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Warhammer Fantasy: A Dynasty of Dynamic Alcoholism
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- warhammer warhammer fantasy fantasy intrigue happens male protagonist ck2 quest belief stronk count of cannons drunken wisdom foes in the shadows graf of guns (guns) if you have a question check the front page first it begins... mountain vietnam ogres paranoia rising unseen enemies everywhere use the search function before asking waifu wars wake the bull
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Merry Christmas everyone, happy holidays and good spirits to you.
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User Choice Awards Voting: Best Ongoing Quest
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Marry Christmas Guys!!!
And please If you have not yet voted for this quest on the "Best Ongoing Quest", please give it a go...
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It seems that Arsonist's Lullaby: An Azula Timeloop Quest has gained an advantage of 20 votes or so over this quest... Let's make sure that this Awesome quest gains a very much deserved User's Choice Awards on its 10th Anniversary!!!
And please If you have not yet voted for this quest on the "Best Ongoing Quest", please give it a go...
User Choice Awards Voting: Best Ongoing Quest
This is the voting phase for the 2024 User Choice Awards. Look at the thread titles below to select Award categories to vote in, and help your favourite threads be crowned as UCA champions!
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It seems that Arsonist's Lullaby: An Azula Timeloop Quest has gained an advantage of 20 votes or so over this quest... Let's make sure that this Awesome quest gains a very much deserved User's Choice Awards on its 10th Anniversary!!!
[CANON] A tale of Grudges and Struggles in the deeps 3 - AllenWalker
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A tale of Grudges and Struggles in the deeps 3
They had had cannons in Under-Middenheim.
Dozens and dozens of them, fine production models right out of the furnaces of Nuln, placed on choke points, freshly built walls and platforms, some purpose built to fit through some of the smaller tunnels. Engineers and canonniers stood ready around the clock to man at least some of the most crucial guns, at fall back positions and the central stair stations, something proven necessary after more than one incident where some skaven had managed to bypass their defences, through some contaminated ruins of what had once been ratmen buildings or newly dug tunnels.
He had seen the defensive networks of under-Middenheim in full action, scything through hundreds and hundreds of skaven slaves with grapeshot, of glowing hot ammunition disemboweling some abomination and cooking it from it's multitude of insides, even as it squashed and slaughtered whole squads of spearmen trying to keep it at bay.
The interconnected discipline of the most hardened of the survivors of the Wolf's Crusade, specially hired Wissenlander crews for the artillery mixed with the piety and martial excellence of the newly minted - at the time - Count Bildenhof…. He had been and still was of the opinion that there was no better military force in the Empire, save perhaps the Knight's Griffon or Panter.
Joseph was not a humble man, yet he could not deny that the defenses of the citadel of Grungni put even Middenland's best to shame. Hundreds of cannons, some packed in grand batteries, others placed on forward platforms hewn centuries, if not millennia ago into the rock of the cave walls - and one or two particular gigantic stalagmites - they all were firing.
A roar of black powder that, in the whole history of the world. might just only have been matched by the other citadels defending the underdeep of Karaz-A-Karak and of course the front walls.
The sharpened end point of his war hammer smashed right through the marode wooden shield of the damned gobbo before him, piercing through the arm holding it and pressing down towards an ugly little face, whose eyes were filled with a manic glee, green foam pouring out of it's nostrils, mouth, ears and pupils alike. If he had to guess then this thing had maybe an hour left to live either way.
That didn't stop it from raising three arms, bulging with horrifically mutated muscles, to press against the shield in which his primary weapon was now stuck, it's fourth arm - protruding out of it's ass of all places - frantically slashing at his side, the crude piece of metal pointless bouncing of the steel of his armor.
Not dignifying it's efforts with as much as a grunt, he lashed out with the blunt metal edge of his broad shield, slamming it against its ribs with enough force that a lesser greenskin, say one of the goblins of the drakwald, would have died outright from it, shattered bones tearing through its lungs in a fatal injury.
Not so this monster of a goblin, the damn thing damn near reaching up to his chin, it's entire body stretched beyond what even the greatest of goblins should ever be, massive expanses of muscles flapping around bones to small for them, half a dozen outgrowths that he couldn't even begin to tell if they were supposed to have been arms, legs or heads twitching, partially screaming in the open air as they secreted blood and green foam in equal numbers.
Instead it simply stumbled back, ripping his warpack with it, two of it's functioning arms slacking aside, the effort of its own muscles having broken their bones to such a degree that even the truly insane amount of drugs this creature was under could no longer mask the pain, judging from the whelps and whimpers, it's mouth to deformed for even what passed as goblin "talk".
Without missing a beat, he pulled a short throwing axe out from his belt and planted it between its eyes, which at this point were literally popping out of its holes, resembling more of some gross ropey worm. A stomp of his heavy iron boot against the hilt of the axe was enough to drive it into its melting brain, killing it at last.
Around him, the fighting on the second lowest of the wall sections was at last subsuming, the last of the things that had once been goblins being at last put down or pushed down the walls as the stone wolves rallied together with the various dwarfen quarrellers and thunderers, many having switched to axes or daggers or turned their guns as clubs upon the hundreds and hundreds of the beasts that had been launched upon their positions.
They had reacted quickly, which, together with their heavy armor, had prevented many a deaths, yet he could still see the shattered bodies of Klein, Willhelm and Tormund down upon the blood and gore stained stones before the gates the gates of the citadel, three veterans that had defended Middenheim since even before the days of the wolfs crusade, perished upon being piled upon by what were less goblin's and more an orkoid version of a chaos spawn and forced down the walls they had fought for even moments before.
His eyes fell on the green mass before him with disgust, even as cannon, grudge and bolt thrower alike were rearranged to cut through the now freshly revealed crude catapults of the greenskins, hidden away by a boiling ocean of green bodies and disgusting sorcery till the very last moment.
