memories.

    "Yes, but based on the reports of your son, Lady Mena, and Lord Reinhardt – especially the latter, the Druchii were simultaneously contesting the Fimir and Albionese for control of the Oghams but also," Sadrina raises a finger again, circling it along the map without landing on a specific city, "Taking vast amounts of slaves, depopulating both the Albionese tribes and the Fimir clans both."

    There hadn't been much to properly plunder, as far as the report had gone. The Albionese struggled with major metallurgy, with mining, and more. The Fimir, on the other hand, had better luck as well as perhaps whatever dark lore they might have built up. Whether the latter would be of any interest to the Druchii is a question you can't possibly answer, aside from whatever use it might have been for them in attempting to gain control of the Oghams. But bodies? Oh my yes, there were bodies. For goodness' sake, your first major contact with a Chieftain was in him being rescued from Druchii slaving ships.

    "Some, yes, were likely used for sacrificial purposes, but all?" Sadrina waggles a hand in the air. "Hard to be entirely certain of that."

    "So we can't know for certain about the second Ark," Sterneck posits, scratching at his beard. "It's unlikely to be Ghrond-based, because the first Ark would not have taken kindly to a peer-,"

    "Rival," Sadrina briefly interrupts, making his jaw snap shut. "It is a useful mental distinction to keep. There is almost no such thing as 'peer' in Druchii society. Just superior and lesser, commander and subordinate, a living rival too strong to defeat or force into submission, or a former rival who you've either managed to remove, subvert, or otherwise defeat."

    "A rival," he appends after clearing his throat with a mild glare at Sadrina, "Fouling up their attempts to gain ultimate power," he ends sarcastically.

    Sadrina merely nods, arms folded behind her back once more.

    "So we can't be sure of who might have sponsored the other Ark," he finishes.

    "Correct," Sadrina presses her lips together until they thin almost to a single line.

    "Could be Clar Karond, what with…," you circle your hand in the air, "You know."

    "Could be Karond Kar, for cutting them off from their slaving operations in Albion," Natasha offers.

    "Could be Hag Graef, maybe, if Ghrond paid them off to make them help?" Sterneck posits, shrugging when you look over at him. "I didn't even know the names of their cities, I'm just guessing."

    "Fair enough," you pat him on the shoulder before looking back at Sadrina. "How likely is it that Naggarond proper is joining this?"

    "Highly unlikely," Sadrina shakes her head. "I'm rather sure they're focused on Ulthuan at the moment, as are much of the Druchii as a whole. In fact, I doubt that the Witch King would have been particularly permissive of anyone at all gaining power over all the Oghams of Albion."

    Urgdug lightly – for him – slaps a hand down on a thigh which sends a loud meaty thump throughout the room.

    "Unless they didn't tell him," he says with a pensive look. "No peers, right? Just rivals n'all."

    Sadrina opens and closes her mouth, eyes lighting up slightly as she thinks.

    "That is all too possible. This," she taps a part of the map where there is no marking, "Was the location of a place known as Har Kaldra. They rebelled against the Witch King and the entire city was frozen and destroyed. For all his dread fury and power, I think perhaps only one might shed a single tear if he were to be cast down."

    "So that means we aren't likely to see forces from there, great," you clap a single time before pointing at the map. "That leaves the others."

    "It does, yes," Sadrina tosses her hair as she spins on her heels. "So with that in mind, we must move to what forces you may face."

    "Ah, so that's why the monsters and such," you raise your eyebrows, glancing at the numerous other easels and charcoal drawings.

    Sadrina flashes another brief smile before nodding, coming before the first of the drawings. This one features a Druchii, covered in intimidating and rather spikey plate, as well as a sweeping cloak behind them. The helmet is somewhat conical like Asur helms, but also possesses a quartet of curving blades of metal that almost appear as horns. In one hand is a subtly curved blade with a jagged edge on one side, while the other carries a large shield. For some reason beyond your understanding, Sadrina has also chosen to illustrate several corpses at the Druchii's feet.

    "This is the equivalent, I suppose one might say, to an Imperial General, or so on. They are known as Dreadlords," she taps the picture again. "This is a basic representation," she shrugs, "They are the high lords of Druchii society, their weapons and armor are all highly personalized. One who has grown powerful enough to command a Black Ark would be a veteran of centuries, of millennia even, of battle and war, of treachery and skullduggery."

    "Well, if that's all then," Urgdug chuckles, resting his chin in the palm of a hand. "Then the next painting, assassins?"

