Warhammer Fantasy: A Dynasty of Dynamic Alcoholism

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Oskana: stupid humans, I'm a perfect mother!

*Cue to octaine in a crackhead charge at an ogre pulverizer*

Oskana: See? Tha young boy is almost ready to find an proper mate and get me grandchildren.
 
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Oskana would probably have a VERY different relationship with the Hollenzollerns if she had a Brana torc thingy to talk at them with.
How different, I'm not sure, though…
 
I mean i don't think it would change much. She probably would annoy everyone with demands since they share a language but she is what she is a Griphon raised by the electorial family of ostoland.

Wich for other Griphon standards make she a bit shamaless (as lacking a certain amount of pride) but also so good at just being a murrder-cat-chicken that makes her kinda hot. Same goes for her son.
 
Some questions @torroar

  1. Do the Knights of Morr and/or Knights Raven fight in a fashion atypical for Imperial knights? The artwork from WFRP 2nd edition would lead me to believe that the Black Guard favor crossbows and the Knights Raven fight as horse archers whilst wearing full plate and riding barded warhorses.
  2. Is there anything left of the 6th edition (magic) Lore of Athel Loren or does it not exist in this quest?
  3. Is it possible for us to reverse engineer the Dark Elf Reaper Bolt Throwers? Or is that info a GM secret?
  4. Do Cathayan longswords from the 6th edition Ogre Kingdoms Army Book still exist or have they been retconned for the purposes of this quest? If they still exist have they been nerfed?
  5. Do flares exist?
  6. Will parachute flares be a thing?
  7. How common are bows compared to crossbows in the armies of Cathay?
  8. How common are horse archers in the armies of Grand Cathay? What about mounted crossbowmen?
  9. Did Salkaltens defenses include furnaces for firing heated shot? If not, could they be on the shopping list for when the defenses are rebuilt?
  10. Does the Aqshy-infused powder mentioned in Up In Arms exist yet?
  11. Exactly how long barreled are Cathayan mantis cannons? 60 inches? 72 inches? 84 inches? Longer? Shorter? Do they require a bipod or shield mount like canon crane guns?
  12. Has Frederick the Younger expressed any leanings towards particular forms of soldiering? (i.e naval service, knightly orders, light cavalry, etc.)
 
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1. They are certainly capable of it when the situation calls for it. Dealing historically with undead, non-standard enemies, and caring less for the sensibilities of the living, they are more willing than many other Knightly Orders to utilize such tactics, like remaining at range instead of charging into a horde of morale-less and tireless undead that might otherwise bog them down.
2. It exists, sure. Spellsingers of Athel Loren and the Laurelorn know it.
3. You have bolt throwers of your own. There are certainly improvements that could be made, but certain material issues that would prove an impossible bottleneck for certain respects i.e. you don't have access to the same materials produced on Naggaroth in the Old World. Additionally, you do not possess the specific tested/tried/expertly made and enchanted materials and ammo they utilize.
4. They exist, but keep in mind that 'Cathayan Longsword' is a dumbed down Old Worldism to reference a genuine Cathayan weapon i.e. a longsword equivalent being a jian. True expert/magically aided in crafting jians are the equivalents of the mechanical Cathayan Longsword but are far more rare. Not every single jian is a 'Cathayan Longsword' as tabletop would express it. And there are, obviously, different levels. A 'base' Cathayan Longsword i.e. a jian is a category of lower level items, sure. Higher tiers, such as Genevieve's jian, are not sold.
5. I'm sure there are rune-based and magical-based equivalents. Purely chemically/alchemically made ones, possibly, at higher tiers. Fuel is a lot easier to get than separating out and utilizing strontium nitrate, potassium nitrate, or potassium perchlorate. ATM, the Gold College is currently building up its realization of a table of alchemical elements, but it's a painstaking process that takes some time.
6. See above.
7. Depends on what region you are in, plus farmers and outrangers/scouts/etc. use plenty of them as well as crossbows. There is still plenty to be gone/valuable about bows such that they're not just going away.
8. There are regiments of them. They know well enough thanks to thousands of years of dealing with the Hobgoblin Khanates and Chaos Tribes such as the Hung. Roland's participation in the Battle of 100,000 Horses was a thing, too.
9. No. Possibly.
10. No.
11. They're basically canon crane guns, yeah.
12. [REDACTED]
 
Daedwartin said:
Look, did you SEE what happened the last time someone said "Short Dwarf"?