He had been disclosed on the nature of the warp stone brews and the badlands fighting on even the goblins….. Now it seemed he got to experience what a mix of those two, backed by the savage might of the the largest waagh in recorded history, be it imperial or dwarfen, looked like.
As an inhabitant of Middenheim, a soldier of the city of the wolf and a patriot of Middenland, Joseph knew of great goblin waaghs in the past, the topics of legend and song. Of how the vile creatures of the drakwald, goblins in their tens of thousands, accompanied by hundreds if not thousands of disgusting spiders, many large enough to climb upon and over the walls of the towns and castles surrounding that horrid fortress and to slaughter their inhabitants. How the greatest of those assemblies of greenskins had sallied out to assault places like Delberz, Carroburg and even Middenheim itself.
In the end they had of course always overcome those waaghs. Heroic defences by the Carroburg greatswords, cutting down down even the most frenzied of goblin fanatics, charges of the Teutogen Guard felling even the most ancient of arachnarok spiders, epic duels of various Al Ulrics sundering grand shamans and warbosses bellow the auspice sight of the faustschlag.
None of the greenskin armies in those stories could match the horrific hordes that now were assailing the roots of the everpeak. The host that lay before the citadel of grungni alone had to be 40, if not 50.000 strong. Hundreds of gobbo bosses leading frenzied detachments and mobs, shamans hiding ever so cowardly amongst their kin, casting spells and augmentations and twice or thrice their total number in squigs. So many squigs.
Many of them had grown fat on the manifold flesh of previous assaults, having eaten from the by now nigh skeletal corpses of the giants that had been slain in the first assault against the gate of Grungni, their bodies having been hit by so many different cannon balls, boulders and bolts that they had ceased being conclusive unit all together, heads, arms and legs struck with such violence that for some they lay dozens of meters apart.
And none of these attacks had matched up with what was happening now, at least judging by the comments of many of the dawi in between their reloading of various war machines or firearms. Muttered curses and references to so called goblin wars were pushed out instead.
The dwarfs had tools to handle such a situation. Boltthrowers fired first, a volley of projectiles as wide and sturdy as a spear, albeit not as long, launched from the defenses into the incoming wave. Chittering creatures were impaled, thrown backwards from the sheer speed and mass of the upsized bolts. Makeshift armor provided no protection, thick hides of squigs were torn open with impunity, he quietly cheered at the sight of a wheeled contraption they called a pump wagon getting smashed to bits.
Goblins were small and numerous, so while each impact resulted in a kill, the larger bolts were simply unsuited for the task. The dwarfs knew that, so the gunners were picking off larger monsters or leaders, laying the pieces for the next set of weapons.
Cannons thundered, a cascade of shots that did wonders against the horde. A volley of cannonballs slammed into the first 'ranks' of the goblin mob, hundreds of the little monsters getting splattered almost instantly. Many didn't even have time to scream, they were turned to mush so fast he doubted any of them realized what happened. Some were not so lucky, their wails were pitiful when he could hear them. The gunners cared not, they reloaded, took aim, and cut down another mass.
Overhead rocks flew through the air, quieter by far and only a small degree less destructive. Boulders slammed onto the ground, a few smashing into gravel, the majority rolling a short distance, crushing anything and everything under their weight. A pack of squigs was flattened by a pair of rocks, at the same time a small gaggle of riders became bloodstains under a cracked stone, the shattered rock tearing into their footslogging comrades.
Nearby Joseph's position he was treated to the sight of the catapult crew working on resetting the machine. It was a catapult, nothing all that remarkable except for the masterful craftsmanship, although he raised a brow at the stone ammunition. Any decent sized rock would do, but the dwarfs made sure to carve runes into theirs.
Brushing off the observation, he gazed back at the horde assailing the walls, frowning as the screams of dying goblins struggled to be heard over the booms of the cannons. Why now? Before the goblins had only done hit and run attacks, a cowardly yet oddly clever strategy that kept the dwarfs and humans tied down here, unable to send their forces to the more important fight.
What changed to switch up their plan? He felt like he was missing something important, observing a pack of colossal squigs stomping into the fray could have permanently distracted him.
Joseph cursed, bracing himself as shouts ran up and down the line. There were plenty of curses from men and dwarf alike, with no small amount of panic. He was not immune, because what was a pickaxe supposed to do against a beast like that? He shifted his footing, preparing to get squashed.
Seeing the lead monster stomping on a goblin who didn't get out of the way in time, opening its gigantic maw wide to roar, he braced for trouble, grumbling at the questions itching in his skull. Those things were about to smash this wall into rubble, why was he still thinking about stuff like that?
And then a cannonball slammed into its mouth, the beast blinking in confusion right before the whole monster went up in a deafening blaze, exploding with such force that he stumbled even from this distance. Around his position chunks of meat rained, sounding unpleasant where they landed and smelling much worse. He could live with that, seeing as a whole mob of goblins was flattened by the blast, and even the other squigs were stumbling and screeching in pain, their hides blackened and torn.
That was until he realized the implication of all the other colossal squigs that were currently excitedly hopping towards the gates of the citadel of Grungni.
Cannons and bolt throwers redirected their aim, slamming into the giant beasts, trying to slay the monsters before they could break the wall. Behind the squigs he saw their real force: thousands and thousands of bunched up, bloodthirsty goblins, metaphorically and literally whipped into a killing frenzy, charging at the citadel with only a short gap between them and the squigs. Just enough to keep the majority alive while the beasts did their work.
The lead colossal squid roared in agony as it fell, perforated by dozens of bolts and punctured by a barrage of cannonballs. It collapsed to the ground with a tremendous crash, its bulk making a miniature quake upon landing. One behind it fell a moment later, rearing back with a deafening screech, getting riddled with gunfire and bolts the whole way down.
Two were down, the majority were still charging at the walls, suffering scores of injuries but not enough to kill the damn things, not fast enough.
There was a bang, a crash of iron hitting iron and for an instant every single bit of noise in the cave, large enough to fit an entire city in it, ceased, for but a moment.