    "Correct," Sadrina taps the picture and moves to it. "They wield poisons of a variety and severity that eclipses any human creation, and I do not mean that as an idle boast," she says the last quite seriously. "They are masters of death, of terror, of infiltration. While one was discovered," she glances up and then back to the painting. "They will likely not be the last. They will seek to sabotage your defenses, sow fear amongst your troops, and more."

    "We'll be on the watch," Sterneck says, thumping a fist against his breastplate with a muted clank, but Sadrina just glances at him before moving on.

    You'll all be on the watch, of course. But whether or not you end up catching any of them is another story. In Wulfenburg was one thing, but in Salkalten all that will be guarding you is Sadrina, perhaps Kerillian, and Magister Thelme and however many apprentices he might or might not have.

    "Sorceresses are capricious, devious, and monstrous," Sadrina says coldly as she moves on to the next picture of a Druchii woman dressed in what looks like thigh high black high heel boots, a ragged black loincloth, and just enough black metal to bind her chest wielding a staff dripping what you assume to be blood.

    "Wielders of Dhar, and gleefully at that," you say aloud, drinking another flask of beer. "But no male sorcerers, because of some prophecy that one was destined to kill the Witch King."

    "Correct," Sadrina points at you before folding her arms again. "I mean to no disrespect to the Wizards of the Magic Colleges, or yourself Lady Hohenzollern, but those of the Dark Convent are absolute masters of the Winds, of magic, and have had hundreds to thousands of years of practice."

    Natasha weathers the statement with grim acceptance. She's never been the absolute most powerful of wielders of Ice Magic, ever weaker than her sister Kattarin, but you and she both know that lately Natasha has begun to be able to grasp and wield more than she ever thought possible. It came at considerable cost, back at the Dawnstone Pinnacle, but despite her physical alterations by the Ancient Widow there were at least some long-term positive repercussions. Even considering that, however, neither of you have any illusions about the sheer potential strength of these sorceresses.

    "Perhaps, if you, and the Wizards, work together, there is a chance of overcoming them one at a time," Sadrina allows. "Luck, and good battlefield positioning, will also be of considerable aid."

    Mostly the luck, she doesn't say, but you certainly can hear it ringing in the air. Instead, she just moves on, pointing at a bare-chested Druchii with a huge whip, slashing it right against the hindquarters of a manticore. A large, barbed spear sits in his other hand.

    "Beastmasters can come from Clar Karond and Karond Kar, but the High Beastmasters are their pinnacle, those who have broken harpies, manticores, hydras, and more up to and including dragons themselves," Sadrina says the last especially bitterly.

    "Hold on," Urgdug says incredulously. "They break dragons?"

    "They have had millennia to learn how best to do so, yes," Sadrina shakes her head sadly, "That the dragons they most often break are the twisted, broken mirrors of true dragons means nothing, for the black dragons are as mighty in will and body as those."

    So it goes from there. Sadrina is intent on ensuring that you go into this battle as informed as possible. She moves on to the various warriors of the dark cities of Naggaroth, and in depth at that. You learn of Darkshards, wicked deliverers of ranged death with repeater crossbows from behind shields, who relish in cruel shots which ensure agony at the expense of slightly longer deaths. Of Bleakswords, who seek to dash past the guard and shields of their enemies to prove themselves the greatest warriors alive. Of Dreadspears, the truest soldiers, who are dedicated to the locked shield wall, the deadly spear. All three of which are granted a portrait each, so you can gain at least some rudimentary visual recognition. Questions are asked, and answered, and though you can tell that Sterneck doesn't particularly like idea that human soldiers might not be so quick and dexterous as elves, the sad fact of the matter is that many elves simply are a bit better in those regards.

    Then she moves on. First, to bolt throwers, favored weapons of siege and death, to clear the decks of ships or cut down whole ranks of soldiers on the march. A brutal enough thing, though not a tactic you are wholly unfamiliar with. You've used it yourself in fact, albeit with grapeshot from cannons. Then she speaks of the corsairs of the Black Arks, whose entire near-eternal elven lives are spent raiding and pillaging the world itself. Lightly armored, by comparison to those like the Dreadspears, but certainly deadly themselves, with a variety of weapons to help them in fighting atop ships or through the streets of the ports they sack.