(Lets just ignore the fact that the main reason that Thorgim was going ballistic in the trailer was because Teclis had literally just been going on about how "With the Asur's guidance" they could fight chaos in typical Asur arrogance combined with being...Teclis before he made the comment about "shortsightedness" )

But you do not just call a Dawi SHORT!
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Or perhaps the issue is that Thorgrim has the emotional control of a three year old :V
 
[CANON] A Matter of Names - torroar
  • Sidestory
    • A Matter of Names​

    Frederick von Hohenzollern was introduced to his namesake on the same day of his birth, though actually remembering the occasion was naturally beyond him. He was born at a relatively healthy weight, and screamed quite loudly at the world around him. He was carried from his mother Serhild's bosom, shown to his father Arthur, and was more than well struck by all the stupendous stimuli of a world outside the womb. All that being said, it is undeniable that he was rendered especially wide-eyed upon coming face to face with the bearded man who seemed to loom larger than anyone else in the room. Of course, that was mostly because of the fact that Arthur von Hohenzollern had stayed up for long hours with his wife throughout the process, steadily letting his hands be crushed into a fine powder that would require magical aid to heal later on by Serhild von Hohenzollern's incredible grip.

    "He's incredible," Frederick von Hohenzollern says down towards the then un-named Frederick von Hohenzollern. "A handsome son, to be sure. Have the two of you already thought of a name for him?"

    Sitting, now, and wincing as a Jade Wizard kneels next to him and reknits the crushed bones of his hands, Arthur glances up at his father and mother as they coo at the baby and then over to his wife. Serhild is flushed, soaked with far more sweat than her husband, face red and hair slicked to her own body, but has more than survived the birthing process. Indeed, it is the very magic which now helps Arthur's hands which ensured that she suffered as little pain and damage as possible. All the while, at that very moment, a Shallyan woman is calling upon their Goddess to aid in healing the mother from the exertions of birth, whilst a Rhyan priestess calls upon the holy power of the Earth to quite simply banish the pain outright from Serhild entirely. Or, more truthfully, to transfer it, but the wrinkled matron has spent decades with her Cult and is quite experienced at shouldering the birthing pains onto herself.

    Aside from a grunt and setting of her shoulders, she gives no more sign of her burden, and instead holds Serhild's other hand and pats it comfortingly. Serhild is the more visibly affected, her breathing normalizing rapidly and her bleary look transforming into a much more clear-headed one that she affixes to her husband before inclining her head.

    "If it would please you, my lord, my lady," she nods in turn to the Count and Countess, "We have discussed it long - that if the child were a girl, it would be named after my husband's mother, and if a boy then after his father."

    Frederick's head rocks back, eyes welling up just as Natasha's does.

    And the newly named Frederick von Hohenzollern, son of Arthur and Serhild, rears back his head to let loose another ear splitting cry announcing his presence to the world.

    =====================================================================
    ​
    Since the time he could properly begin to understand words, Frederick understands this - the shadow of his namesake looms large and long. This is not, as it turns out, even a problem that is uniquely his. Logan, his uncle who is somehow closer to age in him than anyone else, is named in honor of the some famous person elsewhere in the Empire. The Ar-Ulric, though the intricacies of that escape him in his early years of life. Another uncle, this one appropriately older, is named Magnus and is the closest sibling to his own father out of anyone else. And, apparently, being named Magnus is a big deal. A bigger deal than Logan's name, even, because Magnus is named after the Emperor himself! But Frederick is not named after a distant priest or a distant ruler, people he has never even seen before.