Besides him, he could see how a shudder went through the dwarfs manning the bolthrower, a push, their hands moving a bit faster than they were before. Almost… afraid? No, that wasn't right. There were no fearful glances, no trembling.
No, instead, they moved with purpose, slamming each component as if they had been doing it since the time of Sigmar. Bolts were placed with exacting precision at top speed, landing just right that there was no delay in settling in. The winch was pulled back with the exact amount of force, not so much that the operator had to pull back, not too little that they had to yank again. The gunner himself just glanced at the horde, squinting a second before swiping his hand, sending a bolt flying to slam into a squig's eye. The crew ignored the beast's roar and reloaded, moving fast and yet like clockwork.
Joseph saw the same result up and down the wall. Grudge thrower crews slung stone after stone, like they had recruited a giant of their own, the most slack he saw were a couple beardlings patting the boulders in the short gap between loading and aiming. Cannon crews were just as fast, their guns booming like machines, such was their speed. He couldn't hear over the din but it looked an awful lot like the beardling crews were grumbling while they fired, their aptitude and skill straightening out, almost on par with the veterans fighting against the main waaagh.
A second bang could be heard, the sound not as much echoing through the cave as much as it directly appeared in his mind.
The goblins, the endless green tide, which could ever only be delaying, needled, ever since they had arrived at the Everpeak was slowing, stumbling. The fear, inherent to the goblins that the sheer immensity of the waaagh had purged from their minds returned, the power behind them banished for but a moment.
A third bang. A hiff was pushed past a beard of such length, staying power and age as if to rival the World's Edge Mountains themselves.
Man and dwarf shot as one, with impeccable discipline and purpose, no matter what they had been before, no matter their aptitude with such arms. As if a line had been drawn upon the ground before the grand citadel, 50 meters before the great gate. No goblin, no squig, no troll crossed it. They were shot, blasted, crushed, impaled, gutted and burned as the sheer staccato of projectiles descending upon the vile beasts rivaled the solid walls upon which the alliance of men and dwarf fought.
A fourth bang. A grumble fell on them all, a grumble over inadequacy, inexperience, youth. One that saw no difference in those things amongst all the inhabitants of the everpeak.
All the fatigue and exhaustion was ripped out of Joseph, allowing him to fire the crossbow he had taken up that bit faster. No, not pushed out. Rather, to show nought but the very best his mind, his body, his soul could offer would have been the greatest possible shame.
All around him, every rune on every armor, axe, hammer and war machine began to glow, the very stone of the citadel itself was shining.
A fifth bang, of hammer striking metal.
And the network of master runes, forged by Grungni himself to forever shield his home, the home of his wife and comrade, the home of his people, from the ravages of earthquakes and the movement of the mountains, unleashed what it held contained.
Joseph's discipline held even as the ground underneath him flung the human into the air, he even managed to pick off a stray goblin mid-flight. There was a flash of approval, but above all he felt as if a wizened old master was tsk'ing at him, only it was not a dwarf who did so. He fell for both a second and an eternity, aware of countless men and dwarfs being affected by the event. A quake, but it was something more. Something larger, grander, something that approved of his actions and was chiding him for not doing better all the time.
What he was exposed to was nothing at all compared to what hit the greenskins.
Countless goblins closest to the epicenter were simply erased, turned into such fine mush that their remains blended with the gravel. Mobs behind them were pulped, crushed, blood flying through the air along with the stone. Screams could only just be heard over the tremendous crash, swiftly drowned out by the roars of their beasts.
One by one, the squigs were exploding. The colossal squigs went first, rearing back and roaring with all the tremendous force their lungs could yield. A force immediately outdone by the explosions ripping through the beasts, going up like piles of gunpowder and with the force of a thunderclap, consuming everything unfortunate enough to be too close to them, before collapsing in on themselves as the force behind the explosives mixes in themselves detonating pulled back in.
The blasts were powerful, being far away was no protection. Scrambling to his feet over all the rumbling ground, Joseph spotted goblins on the edge of the horde dying, many of them splatted but many more stumbling to collapse, with few or even no wounds. They screamed like they were suffering, grasping at themselves before they dropped.
And then there was nothing but terrible silence
They had had cannons in Under-Middenheim.
Dozens and dozens of them, fine production models right out of the furnaces of Nuln, placed on choke points, freshly built walls and platforms, some purpose built to fit through some of the smaller tunnels. Engineers and canonniers stood ready around the clock to man at least some of the most crucial guns, at fall back positions and the central stair stations, something proven necessary after more than one incident where some skaven had managed to bypass their defences, through some contaminated ruins of what had once been ratmen buildings or newly dug tunnels.
He had seen the defensive networks of under-Middenheim in full action, scything through hundreds and hundreds of skaven slaves with grapeshot, of glowing hot ammunition disemboweling some abomination and cooking it from it's multitude of insides, even as it squashed and slaughtered whole squads of spearmen trying to keep it at bay.
The interconnected discipline of the most hardened of the survivors of the Wolf's Crusade, specially hired Wissenlander crews for the artillery mixed with the piety and martial excellence of the newly minted - at the time - Count Bildenhof…. He had been and still was of the opinion that there was no better military force in the Empire, save perhaps the Knight's Griffon or Panter.
Joseph was not a humble man, yet he could not deny that the defenses of the citadel of Grungni put even Middenland's best to shame. Hundreds of cannons, some packed in grand batteries, others placed on forward platforms hewn centuries, if not millennia ago into the rock of the cave walls - and one or two particular gigantic stalagmites - they all were firing.
A roar of black powder that, in the whole history of the world. might just only have been matched by the other citadels defending the underdeep of Karaz-A-Karak and of course the front walls.
The sharpened end point of his war hammer smashed right through the marode wooden shield of the damned gobbo before him, piercing through the arm holding it and pressing down towards an ugly little face, whose eyes were filled with a manic glee, green foam pouring out of it's nostrils, mouth, ears and pupils alike. If he had to guess then this thing had maybe an hour left to live either way.