    "Personally, I doubt that you will be facing too many of the Black Ark Corsairs," Sadrina pauses there, "They are plunderers without equal, but as mentioned before, this is no plunder mission we believe the Druchii to be on. It is far more likely you will face a greater compliment of Dreadspears, Bleakswords, and Darkshards."

    The Shades she speaks of are a chilling sort, outcast clans of elves who infiltrate the battlefield, flank, and appear from the shadows to tear at undefended sections of the army, often supply trains and war machine crews. Somewhat less concerning, at least for now, are the Dark Riders, lightly armored cavalry who delight in running down their victims, as well as the accursed Doomfire Warlocks. Soul-poisoned, riders, wielding unholy fire, cavalry are not necessarily the first thing one brings to a fight to destroy a city. These, as well as the evil Cold One Knights, are likely involved at least somewhat, as the chance to destroy and kill will be enjoyed by all their sort, but perhaps not deployed initially.

    "Hopefully," Sadrina taps a picture of a truly fearsome, black-clad behemoth cutting down an unarmored elven maiden, "We will see none of the Black Guard of Naggarond. That would imply the Witch King's direct attentions. These are the most elite of their warriors, of all the Druchii, best armed and best armored. While these," she moves to the next, depicting a trio of skull-masked Druchii with strange blades that jut out in an almost axe-like extension towards the tip. "Are more likely. The Executioners of Har Ganeth."

    "But we don't even know if Har Ganeth is involved!" Sterneck protests.

    "And they need not be," Sadrina shakes her head, a mournful look on her face. "The Executioners are deployed as they will, to ensure death and destruction as swiftly and mercilessly as possible."

    As much death as possible? Sounds about right for what you think the Druchii might be going for here. Though your thoughts skew slightly as Sadrina moves to stand between two images which you have to blink at and glance about to make sure you are not being played about with.

    "Well," Natasha says before Sadrina can begin. "They're quite confident in themselves, to be wearing so little."

    "I was wondering," Sterneck says dryly, "But could not imagine that the good Handmaiden was playing a trick on us after the seriousness of the others."

    Sadrina looks even more grave than before, actually.

    "I assure you, the Sisters of Slaughter and Witch Elves are no jokes," she says, gaze becoming cold and hard at some memory or another. "The former fight as quicksilver flows, without pattern, without thought, killing and leaping about without pause. These are gladiatorial devotees, who spend every waking moment of every day perfecting their deadly dance against everything from captured Asur, greenskins, slaves of all kinds, beasts, and even daemons."

    That sends a cold shiver through the entire room.

    "They…practice on daemons?" Sterneck says, struggling to even say the word as a thread of fear works its way through him.

    "Indeed," Sadrina nods curtly. "So if they are on the field, do not underestimate them. They are eager to leap atop and behind shieldwalls, to hack and kill and, as their name suggests, slaughter. Whereas these," she pokes at the other image, this one who you can actually tell is slathered in blood, "The Witch Elves and Death Hags, are the battlefield priestesses of Khaine himself. They are the highest devotees he has."

    "Ah," you say, "Warrior Priestesses."

    These you can wrap your head around better. You may not have seen the power of Khaine unleashed, but given Orion, Ariel, and Anath Raema, you do not dare to underestimate them.

    "Yes," Sadrina trails a finger along the edge of the drawing, "Their very skin and flesh is like…like the sacrificial floors of the altar that is them. To shed blood, to feel it flow on them from the spurting wounds of an enemy, is devotion given and sacred sacrament both."

    No one in the room looks overly sickened, all of you too inured to the horrors of the world to falter so easily, but you know that the same could not necessarily be said of anyone. Or even most. Though it does take a bit of work when she moves on to the Cauldrons of Blood. Mobile shrines to Khaine, always boiling, always full, never spilling over despite endless gallons of blood being poured in. The blessings that Sadrina speaks of are dread things, dread things indeed. But that is not enough, no. There are more yet more portraits to go through, including those of the Bloodwrack Shrines, a strange creation of the dark Goddess Atharti to which the Bloodwrack Medusae are chained. Sorceresses, also of Ghrond, who dared to look more beautiful than their Gods. Vain in the extreme, you can't help but conclude, both for the now accursed mortals who are always propelled to the front lines to devastate with their literally blood-boiling gazes and the Goddess Atharti who cursed them into such a state.

    "Now then, The Shackled," she pauses at an image which looks entirely too much like a human than an elf. "These…do not be fooled," she looks at you all insistently. "They may appear, outwardly, as human. But there is nothing to be done for them. They were born in captivity, in darkness, their souls harvested at birth, and are abominations of Dhar and alchemical experiments besides."