    He is named for his grandfather, Frederick von Hohenzollern, who has slain daemons and monsters and fought wars and battles and skirmishes unending up and down the length of the province that is his home.

    And though the servants surely mean nothing of it, it is impossible for certain whispers to go unheard. It is impossible for so very many stories to go untold by his parents, spoken in pride, and in fact asked for with childish curiosity by the younger members of the Herd. Raised as communally as they are, there are many stories to hear indeed. Many are censored, at first, in the early years, but the older the Herd members get the more details are able to be learned. Of maudlin beginnings, of nightmare filled lands, of great charges and clashes. Not just of his grandfather, but of his grandmother as well, and more yet still of the rest of his family.

    Many, many, many stories.

    ==============================================================
    ​
    "Frederick," his father says to him, leaning against his massive black sword as it sticks into the earth, "Are you sure about this?"

    The sun beats down on them, a particularly warm summer day striking a fist across Ostland's face. Frederick is soaked with sweat, and all the energy of youth has been drained from him by the punishing training regimen he has pushed himself into. The child's armor he wears is heavy and hanging against his body, while at his feet lie a training shield and training blade, lightly coated with dust from where they've fallen. While his father raises an eyebrow at him, head tilting to the side, clean-shaven where his grandfather's beard is thick across and down the chest, Frederick nods fiercely as he gestures to one of the dozen weapon ranks at the side of the ring. Without waiting for permission, the boy leaps for and grabs a heavy two-handed axe, yelping in surprise as the weight unbalances him in the process of trying to grab a two-handed hammer.

    "Oof!" He cries as he topples, stopped from bruising his bottom with his father's rushed hands catching him.

    "Those might be a bit heavy for you, you know," his father murmurs.

    "But you all said that grandfather can use both - one in each hand - during his spars with grandmother!" Frederick protests, utilizing the genuine truth as his newest diplomatic weapon. "A-and Logan uses an axe like this!"

    "He can," his father nods before gently hefting the hammer out of his poor one-handed grip, "And Logan does - but your grandfather is much older, and much stronger than you, while Logan chose the axe as his first weapon whereas you chose the sword and shield."

    His father's brow furrows just as Frederick's does, a gesture mirrored from son to child.

    "What brought all this on? You've been doing perfectly well in your training, my son. Truly."

    Frederick lowers his head, swallowing and ever so slightly ashamed at having to admit the truth out loud.

    "If...I should...I should be learning all of these, right?" He gestures again at all the racks. "Grandfather knows all of them! So I should too, right?"

    Now his father sighs, rubbing a hand across his face before squatting down to bring them face to face.

    "Frederick...it is all right to dedicate yourself to mastering one weapon. You should not spread yourself too thin unnecessarily. Your grandfather...," another sigh escapes the priest, "He felt it necessary to try and prepare himself for as many situations as possible, because of what he might encounter as Elector Count. That is not your path," a heavy hand lands on Frederick's shoulder. "Your path is your own, my son."

    The words certainly reach the boy's ears.

    He is not, after all, deaf.

    But there is a fire there, now, and the calming words of his father cannot douse them.

    ===============================================================
    ​
    Frederick von Hohenzollern is fourteen when he makes his first kill.

    He has shed blood and cracked bones before in the ring, but an assembly of steel and so many pairs of feet is something different entirely.

    It is not at the side of his father, for Arthur von Hohenzollern is holding a large funeral service for a number of older Wulfenburg citizens who fell victim to a mild sickness that their supremely aged bodies could not fight off.

    It is not at the side of his mother, for she is busy in their estates to the northeast, managing personal accounts and funds with the aid of his aunt Sabine.

    It is not at the side of his Uncle Magnus, for he is leading an expedition in the Middle Mountains to chase down and kill a manticore that has been bothering the settlers there.

    It is not at the side of any of his siblings or cousins, for they are either too young to accompany them or gone entirely like Logan to the side of the Ar-Ulric.

    It is at the side of his namesake.

    And all his ambitions are buffeted by winds that his father could never muster as he witnesses Frederick von Hohenzollern storm his way through an entire warherd of beastmen.