That didn't stop it from raising three arms, bulging with horrifically mutated muscles, to press against the shield in which his primary weapon was now stuck, it's fourth arm - protruding out of it's ass of all places - frantically slashing at his side, the crude piece of metal pointless bouncing of the steel of his armor.
Not dignifying it's efforts with as much as a grunt, he lashed out with the blunt metal edge of his broad shield, slamming it against its ribs with enough force that a lesser greenskin, say one of the goblins of the drakwald, would have died outright from it, shattered bones tearing through its lungs in a fatal injury.
Not so this monster of a goblin, the damn thing damn near reaching up to his chin, it's entire body stretched beyond what even the greatest of goblins should ever be, massive expanses of muscles flapping around bones to small for them, half a dozen outgrowths that he couldn't even begin to tell if they were supposed to have been arms, legs or heads twitching, partially screaming in the open air as they secreted blood and green foam in equal numbers.
Instead it simply stumbled back, ripping his warpack with it, two of it's functioning arms slacking aside, the effort of its own muscles having broken their bones to such a degree that even the truly insane amount of drugs this creature was under could no longer mask the pain, judging from the whelps and whimpers, it's mouth to deformed for even what passed as goblin "talk".
Without missing a beat, he pulled a short throwing axe out from his belt and planted it between its eyes, which at this point were literally popping out of its holes, resembling more of some gross ropey worm. A stomp of his heavy iron boot against the hilt of the axe was enough to drive it into its melting brain, killing it at last.
Around him, the fighting on the second lowest of the wall sections was at last subsuming, the last of the things that had once been goblins being at last put down or pushed down the walls as the stone wolves rallied together with the various dwarfen quarrellers and thunderers, many having switched to axes or daggers or turned their guns as clubs upon the hundreds and hundreds of the beasts that had been launched upon their positions.
They had reacted quickly, which, together with their heavy armor, had prevented many a deaths, yet he could still see the shattered bodies of Klein, Willhelm and Tormund down upon the blood and gore stained stones before the gates the gates of the citadel, three veterans that had defended Middenheim since even before the days of the wolfs crusade, perished upon being piled upon by what were less goblin's and more an orkoid version of a chaos spawn and forced down the walls they had fought for even moments before.
His eyes fell on the green mass before him with disgust, even as cannon, grudge and bolt thrower alike were rearranged to cut through the now freshly revealed crude catapults of the greenskins, hidden away by a boiling ocean of green bodies and disgusting sorcery till the very last moment.
He had been disclosed on the nature of the warp stone brews and the badlands fighting on even the goblins….. Now it seemed he got to experience what a mix of those two, backed by the savage might of the the largest waagh in recorded history, be it imperial or dwarfen, looked like.
As an inhabitant of Middenheim, a soldier of the city of the wolf and a patriot of Middenland, Joseph knew of great goblin waaghs in the past, the topics of legend and song. Of how the vile creatures of the drakwald, goblins in their tens of thousands, accompanied by hundreds if not thousands of disgusting spiders, many large enough to climb upon and over the walls of the towns and castles surrounding that horrid fortress and to slaughter their inhabitants. How the greatest of those assemblies of greenskins had sallied out to assault places like Delberz, Carroburg and even Middenheim itself.
In the end they had of course always overcome those waaghs. Heroic defences by the Carroburg greatswords, cutting down down even the most frenzied of goblin fanatics, charges of the Teutogen Guard felling even the most ancient of arachnarok spiders, epic duels of various Al Ulrics sundering grand shamans and warbosses bellow the auspice sight of the faustschlag.
None of the greenskin armies in those stories could match the horrific hordes that now were assailing the roots of the everpeak. The host that lay before the citadel of grungni alone had to be 40, if not 50.000 strong. Hundreds of gobbo bosses leading frenzied detachments and mobs, shamans hiding ever so cowardly amongst their kin, casting spells and augmentations and twice or thrice their total number in squigs. So many squigs.
Many of them had grown fat on the manifold flesh of previous assaults, having eaten from the by now nigh skeletal corpses of the giants that had been slain in the first assault against the gate of Grungni, their bodies having been hit by so many different cannon balls, boulders and bolts that they had ceased being conclusive unit all together, heads, arms and legs struck with such violence that for some they lay dozens of meters apart.
And none of these attacks had matched up with what was happening now, at least judging by the comments of many of the dawi in between their reloading of various war machines or firearms. Muttered curses and references to so called goblin wars were pushed out instead.
The dwarfs had tools to handle such a situation. Boltthrowers fired first, a volley of projectiles as wide and sturdy as a spear, albeit not as long, launched from the defenses into the incoming wave. Chittering creatures were impaled, thrown backwards from the sheer speed and mass of the upsized bolts. Makeshift armor provided no protection, thick hides of squigs were torn open with impunity, he quietly cheered at the sight of a wheeled contraption they called a pump wagon getting smashed to bits.
Goblins were small and numerous, so while each impact resulted in a kill, the larger bolts were simply unsuited for the task. The dwarfs knew that, so the gunners were picking off larger monsters or leaders, laying the pieces for the next set of weapons.
Cannons thundered, a cascade of shots that did wonders against the horde. A volley of cannonballs slammed into the first 'ranks' of the goblin mob, hundreds of the little monsters getting splattered almost instantly. Many didn't even have time to scream, they were turned to mush so fast he doubted any of them realized what happened. Some were not so lucky, their wails were pitiful when he could hear them. The gunners cared not, they reloaded, took aim, and cut down another mass.
Overhead rocks flew through the air, quieter by far and only a small degree less destructive. Boulders slammed onto the ground, a few smashing into gravel, the majority rolling a short distance, crushing anything and everything under their weight. A pack of squigs was flattened by a pair of rocks, at the same time a small gaggle of riders became bloodstains under a cracked stone, the shattered rock tearing into their footslogging comrades.