    "They had a few legions of them at Ghrond," Kerillian makes a quiet retching sound. "Don't scream. Don't cry. Just charge, fight, and die. And they don't die easy, either."

    "Yes," Sadrina shivers. "The Shackled are slave legions. Depending on the Supreme Sorceress involved, they might be nothing more than mindless chaff, handed rusted metal weapons and stripped naked, all the better to disturb you as they die. Or," she tilts her head back and forth for a moment. "They might be garbed in heavy armor with weapons, infused with alchemy and magic to be granted strength and speed beyond their frames that will sustain them throughout the battle at the cost of burning out entirely by its end."

    "Either way, sacrificial troops then," you snort.

    "In more ways than one," she holds herself before continuing, "Their deaths, in their own way, are valuable to the Sorceresses and Witch Elves both."

    It doesn't much improve from there, either, as Sadrina goes on to the myriad beasts you might end up facing. War Hydras, regenerating, fire breathing multi-headed monstrosities. Clouds of flesh-hungry harpies to come swarming out of the skies. Individual, unchained Bloodwrack Medusae, eager only to kill and cause pain. The corrupted, twisted Black Dragons, utterly fearsome beasts made even more ruinous by the dark magic of the Druchii, spewing noxious gases from their mouths. You can only hope that you do not face one of those, for even atop Oskana you are not entirely sure she would be an equal to such a monster. The Dark Pegasi, on the other hand, may be more likely to be present. Favored as mounts by sorceresses, they might make the attempted killing of such wielders of Dhar to be all the more difficult. Though there might also be manticores, Sadrina warns. Mounted, or not, you are reasonably sure that such creatures have never died easy once in the history of the world.

    "And if we are very, very lucky, we will not even see a Kharibdyss," Sadrina finishes at the last of the portraits.

    "I can't even tell if that thing has a head," Urgdug tilts his head and leans as far forward as he can over his own gut to look closer.

    "They don't, not really," Sadrina shakes her head. "It's a tentacled monstrosity, its sheer strength is enormous, its barbs poisonous, its digestive system capable of dissolving metal and bone alike. One of them is enough to be the prize of a Beastmaster's collection, much like a dragon might be."

    There are no more portraits left, but the sobering lesson lodges deep in your mind as you begin to try and think, to plan around what you've learned.

    "This is all well and good, but this all assumes they reach land in the first place," Sterneck says suddenly, stroking at his beard.

    Sadrina has hopped onto the desk by now, swinging her legs, but slows her movements and clasps her hands together flat in front of her mouth. She tries to speak, closes her mouth, and shakes her head.

    "We're probably not going to manage that," you tell your former Greatsword with a heavy pat on the shoulder.

    "What? But-," he pauses at the look on your face, on Natasha's face, on Sadrina's face. "But we…we have such a fleet, with cannons and brave marines and-,"

    "And they have two floating cities with attendant raiding fleets," you say over him, trying for your best sympathetic look. "Floating ports. Able to refurbish, repair, and likely manufacture more ships in a limited capacity."

    "There is a reason," Natasha says quietly, "That historically, not a single Black Ark has ever been truly 'defeated' in the whole of the Old World. They have only ever been driven off, sometimes sooner, sometimes later."

    "It is entirely likely," Sadrina finally says, still keeping her hands clapped together, "That they may well simply ram an Ark directly into the city's defenses, smashing through wall after wall, crushing and sailing through any ships immediately in their way."

    "We talked about this on the way over," Urgdug offers, raising a hand and then lowering it as he reconsiders the sheer literal physical weight of him attempting a similar comforting gesture as you on the Prince of Salkalten. "So far we got three options."

    You raise your hand and raise three fingers, pointing at the first.

    "First, we try to swarm and surround the Ark that comes for Ostland, or Arks if both come, though Sigmar, Manann, and Ranald willing they won't. Try to bottle them up, maybe land troops on them."

    "I would call that the brave but likely to fail option," Sadrina offers. "It is an entire city, plus its fleet. You simply do not have the numbers for that, I do not think."

    "It's an option," you tell her with a raised eyebrow, making her raise her hands in surrender. "The next is a looping line and chain."

    Natasha illustrates as you speak, creating a long loop of impossibly flexible magical ice, holding it in the air. Two large chunks with a trailing series of shards in the air representing the attendant fleets hit the line, and as they do, the line curls around and wraps about the chunks in turn.