    To be sure, he is accompanied by greatswords, those near-peerless fighters of Ostland. There are ogres, led by Uncle Urgdug, cordoning off the area and bracketing the warherd to prevent even the smallest and most dextrous ungor from escaping. But it is impossible to miss, impossible to avoid, as the Steel Bull charges. Frederick is young, younger than most, but his earnest pleas and promises of his grandfather to keep watch over him as well as being accompanied by two of the Jade Wizards, have allowed him a place in this patrol. Less than a thousand strong, marching through the forest outside of the roads, and yet he finds his world narrowing to a pinprick point. It is like a ship caught in a hurricane, a cloth ripped into the sky by a tornado. Frederick is moving, charging, part of a momentum that makes his heart thunder and body ache, and then there is a repeated staccato of impacts as they ram into the enemy.

    Blood, gore, and limbs fly, splattering and covering him, and by the end of a few minutes a great many beastmen are dead and he is standing, shaking, unable to even properly remember any of his kills in that charge until the last.

    Surely he slew many, his sword arm feels as if it is about to fall off, the fine-forged castle steel sword itself actually bent and chipped from being forced through so many bodies in rapid succession. But all Frederick remembers is the last, the bloodshot eyes of the gor bouncing around in its sockets as it is bowled over by everyone else. Lashing out with hooves and axes, and yet it was Frederick whose armor stood up to its blows long enough for him to plunge his half-broken sword into his face. But it is like a flash, it isn't the stories he was told, it wasn't the glories he was promised, it wasn't the legends he read.

    Not for him, at least.

    But then, he was not the moving mountain, the advancing whirlwind, the elemental roar of defiance made manifest.

    He could only follow it, dragged along, half-watching the entire time he should have been more fully focused on the enemy.

    "You all right there, young one?" The mountain peak speaks to him, and Frederick realizes he doesn't entirely know why he is shaking like he is. "Easy there. Easy."

    A hand, two hands, holding him, steadying him.

    "You did well, Frederick," he hears, but it is a strangely distant thing. "You did well."

    "I...I...,"

    ==========================================================================​

    "I wish you had not named me after grandfather," he confesses to a confused and concerned mother and father,
    sitting privately in a room within Castle Wulfenburg.

    There are hugs, there is a small glass of beer supplied, and there are two faces full of so much love and concern that it makes Frederick's stomach turn.

    "Where has this come from?" His mother asks immediately, but there is a look on his father's face that draws the eyes of mother and son both.

    "Ah. This," Arthur von Hohenzollern says sagely with a tinge of sadness. "I had hoped otherwise."

    "Husband mine?" Mother looks expectant, eyebrow raised imperiously even as one hand reaches out to grasp Frederick's hand and entwines fingers.

    "You are not the only one in this family to think he has to labor under such a burden," his father begins, pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Magnus suffers the same. He looks upwards, upright, and sees not Frederick von Hohenzollern the father, but...," two grey hands flutter up and around in the air. "The Steel Bull. The Unkillable. The Grand Prince. The Hero."

    Frederick blinks, the tears in his eyes falling slower now but not quite ceasing.

    "Oh, my son," his mother murmurs, now reaching out to grasp his other hand and hold them tight. "You are so young! You can't possibly...you have your whole life awaiting you!"

    "And more than that," his father rejoins, shaking his head, "You do not have to be some sort of...copy of your grandfather. For all that is good in the eyes of the Gods, do you think he would want you to suffer the same circumstance that led to his deeds?"

    "A sacked homeland, a province overrun by the Dark Gods, ancient horrors rising and nearly slaying a wife," his mother says insistently. "These are not things to wish for!"

    "But-," Frederick sputters. "I am - you named me for him! How can I not - the shame I would bring to the family by not standing up to the standard he has set would be...,"

    Both parents, well synchronized, speak firmly over their son in unison.

    "Be no shame at all."

    His mother punctuates her statement by shaking the hands that hold his own lightly.

