I found a another pic that I think really fits Fred
Warhammer Fantasy: A Dynasty of Dynamic Alcoholism
- Thread starter torroar
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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
Dark Abstraction
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I picture Frederickas a more beardy guy, and definitely more burly than that.
...also, minus the hair color, this seems pretty accurate for our wifey in the battle:
Edit - Spoilered them to not take up a huge amount of space on the page.
...also, minus the hair color, this seems pretty accurate for our wifey in the battle:
Edit - Spoilered them to not take up a huge amount of space on the page.
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SneakyWalrus
Is the Water Free?
I really hope that we get ourselves a Ogre hero unit that has a smarter than average donkey (maybe a escaped experiment from a hedge wizard) for a best friend.
Ogres are actually fairly smart, it's just that they sound like idiots.
I mean, take a look at Greasus Goldtooth or, to use his proper title, Tradelord Greasus Tribstealer Drakcrush Hoardmaster Goldtooth the Shockingly Obese. That Ogre managed to take control of pretty much the entirety of the Mountains of Mourn and institute the entire Ogre Kingdoms policy of tariffs and taxes on anyone who travels through the Mountains (It costs an arm and leg, figuratively or literally, to get past them), resulting in the Ogre's practically running any land-based trade routes from Cathay/Ind/Nippon to the Old World.
Massgamer
Advance toward the Future
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- The Future
Oh I know that Ogres are smart I was just making a reference to Shrek where the main character a Ogre has a talking donkey for a friend. I figure in our quest an experienced Ogre meets a donkey that was experimented on by a hedge wizard making it as smart as a person and can talk. (maybe the donkey was heavly exposed to the green wind)
Dark Abstraction
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Sounds like a wizard's familiar. Maybe it got lost?
trooperist
Cinnamon Roll AI
Why all this talk of Ogre Knights and warriors? Why not Ogre Nobles and merchants? I for one think Court would liven up considerably if an Ogre started attending all the Count's parties.
"Iz say dat de price of pigs is too high. Is un e-con-om-ical Iz say. How is de common Ogre supposed ta eat witout cheaper pigs?"
"Iz say dat de price of pigs is too high. Is un e-con-om-ical Iz say. How is de common Ogre supposed ta eat witout cheaper pigs?"
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[CANON] The Hammer- Sage_Of_Eyes
Sage_Of_Eyes
Waiting
The Hammer.
What breaks a charge of berserk Norscans? What force can destroy a charge compromised of people of extraordinary physique, supplemented by madness to the point that they feel no pain?
Pikes? The whirling mass of limbs will reach the man behind the pike even if the body they are attached to is perforated half a dozen times over.
A shield wall, bristling with blades? No knight or man can hold forever against a storm.
Archers? In their berserk state, and some say in their normal state as well, a Norscan is far too stupid to realize he is dead with even an arrow through his skull.
All three were attempted and all three failed, whittle down and slow the opponent they might be able but such an opponent cannot be stopped by a force of men that is greatly outnumbered.
So a man does not fight such a charge.
A man's bigger, better armored friend does.
Each one wears enough armor to crush a man beneath its weight.
Into the massive charge, they wade. Armor inches thick making sure the weapons of their sternum-high opponents find no purchase in their flesh. Some berserkers attempt to leap onto them, only to squeezed between metal-clad digits the size of a child's forearms.
Each one holds a club one can mistake as branch of a tree, were it not enveloped in metal and studded with stone.
Coordinated, they swing their massive clubs in organized, crescent arcs. Torsos liquefy, heads simply disappear, raised arms become stubs. In a single, unified stroke of the clubs two meters of the charge of berserks become a puddle of flesh, bone, and the liquids contained therein.
Each one is a mountain of muscle, twice as tall as any a man, nearly as quick as a common horse, and an order of magnitude stronger than any bull.
The armored beings lean forward, mighty clubs held in on hand that before their helmed heads. The two meters is only enough for two strides of their long legs, but the small space allows the lumbering, armored beings to charge forward into the mass of insane, bulky men and women. They achieve the same effect as a charge of cavalry not of the nightly orders, burrowing deep into the enemy mass and unleashing havoc within.
Their clubs do not raise an fall often, as there are few with the strength or the wit to block or evade and thus require the precise, full-bodied attack. However, when such few showed themselves, all knew of their strength or cunning as the ground shook when clubs drove them into the ground to become one with the earth as splattered blood, spreading sinew and shattered bone.
The Charge Breakers are the Ogres of Ostland, friends of man that are simple in mind but strong in body.
Their small number only allows two lines deep to confront the enemy. But the Hammers of man need little more than space to be swung and a target.
They reap a heavy toll.
What breaks a charge of berserk Norscans? What force can destroy a charge compromised of people of extraordinary physique, supplemented by madness to the point that they feel no pain?
Pikes? The whirling mass of limbs will reach the man behind the pike even if the body they are attached to is perforated half a dozen times over.
A shield wall, bristling with blades? No knight or man can hold forever against a storm.
Archers? In their berserk state, and some say in their normal state as well, a Norscan is far too stupid to realize he is dead with even an arrow through his skull.
All three were attempted and all three failed, whittle down and slow the opponent they might be able but such an opponent cannot be stopped by a force of men that is greatly outnumbered.
So a man does not fight such a charge.
A man's bigger, better armored friend does.
Each one wears enough armor to crush a man beneath its weight.
Into the massive charge, they wade. Armor inches thick making sure the weapons of their sternum-high opponents find no purchase in their flesh. Some berserkers attempt to leap onto them, only to squeezed between metal-clad digits the size of a child's forearms.