Nearby Joseph's position he was treated to the sight of the catapult crew working on resetting the machine. It was a catapult, nothing all that remarkable except for the masterful craftsmanship, although he raised a brow at the stone ammunition. Any decent sized rock would do, but the dwarfs made sure to carve runes into theirs.
Brushing off the observation, he gazed back at the horde assailing the walls, frowning as the screams of dying goblins struggled to be heard over the booms of the cannons. Why now? Before the goblins had only done hit and run attacks, a cowardly yet oddly clever strategy that kept the dwarfs and humans tied down here, unable to send their forces to the more important fight.
What changed to switch up their plan? He felt like he was missing something important, observing a pack of colossal squigs stomping into the fray could have permanently distracted him.
Joseph cursed, bracing himself as shouts ran up and down the line. There were plenty of curses from men and dwarf alike, with no small amount of panic. He was not immune, because what was a pickaxe supposed to do against a beast like that? He shifted his footing, preparing to get squashed.
Seeing the lead monster stomping on a goblin who didn't get out of the way in time, opening its gigantic maw wide to roar, he braced for trouble, grumbling at the questions itching in his skull. Those things were about to smash this wall into rubble, why was he still thinking about stuff like that?
And then a cannonball slammed into its mouth, the beast blinking in confusion right before the whole monster went up in a deafening blaze, exploding with such force that he stumbled even from this distance. Around his position chunks of meat rained, sounding unpleasant where they landed and smelling much worse. He could live with that, seeing as a whole mob of goblins was flattened by the blast, and even the other squigs were stumbling and screeching in pain, their hides blackened and torn.
That was until he realized the implication of all the other colossal squigs that were currently excitedly hopping towards the gates of the citadel of Grungni.
Cannons and bolt throwers redirected their aim, slamming into the giant beasts, trying to slay the monsters before they could break the wall. Behind the squigs he saw their real force: thousands and thousands of bunched up, bloodthirsty goblins, metaphorically and literally whipped into a killing frenzy, charging at the citadel with only a short gap between them and the squigs. Just enough to keep the majority alive while the beasts did their work.
The lead colossal squid roared in agony as it fell, perforated by dozens of bolts and punctured by a barrage of cannonballs. It collapsed to the ground with a tremendous crash, its bulk making a miniature quake upon landing. One behind it fell a moment later, rearing back with a deafening screech, getting riddled with gunfire and bolts the whole way down.
Two were down, the majority were still charging at the walls, suffering scores of injuries but not enough to kill the damn things, not fast enough.
There was a bang, a crash of iron hitting iron and for an instant every single bit of noise in the cave, large enough to fit an entire city in it, ceased, for but a moment.
Besides him, he could see how a shudder went through the dwarfs manning the bolthrower, a push, their hands moving a bit faster than they were before. Almost… afraid? No, that wasn't right. There were no fearful glances, no trembling.
No, instead, they moved with purpose, slamming each component as if they had been doing it since the time of Sigmar. Bolts were placed with exacting precision at top speed, landing just right that there was no delay in settling in. The winch was pulled back with the exact amount of force, not so much that the operator had to pull back, not too little that they had to yank again. The gunner himself just glanced at the horde, squinting a second before swiping his hand, sending a bolt flying to slam into a squig's eye. The crew ignored the beast's roar and reloaded, moving fast and yet like clockwork.
Joseph saw the same result up and down the wall. Grudge thrower crews slung stone after stone, like they had recruited a giant of their own, the most slack he saw were a couple beardlings patting the boulders in the short gap between loading and aiming. Cannon crews were just as fast, their guns booming like machines, such was their speed. He couldn't hear over the din but it looked an awful lot like the beardling crews were grumbling while they fired, their aptitude and skill straightening out, almost on par with the veterans fighting against the main waaagh.
A second bang could be heard, the sound not as much echoing through the cave as much as it directly appeared in his mind.
The goblins, the endless green tide, which could ever only be delaying, needled, ever since they had arrived at the Everpeak was slowing, stumbling. The fear, inherent to the goblins that the sheer immensity of the waaagh had purged from their minds returned, the power behind them banished for but a moment.
A third bang. A hiff was pushed past a beard of such length, staying power and age as if to rival the World's Edge Mountains themselves.
Man and dwarf shot as one, with impeccable discipline and purpose, no matter what they had been before, no matter their aptitude with such arms. As if a line had been drawn upon the ground before the grand citadel, 50 meters before the great gate. No goblin, no squig, no troll crossed it. They were shot, blasted, crushed, impaled, gutted and burned as the sheer staccato of projectiles descending upon the vile beasts rivaled the solid walls upon which the alliance of men and dwarf fought.
A fourth bang. A grumble fell on them all, a grumble over inadequacy, inexperience, youth. One that saw no difference in those things amongst all the inhabitants of the everpeak.
All the fatigue and exhaustion was ripped out of Joseph, allowing him to fire the crossbow he had taken up that bit faster. No, not pushed out. Rather, to show nought but the very best his mind, his body, his soul could offer would have been the greatest possible shame.
All around him, every rune on every armor, axe, hammer and war machine began to glow, the very stone of the citadel itself was shining.
A fifth bang, of hammer striking metal.
And the network of master runes, forged by Grungni himself to forever shield his home, the home of his wife and comrade, the home of his people, from the ravages of earthquakes and the movement of the mountains, unleashed what it held contained.
Joseph's discipline held even as the ground underneath him flung the human into the air, he even managed to pick off a stray goblin mid-flight. There was a flash of approval, but above all he felt as if a wizened old master was tsk'ing at him, only it was not a dwarf who did so. He fell for both a second and an eternity, aware of countless men and dwarfs being affected by the event. A quake, but it was something more. Something larger, grander, something that approved of his actions and was chiding him for not doing better all the time.
What he was exposed to was nothing at all compared to what hit the greenskins.