    His father shakes his head once more before placing his hands atop his wife's and son's as well.

    "Aye, I named you in honor of my father - your grandfather - but never with the demand or desire for you to be him!"

    But why can he not learn all the languages as fluently and quickly? He still cannot wield every weapon as the others can, not with the encyclopedic library of Tasha or the pure strength of Logan. He has skill, he has ability, but it has never felt like enough. Shouldn't he be capable of these things? Why can he not be capable of these things? He must be able to do these things, and more.

    "Because you are just barely a man!" His father cries aloud, standing and embracing him tightly, joined just as quickly by his mother. "Because even your grandfather took decades to get to where he is now!"

    "You are not even past your second decade of life," his mother adds, voice muffled as she buries her head between the chest of her son and husband. "What you will become, who you will be, will come in time."
    It takes more than that, of course.

    It takes all night, and morning besides, to the point that another priest must take care of morning prayer at the Garden of Morr.

    But it is time that is judged well-spent, in beer, tears, and love, by the reckoning of those Hohenzollerns three.

    =======================================================================​

    "Just for a few years," Frederick von Hohenzollern decides, finally, standing with a heart far less burdened and a soul far more lightened. "A few years of it."

    "I do not recommend traveling to Tilea," his aunt Anna has said, and given her experiences there, he decides that if his journeys take him there, then he will endeavor to do his best to reduce the amount of time required of him within the borders of that land.

    "Yes, Aunt Anna," he nods to her.

    "Must you become a mercenary?" His father asks, pursing his lips. "I am sure you could attempt to join one any number of Knightly Orders."

    "Father...," Frederick groans.

    But he does not want to be Logan, he does not say.

    He does not need to, he has said it enough.

    "He wants to forge his own path," his mother huffs, elbowing his father in the side. "He's well-trained, strong, and pretty to boot. Mayhaps a nice noble lady will take him on as a bodyguard, keep him in the cities."

    "Urban environments can still be dangerous," Aunt Anna proclaims in her unfeeling way before turning and walking away, her part in the conversation over and done with as far as she is concerned.

    "It's not like I am going to be leaving immediately," Frederick protests. "I'll build a group with me, at least, a few volunteers, or something. I'll not just disappear all on my lonesome!"

    He has been planning this for too long to give up now, but he won't let himself be foolish about it. There are preparations to be made, paths to be planned, all sorts of matters that will have to be dealt with.

    "Once you, grandfather, and grandmother have finished seeing off the Druchii, we can talk about it more father. But I'll not be swayed," Frederick says with a flash of a smile.

    Black plate armor clanks as his father crosses his arms before sighing and reaching out to muss his hair.

    "Very well. In the meantime, keep your siblings and cousins and everyone else safe," his father instructs before hauling himself up onto his horse.

    "Of course!" Frederick barks, jerking his thumb at his chest. "I'm Frederick von Hohenzollern!"

    His parents huff, some others of the Herd laugh, but the clinging bitterness of years past have finally faded.

    "And I'll be forging my own path," he adds, one hand coming to rest on the sword at his side, the other arm with the shield on it rising up to wave his father out of the castle.

    He turns, then, and puts his hands on his hips as he faces the rest of the Herd.

    "Now then, who wants to spar!"

    "I'll go for it," Tasha announces, already hefting up a halberd from one of the racks, while Trudi has grabbed an Estalian-style rapier.

    Karola immediately flees for the innards of the castle, Ori dutifully trotting after her, the rest of the younger Herd chivvied away from what is a far more mature spar than they are currently allowed. Young Frederick's smile does flicker, however, as he watches his mother casually stride over and pick up a pair of one-handed maces with wicked looking heads to them.

    "Um, mother. I wasn't...er...," he stammers out.

    "Oh, hush now, Frederick. You've sparred with your namesake, your uncles and aunts, and so on and so forth. You wouldn't begrudge a mother from wanting to make sure her son is ready to leave for the outside world, would you?"

    The smile of his mother is one that makes Young Frederick clear his throat and gulp.