    "But it might well have the same effect as the first," you admit. "These are both, at most, delaying options. Essentially sacrificing the ships to just try and by time, to deal as much damage before the Druchii move past."

    "Suicide mission," Urgdug says flatly.

    "It may well be, yes," you nod, pausing to pass the steadily greyer looking Sterneck a flask which he drains in one go. "The third option is to let them hit us."

    He gapes at you while Natasha draws another line of ice in the air, this time representing the coastline.

    "It will hurt," you admit, clenching a fist, "But if they strike Salkalten, or somewhere else along the coast, they must land, correct?" You glance at Sadrina, who nods. "They must hit the beach, press against it, lay down ramps and more to deploy their troops. If, then, they do so," you pause as Natasha illustrates a large chunk of ice crunching against the shoreline while drawing up a looser clump of shards hung in the air that then fall against the chunk. "We can strike them from behind, attack them while they, themselves, are attacking us. If they cannot move, if we can deal damage enough to force them to break off the attack…,"

    Sterneck opens and closes his mouth for a moment, looking lost.

    "But…," he says after a moment. "Salkalten…?"

    At that, you sigh, hanging your head for a moment before looking back up at him.

    "It wouldn't be the first time we've had to rebuild it," you tell him grimly.

    Now Sterneck slumps in his chair and slowly begins to cradle his head in his hands.

    "I…had hoped…you might have a better solution than that," he says hoarsely, the sound partially muffled.

    "If Manann wants to sink them with a storm, I wouldn't complain," you say, drinking yet another flask, now passing one to Natasha who drinks it gratefully. "But we have to be practical about this. If we combined our fleet with Nordland, we might have a chance at the first two options…if it were one Ark coming for us. But with both? They're liable to raze their way into both provinces, meaning that trying to combine our fleets would leave the other vulnerable."

    "We may very well attempt it regardless," Natasha rubs at her temples now. "Perhaps if they can cull the attendant fleets, it might end up being a worthy sacrifice."

    "Is the High Matriarch herself not coming with reinforcements, and the fleet of Barak Varr itself?" Sterneck doesn't quite wail.

    "She was planning on it, until it turned out that the entire Merchant Marine of Marienburg disappeared on some fool venture or another," you grunt. "Last we were hearing, so many ships shouldn't have even considered departing the docks without the blessing of a priest of Manann, but we're hearing that the priesthood was not even consulted save for a few more…bribable sorts."

    That makes something in his mind chug to a halt.

    "They what?" He says, scandalized as any coast-born and bred man might. "Then how…it's not the Holders of the Shore again, is it? It can't be."

    "No, worse…maybe," you raise a hand and waggle it in the air. "There are rumors that the ships were blessed by a God all right, just not the right one."

    "Wh-no," he stammers.

    "Not the Dark Gods, no," you nod, making him breath a sigh of relief. "Stromfels, instead."

    At that, he hisses some air through his teeth and once more cradles his head.

    "We don't even know if Barak Varr is on the way yet, either. Weather might not stop Ironclads, but time is its own enemy," Natasha adds.

    "On that front, while the Black Arks wield their own reaper bolt throwers, they may also possess altars and rituals allowing magical bombardment or such things," Sadrina begins speaking again. "But there are both ravenships and doomreavers – the former are their most common raiding vessels, equipped with bolt throwers and hooked prows, while doomreavers are lighter armored ships. Practically sea-borne chariots pulled along by Helldrakes, monstrous near-draconic beasts."

    "But, again," Urgdug huffs, "The Arks are the bigger problems. Maybe one goes for Nordland, one for us. Maybe both go for us, for…you know," he motions vaguely to the south.

    "I don't know," Kerillian speaks up, glancing about the room and finding herself the only one ignorant. "What, what is it?"

    Natasha glances at you, and you shrug.

    "We have something that might make the Druchii especially angry at us, beyond what was done in Albion," you tell her obliquely. "I might tell you more later."

    She huffs but seems to acquiesce for now. Sterneck doesn't even speak, just shakes his head in his hands. It is his right to despair, given that you are having to seriously consider letting the Druchii smash half or more of his city to pieces just to try and pin them in place.

    "If one is from Ghrond, and we cut them off from a source of magical power in Albion, and they've gotten another Fleetmaster or Dreadlord or whatever to work with them for promise of plunder and death," you say, drinking a flask of Bugman's now, "It is, yes, entirely likely that both Arks will come for us."