Countless goblins closest to the epicenter were simply erased, turned into such fine mush that their remains blended with the gravel. Mobs behind them were pulped, crushed, blood flying through the air along with the stone. Screams could only just be heard over the tremendous crash, swiftly drowned out by the roars of their beasts.
One by one, the squigs were exploding. The colossal squigs went first, rearing back and roaring with all the tremendous force their lungs could yield. A force immediately outdone by the explosions ripping through the beasts, going up like piles of gunpowder and with the force of a thunderclap, consuming everything unfortunate enough to be too close to them, before collapsing in on themselves as the force behind the explosives mixes in themselves detonating pulled back in.
The blasts were powerful, being far away was no protection. Scrambling to his feet over all the rumbling ground, Joseph spotted goblins on the edge of the horde dying, many of them splatted but many more stumbling to collapse, with few or even no wounds. They screamed like they were suffering, grasping at themselves before they dropped.
And then there was nothing but terrible silence
A fine piece of work @AllenWalker! Definitely canon, and I love the way you depicted the usage of some really powerful runes!
Thank you so much for your contribution
Times like this, I really think about whether or not I should allow some kind of omake bonuses or something like I did way back when. It really does deserve some kind of reward.
Thank you so much for your contribution
Times like this, I really think about whether or not I should allow some kind of omake bonuses or something like I did way back when. It really does deserve some kind of reward.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Great stuff @AllenWalker
I'm going to repost something from the voting thread, because I think it should also be said here.
For the record, I think that the Azula Quest is a really nice piece of work. It delves into very interesting psychological and emotional depths on a deeply personal level and relates to an overall very widely enjoyed property and a fan-favorite character in spectacularly strange and difficult circumstances whereupon change is quite simply unavoidable, and find the exploration of those paths of change possible intriguing and fascinating to read. It's written very, very well, by a very good author. I can't say that I got as deeply into the other nominees by comparison, but should be okay, honestly. I think it's fine to have something just not be to your taste or preferences, and would hope that all authors involved in the contest would be able to take comfort in the fact that out of everyone else on the entire site, their - our - works were elected by at least some non-negligible proportion of the site. There's plenty of quests, and they chose ours, and a top five is still nothing to ever be ashamed of. It can seem painful or bitter to hear someone declare that they think less of your hard work, and raise someone else's higher, but you literally can't please everyone.
Regardless of the result, I think that getting this far at all is humbling in the extreme. Older quest or not, longer quest or not, the people deserve to have their voice's known and made manifest in the final decision as to 'best ongoing quest' as to their choice. Like, on the most important level, people liked what we wrote enough to vote at all! That's something wondrous. To have written, to have created, and have other people, not even a hundred, or fifty, but just ten or even one, say that it was something they enjoyed? That they liked? I think that's awesome, for all of us. Given how reclusive I generally am in terms of even going outside my own thread onto the rest of the site overmuch, the fact that the number one may well be written by someone who also has to split their time writing with the responsibilities and duties of being a moderator? To the point of being nominated to another category altogether as well? That's only kudos and props, no ifs and or buts. It's humbling and inspiring in equal measure, I'd say.
In any case, I wish all who vote, and those who don't, a Happy Holidays regardless of faith or whatever else, and hopefully come the end of it all, a Happy New Year
^
Because I'd like to expand on the above, as we near Jan 19th, 2025. Or even just Jan 1st.
A New Year.
This may well be one of the longest running quests on the site, don't fact check me on that, but it's certainly one of the largest for better or worse. This quest, this work, has been a significant part of my life for a long time.
This site has, too, really.
The fact of the matter was, I started writing stuff back when I was just a lonely and isolated kid in college, with a relatively disastrous first year of it in the first place for a good number of reasons. And now, as I find myself required to spend more and more time at home, caring for my parent as their health issues increase in scope and cost both financial and...time, I admittedly have steadily ended up more and more isolated IRL. This quest, and all of you, is one of the main ways for me to interact with people at all these days. And I know that there are plenty of people who don't care much for my writing at all, for one reason or another, who find that it has too many weaknesses for their tastes to bother voting for it, or considering it good or even middling. Those of you who have been here the longest know my own struggles with my mental/emotional health, and issues of self-worth and self-loathing. I'm glad to say that interacting with many of you has helped me more than you can ever know, beyond anything merely financial, but on a deep and personal level. I've been joyous, excited, angry, embarrassed, insulted, depressed - for a rather long two year stretch at one point - but I've still been able to create. It's one of the few freedoms I can manage these days, to write, and even as some drift away or click off in permanency for one reason or another, others stay. Others even arrive, new and engaged, from time to time.
I don't know how much it matters to any of you that you matter to me, but you do. I find myself smiling when I see you down in the 'Users who are viewing this thread' section, even if you don't say anything. Even if you haven't for a long time, I've spent so long with this thread that I sometimes remember old conversations that make me laugh, or make me tear up. Or, yes, sometimes, can make me angry just remembering. Or even never done anything but just been there, not even voting, but liking or otherwise reacting to what I write, because even that too is still a bit of that human connection. That I was able to do something compelling enough to have someone do something, because apathy is at times one of the easiest things in the world. But that's just the rainbow of life, in all its myriad colors, and so in the long run I can appreciate the greater tapestry of it all. Most of the time at least.
I think I'm just rambling at this point, sorry.
Either way, it would be appreciated if you vote for DoDA for best ongoing quest, but even if you don't, I want you all to know that I appreciate my time with you all, and that to create for you is one of my joys. Even if sometimes the subject matter is a bit upsetting, or stressful, it is a Warhammer quest, and based on dice. It's never going to always be positive results, but we keep on moving forward as best we can.
I wish I had the energy and focus and sheer writing speed to update every single day, because you all deserve it, and there is a part of me that regrets I can't manage this blatantly impossible feat every day that I fail to fulfill it. As it is, as before, I can only do the best I can.