    Surely it is just the sun's positioning that makes makes her shadow loom so large and long behind her as she swishes the maces back and forth.

    "R-right. Well," he unsheathes his sword and readies his shield. "I'll make it a fight, at least!"

    "That is the Hohenzollern way," Tasha adds, twirling her halberd as Trudi hums a little song.

    "And we are all Hohenzollerns here," his mother chirps before striding forth in her winter dress and cloak.
     
  • Sidestory
    • iggyfan said:
    Has Frederick the Younger expressed any leanings towards particular forms of soldiering? (i.e naval service, knightly orders, light cavalry, etc.)
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    So, now I can answer this question: Young Frederick has taken a generalist approach, meaning he has absorbed heavy cavalry i.e. Black Guard of Morr training, heavy infantry i.e. Greatsword-adjacent hero-training with family, and has a smattering of more than none but less than mastery of a variety of other forms of combat. As a rule, however, he is more likely to be found on horseback in heavier armor with shield and lance/sword, or on foot with shield/sword. He is capable of light cavalry and more used to heavier cavalry stuff, but did not show overmuch interest in naval service-related stuff.
     
    Frederick's shadow is cast upon the rest of his family for better and worse. But I think the various family members are supporting each other through it regardless, I imagine most of the Family goes through a phase where they want to live up to Old Frederick's Legend, Young Frederick certainly isn't the only one. But the fact that they all acknowledge it and are supportive is great.
     
    That was awesome. Love seeing these excerpts of the Herd, really makes them feel like different individuals one and all.

    That said...

    torroar said:
    Or, more truthfully, to transfer it, but the wrinkled matron has spent decades with her Cult and is quite experienced at shouldering the birthing pains onto herself.
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    Uh, alright then. Who needs Shallya's painkillers or Jade Wizard Wolverine-style regeneration when you can just take the pain of childbirth. Isn't childbirth one of the worst pains to suffer? And this priestess of Rhya does this often?!

    Mad respect, major props.
     
    Rhya is the goddess of summer, agriculture, fertility, love and nature/community, well-being, love, life, health, fertility, and birth.

    Childbirth, birthing, sex, etc. are within her purview.

    It's a very, very specific prayer casting. Shallya has far broader applications of healing of the body and mind, but there is no way that Rhya would not have anything at all that she could not do for one of the most painful acts involving in giving/creating life given it is such a chonky part of her purview. And not just humans, but, like tamed animals and crops and such as well, after all.

    There is no part of her Divine Lore in canon with something like that, as far as I know, but I don't think it is something that is too far out there to be possible for certain matrons who focus more specifically on the sex/love/childmaking/rearing/etc. aspect of Rhya as their main thing.
     
    Man, Freddy Jr has a big legacy name that is a big weight for him, but I'm glad he wants to make his own path in the world since that is his right.

    Maybe in time he will become a great mercenary general and lead a famous band... although, this all takes place before the invasion attempt.

    I can't imagine how his grandparents being missing in action will effect that dream now, or even just the causality reports of the merc bands that died during all the fighting.

    It makes getting home as soon as possible even more important to settle our family's hearts.
     
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    torroar said:
    His parents huff, some others of the Herd laugh, but the clinging bitterness of years past have finally faded.

    "And I'll be forging my own path," he adds, one hand coming to rest on the sword at his side, the other arm with the shield on it rising up to wave his father out of the castle.
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    I know we try, but a part of me is always concerned that there are significant tensions, and festering problems within the extended family that we are blind to.

    Frederick the Younger's struggles with living up to his namesake have been both understandable, and concerning to me for some time. Having confirmation that that problem has been exposed and worked through with a good resolution is very reliving.

    I believe that some of his uncles on his mother's side had good mercenary experience. Maybe he can get some advice or referrals, although this is probably a strange season to get into the merc-business, given how many of them have been sucked into a major civil war.
     
    Freddy Jr could lead the first over Imperial Ogre merc band if he can find enough volunteers. They would be in high demand since skilled, tough, and much less prone to eating their employers.
     
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