    Sadrina frowns but doesn't disagree with you.

    "But if that's true, what about them to the west?" Kerillian asks, raising an eyebrow. "I'll bet they aren't likely to just let them be."

    "No, not at all," you shake your head.

    You've had weeks and weeks now to consider it. Consider the implications of Albion, of the Arcane Fulcrum, and what little you knew of the Druchii before now. Add it into what you've just learned, and your mind just works all the harder alongside the drink. Military tactics, options, choices to be decided. You already know that, as much as it might absolutely infuriate the Cult of Manann, that Stephan is planning on abandoning Manannsheim outright. He has no intention whatsoever to try and defend a single tiny, isolated island compared to the rest of Nordland, and is pulling back as far as he needs to. The man simply refuses to keep his people in the line of fire, and besides which has been looking to re-populate his interior for years.

    "There is no best or worst situation," you say, "Not really one I can see at the moment anyhow. But assuming they know what I think they know, and what was done in Albion, it is likely that they'll hit Ostland with both Arks."

    "And, at the same time, send their fleets to raid and burn Stephan's coastline down," Natasha adds.

    It is a grim assessment, but not one that is without merit. You can see it in Sadrina's eyes, the considering look which is then followed by a regretful nod.

    "But would that not mean-," Sterneck begins, but quiets again as you look at him.

    "Yes. As I said. It is not the first time we would need to rebuild Salkalten," you say.

    "The issue, then, becomes one of distance and orders," Urgdug says while drawing a circle in the air with a finger. "Because the Sea of Claws is huge, so the ships we send out, might not get more news or orders until its too late."

    "Unless they're nearby," you add.

    "Sure," Urgdug nods, "But the first two? Not so easy to adjust. Then we gotta decide if we wanna pull the Army of the Forest up to join us here. Not a bad idea, for now. Plus the thing with the Flagellants."

    Stephan is aware of your thought process, given the messages that have been flying between the two of you. But he can't take the chance, either, and so can't just send one of his two armies your way. If you're wrong, and an Ark does strike his shores, he'll need all the help he can get. Nor does he desire to push for the first two options you'd thought of for trying to deal with one of the Arks and seems to have already come to the unfortunate decision that the third option will work best for him. Whether or not he'll be successful, you can't say. Hell, you can't say the same for yourself. Ortrud is splitting the army she sent west between the two of you, meaning five thousand for you and five thousand for Stephan.

    But now, you know, you must make your own decisions for Ostland's sake, and the sake of the Empire.

    Decisions To Be Made:
    Fleet Choices In Anticipation For Black Ark Arrival
    [] Swarm Strike - Likely to ensure ruinous casualties amongst Fleet forces, trying to surround and corral Black Ark and any attendant ships present in the middle of the Sea of Claws. Will cause unknown amounts of damage to Black Ark(s?) as they surge towards Ostland's coast.
    [] Line Loop - Likely to ensure ruinous casualties amongst Fleet forces, allowing Black Ark(s?) closer towards the coastline and then surround them after they get close enough for possible long-range reinforcement from Salkalten's walls.
    [] Crushed Anvil - Highest chance of causing actual damage to any Black Ark that heads for the coast, unknown casualties for Fleet forces, meant to attack Ark once it has beached itself and is forced into one place.

    Army Choices
    [] Summon the Army of the Forest North - It will remove the Army of the Forest from their patrol routes throughout inner Ostland, but will provide significant reinforcement to Salkalten.
    [] Leave the Army of the Forest South - While they will not aid in the battles at the coast, they will be able to better protect the interior of Ostland should the Druchii make a march south, as well as any other unforseen threats.

    Flagellant Choices
    [] Barbed Net - Let the flagellants spread out in the now evacuated coastal settlements beyond Salkalten. Any ships that attempt to raid there will find a horrible surprise, and the flagellants may well manage to put some of the Druchii down. They will not, however, be available immediately if fighting occurs at Salkalten.
    [] Sacrificial Fist - Should one or both Arks hit Salkalten, they will likely unleash deadly creatures and troops that could be, possibly, slowed by the presence of flagellants throwing themselves forward. Retain them for just such a purpose.
     
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    • A shit decision all around. Whatever we do, it will hurt, and we still risk something. Im honestly hesitant to call in the Army of the Forest. If Beastmen decide to take advantage... but we could definitely use another army.
     
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