So as I find myself getting tired after a day trying to maintain some Christmas cheer going with me and the parent despite...a lot of things, I just wanted to say to you all that I hope you had a wonderful day and will sleep well to boot. Doesn't matter if you voted for the quest or not, or ever even voted in-thread or not.
Good night everyone.
For the record, I think that the Azula Quest is a really nice piece of work. It delves into very interesting psychological and emotional depths on a deeply personal level and relates to an overall very widely enjoyed property and a fan-favorite character in spectacularly strange and difficult circumstances whereupon change is quite simply unavoidable, and find the exploration of those paths of change possible intriguing and fascinating to read. It's written very, very well, by a very good author. I can't say that I got as deeply into the other nominees by comparison, but should be okay, honestly. I think it's fine to have something just not be to your taste or preferences, and would hope that all authors involved in the contest would be able to take comfort in the fact that out of everyone else on the entire site, their - our - works were elected by at least some non-negligible proportion of the site. There's plenty of quests, and they chose ours, and a top five is still nothing to ever be ashamed of. It can seem painful or bitter to hear someone declare that they think less of your hard work, and raise someone else's higher, but you literally can't please everyone.
Regardless of the result, I think that getting this far at all is humbling in the extreme. Older quest or not, longer quest or not, the people deserve to have their voice's known and made manifest in the final decision as to 'best ongoing quest' as to their choice. Like, on the most important level, people liked what we wrote enough to vote at all! That's something wondrous. To have written, to have created, and have other people, not even a hundred, or fifty, but just ten or even one, say that it was something they enjoyed? That they liked? I think that's awesome, for all of us. Given how reclusive I generally am in terms of even going outside my own thread onto the rest of the site overmuch, the fact that the number one may well be written by someone who also has to split their time writing with the responsibilities and duties of being a moderator? To the point of being nominated to another category altogether as well? That's only kudos and props, no ifs and or buts. It's humbling and inspiring in equal measure, I'd say.
In any case, I wish all who vote, and those who don't, a Happy Holidays regardless of faith or whatever else, and hopefully come the end of it all, a Happy New Year
^
Because I'd like to expand on the above, as we near Jan 19th, 2025. Or even just Jan 1st.
A New Year.
This may well be one of the longest running quests on the site, don't fact check me on that, but it's certainly one of the largest for better or worse. This quest, this work, has been a significant part of my life for a long time.
This site has, too, really.
The fact of the matter was, I started writing stuff back when I was just a lonely and isolated kid in college, with a relatively disastrous first year of it in the first place for a good number of reasons. And now, as I find myself required to spend more and more time at home, caring for my parent as their health issues increase in scope and cost both financial and...time, I admittedly have steadily ended up more and more isolated IRL. This quest, and all of you, is one of the main ways for me to interact with people at all these days. And I know that there are plenty of people who don't care much for my writing at all, for one reason or another, who find that it has too many weaknesses for their tastes to bother voting for it, or considering it good or even middling. Those of you who have been here the longest know my own struggles with my mental/emotional health, and issues of self-worth and self-loathing. I'm glad to say that interacting with many of you has helped me more than you can ever know, beyond anything merely financial, but on a deep and personal level. I've been joyous, excited, angry, embarrassed, insulted, depressed - for a rather long two year stretch at one point - but I've still been able to create. It's one of the few freedoms I can manage these days, to write, and even as some drift away or click off in permanency for one reason or another, others stay. Others even arrive, new and engaged, from time to time.
I don't know how much it matters to any of you that you matter to me, but you do. I find myself smiling when I see you down in the 'Users who are viewing this thread' section, even if you don't say anything. Even if you haven't for a long time, I've spent so long with this thread that I sometimes remember old conversations that make me laugh, or make me tear up. Or, yes, sometimes, can make me angry just remembering. Or even never done anything but just been there, not even voting, but liking or otherwise reacting to what I write, because even that too is still a bit of that human connection. That I was able to do something compelling enough to have someone do something, because apathy is at times one of the easiest things in the world. But that's just the rainbow of life, in all its myriad colors, and so in the long run I can appreciate the greater tapestry of it all. Most of the time at least.
I think I'm just rambling at this point, sorry.
Either way, it would be appreciated if you vote for DoDA for best ongoing quest, but even if you don't, I want you all to know that I appreciate my time with you all, and that to create for you is one of my joys. Even if sometimes the subject matter is a bit upsetting, or stressful, it is a Warhammer quest, and based on dice. It's never going to always be positive results, but we keep on moving forward as best we can.
I wish I had the energy and focus and sheer writing speed to update every single day, because you all deserve it, and there is a part of me that regrets I can't manage this blatantly impossible feat every day that I fail to fulfill it. As it is, as before, I can only do the best I can.
So as I find myself getting tired after a day trying to maintain some Christmas cheer going with me and the parent despite...a lot of things, I just wanted to say to you all that I hope you had a wonderful day and will sleep well to boot. Doesn't matter if you voted for the quest or not, or ever even voted in-thread or not.
Good night everyone.
DocMatoi
Theoretical Lover of Girls
- Location
- within 2 hours of the White House
- Pronouns
- They/Them
As someone else that sv was The Main Source of Friendliness for... i owe it to you, torr. the quest got recommended to me by an acquaintance, adn id previously only been doing anything in one thread total on the site. But reading DODA is what spurred me to actually get into Questing, and im so glad i did. In the nebulous time of my life between high school and moving out of my parents frankly nowhere town, this was, similarly, an outlet for me that had few peers. But it all started with you. Maybe i still would have gotten into things without you, maybe not, maybe later, but as things stand? reading your writing is confirmed to have had a measurably positive impact on my life.
Thank you.
Your work is a gift I'm grateful for and awed by. Something very truly unusual and special. Thank you for sharing it with us, I intend to be here as long as you are.
ContemplateLife
Philosopher Thesaurus
- Location
- Canada
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Having been in this thread since before I went to University, and being here now having graduated, I can safely say that this work, your work, has been a true net positive to my life.
Thank you very much.
Have a merry Christmas and a warm, full holiday.
Thank you very much.
Have a merry Christmas and a warm, full holiday.
Merry Christmas
I came into this quest near the start, coming off of quests like Warhammer Dynasty and the long-running A Knight's Quest. And your quest did not disappoint. It gave off a similar sort of... feel, is all I can say. It's not just about writing, it's not just about lore accuracy, it's... a bunch of things, and it's also the communal feel that you get in a thread and from the GM. Though I am far less active on SB and SV now, and feel like I lurk almost exclusively and feel like I ought not post at all, yours remains one of the few quests I always keep an eye on and brightens my day just thinking that it still exists and persists. It's not only a blast from the past (and itself a connection to older Warhammer times), it's also something continuing on into the future too.
We'll see where we end up after the Black Ark. Perhaps we'll get into an adventure in Norsca, having to drop off from the Ark and make our way back a long way around. Perhaps we'll sail off to Kislev. Perhaps we'll try to make directly for the Empire. To those who might be dismayed at the idea of another long adventure? Don't be. Don't be moved by a feel of "Oh god, I just want to be done" and thereby pick the most direct and 'shortest' route if that comes up; instead, take things as they come, and choose the best or safest or wisest idea at the time. Don't just beeline for home. Instead, be happy that we survived and triumphed over the Ark, and remember and take that as a victory. Don't think of it as "continuing on and never ending", unless you like to think of our story as continuing on and never ending, but instead think of it as a new chapter in our adventures, to be approached with eagerness, caution, fear, and joy all the same.
There's a lot more potential adventure to get to, is what I'm saying. This is just the dark times for now. After the night, comes the dawn. Or perhaps an ending, and we continue on elsewhere. The best is yet to come, I feel, my friends. There is more story to be told, no matter what that story is. And I'm looking to finding out what that future is, no matter what form it might come in, whether with Freddy and group, or Magnus and group. And I'm thankful to torroar for having built a world and a story that I am invested in that I can feel like that even about our protagonist's kids, and about the world in general as the world and stage itself feels alive and one in which heroes and villains can arise and adventure and fall and triumph and live and die. Congrats, torroar.
We'll see where we end up after the Black Ark. Perhaps we'll get into an adventure in Norsca, having to drop off from the Ark and make our way back a long way around. Perhaps we'll sail off to Kislev. Perhaps we'll try to make directly for the Empire. To those who might be dismayed at the idea of another long adventure? Don't be. Don't be moved by a feel of "Oh god, I just want to be done" and thereby pick the most direct and 'shortest' route if that comes up; instead, take things as they come, and choose the best or safest or wisest idea at the time. Don't just beeline for home. Instead, be happy that we survived and triumphed over the Ark, and remember and take that as a victory. Don't think of it as "continuing on and never ending", unless you like to think of our story as continuing on and never ending, but instead think of it as a new chapter in our adventures, to be approached with eagerness, caution, fear, and joy all the same.
There's a lot more potential adventure to get to, is what I'm saying. This is just the dark times for now. After the night, comes the dawn. Or perhaps an ending, and we continue on elsewhere. The best is yet to come, I feel, my friends. There is more story to be told, no matter what that story is. And I'm looking to finding out what that future is, no matter what form it might come in, whether with Freddy and group, or Magnus and group. And I'm thankful to torroar for having built a world and a story that I am invested in that I can feel like that even about our protagonist's kids, and about the world in general as the world and stage itself feels alive and one in which heroes and villains can arise and adventure and fall and triumph and live and die. Congrats, torroar.
- Location
- United States
- Pronouns
- They/Them
While I hardly speak in this quest, I have to say that this has truly been an inspiration and one of the reasons I've found interest in the WHF universe (besides DL and Rhunrikki). I'm certainly a latecomer to this story but I can definitely say I'm excited to see where it goes and love all of these insane Hohenzollerns and their extended network of friends.
I hope you have a merry Christmas and overall holidays torroar.
I hope you have a merry Christmas and overall holidays torroar.
- Pronouns
- He
Well, your story is amongst my favorite pieces of fiction period, standing side to side with such giants as tengen toppa gurren lagann and d gray man. As such I consider it an honour and a reward in itself that i can write stories that are cannon within this wonderfull creation of yours. Outside of that... well the greatest possible reward i can imagine is that my stories are, well, aknowledge in yours? Not, like, my characters being uber duper super special, but like, a mention or two of this super rune killing 50 000 grobi or, like, stone wolf joseph or fat a bit to happy dwarf goric getting a mention, even if just in passing.A fine piece of work @AllenWalker! Definitely canon, and I love the way you depicted the usage of some really powerful runes!
Thank you so much for your contribution
Times like this, I really think about whether or not I should allow some kind of omake bonuses or something like I did way back when. It really does deserve some kind of reward.
The brave band of kislev doing something during the kislevite civil war or them getting hired by us would make my day
This was probably the first warhammer fantasy quest/fanfics I read, and is still the best one I have ever read.
Merry Christmas.
Merry Christmas.
This Quest is actuall reason I made the SV account. There is no way of describing my appreciation for such cared craft.
Thank you for gracing the world I inhabit with it.
Edit:
Thank you for gracing the world I inhabit with it.
Edit:
sup. it happens. Decent epicness, feelt good reding it.
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- Pronouns
- He/him
Hi everyone I just caught up and man! I had never realized just how insane Frederick and Natasha pain resistance was I'm pretty sure they put most trolls and green skin to shame! Honestly every time I read how they no diff the torture I was reminded of this:
View: https://youtu.be/3t7kNZybINw?si=z9JqlcmqkLXjF4iF
View: https://youtu.be/3t7kNZybINw?si=z9JqlcmqkLXjF4iF
Welcome aboard. Ngl despite the whole grimness surrounding it, I quite enjoy these 100+ resistance roles and making Alyssa seethe lol. I hope we keep rolling good until Frederick and Eldyra are saved.