Each one holds a club one can mistake as branch of a tree, were it not enveloped in metal and studded with stone.
Coordinated, they swing their massive clubs in organized, crescent arcs. Torsos liquefy, heads simply disappear, raised arms become stubs. In a single, unified stroke of the clubs two meters of the charge of berserks become a puddle of flesh, bone, and the liquids contained therein.
Each one is a mountain of muscle, twice as tall as any a man, nearly as quick as a common horse, and an order of magnitude stronger than any bull.
The armored beings lean forward, mighty clubs held in on hand that before their helmed heads. The two meters is only enough for two strides of their long legs, but the small space allows the lumbering, armored beings to charge forward into the mass of insane, bulky men and women. They achieve the same effect as a charge of cavalry not of the nightly orders, burrowing deep into the enemy mass and unleashing havoc within.
Their clubs do not raise an fall often, as there are few with the strength or the wit to block or evade and thus require the precise, full-bodied attack. However, when such few showed themselves, all knew of their strength or cunning as the ground shook when clubs drove them into the ground to become one with the earth as splattered blood, spreading sinew and shattered bone.
The Charge Breakers are the Ogres of Ostland, friends of man that are simple in mind but strong in body.
Their small number only allows two lines deep to confront the enemy. But the Hammers of man need little more than space to be swung and a target.
They reap a heavy toll.
you say that mockingly but wait till a orger saves our life and wants to be a knight then its all to real!(im all for it! oger nobility FTW!)Why all this talk of Ogre Knights and warriors? Why not Ogre Nobles and merchants? I for one think Court would liven up considerably if an Ogre started attending all the Count's parties.
"Iz say dat de price of pigs is too high. Is un e-con-om-ical Iz say. How is de common Ogre supposed ta eat witout cheaper pigs?"
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Yes. YES. I have come from the land of sleep to put this omake on my INDEX.
Salkalten Aftermath
Have a little aftermath.
You grumble to yourself as you recline in the medical tent. For all that you had accomplished before, all the healers were refusing to let you up. Fighting as you had ended up ripping open your newly healed scar and causing even more bleeding. Some of the bones in your body had been broken at some point or another. At one point you'd bitten your tongue. The wound was surprisingly clean however, and there was no hint of any infection.
Unfortunately, you found yourself in the most unenviable position for any Ostlander to be in.
While you were healing, you were denied alcohol in any form. Thus, as the time had gone on, you had come closer and closer to the state of being sober. Simultaneously, you had gained a pounding hangover. Only by the grace of the warrior priests was the pressure in your skull reduced. Well, that and your wife wrapping her hands around your head. The nice chill was an absolute blessing. For a time you had just had a bit of pleasant conversation about various things in life. Mundane things, like favorite colors (yours is black and hers is blue), favorite foods and drinks. Both of you agreed on ostka, which was nice. But then you had turned to discussing the battle, and that was a grim topic enough. However, a few minutes ago your wife had just slowly ceased, a thoughtful look on her face.
"What are you thinking about Natasha?"
She hummed in response, even as her cool fingers rubbed about your head, the blue light emanating from them casting an interesting light show upon the walls of the tent.
"I'm thinking about what the Chaos warrior said. The one you fought. His screeches reached across the whole of the battlefield."
You remember. You remember very well. Your scar throbs even thinking about it, even disregarding the fact that he was not the one to give it to you. But now that your mind has been turned to it, the intelligence that is normally obscured behind your normally abrasive nature to everyone around you except for those you like begins to grind forward.
"He referenced someone else, someone who worships the…eldest?" you posit, looking up into her eyes.
She dips her head and places a small kiss of icy lips upon your forehead.
"Indeed. We both know of whom he speaks, the dark god of decay and rot. Someone whose orders they were following. As mighty as they were, someone was their superior," she says while rubbing your temples carefully with her nimble fingers.
You groan in the release of pressure, but frown at her words. She is correct. That is a disturbing thought.
"Not the best news to have after losing half of the army in the fight."
"True, but is it not better to know of our enemies beforehand? I for one do not like such surprises."
The two of you lapse into silence as she quietly massages your head, the hustle and bustle of an army camping out after a day of burning what remains of Salkalten into the ground filling the silence for you. There are other medical tents obviously, but this one is purely for yourself and Natasha.
"It doesn't matter," you say finally, drawing Natasha's attention.
"What doesn't?"
"If this superior, this 'he' fellow, follows one of the dark gods specifically. He'll die all the same."
Natasha tilts her head before nodding.
"True. Now rest, Frederick. You have done much this day."
"All right, all right."
Salkalten, 2305 IC
You grumble to yourself as you recline in the medical tent. For all that you had accomplished before, all the healers were refusing to let you up. Fighting as you had ended up ripping open your newly healed scar and causing even more bleeding. Some of the bones in your body had been broken at some point or another. At one point you'd bitten your tongue. The wound was surprisingly clean however, and there was no hint of any infection.
Unfortunately, you found yourself in the most unenviable position for any Ostlander to be in.
While you were healing, you were denied alcohol in any form. Thus, as the time had gone on, you had come closer and closer to the state of being sober. Simultaneously, you had gained a pounding hangover. Only by the grace of the warrior priests was the pressure in your skull reduced. Well, that and your wife wrapping her hands around your head. The nice chill was an absolute blessing. For a time you had just had a bit of pleasant conversation about various things in life. Mundane things, like favorite colors (yours is black and hers is blue), favorite foods and drinks. Both of you agreed on ostka, which was nice. But then you had turned to discussing the battle, and that was a grim topic enough. However, a few minutes ago your wife had just slowly ceased, a thoughtful look on her face.
"What are you thinking about Natasha?"
She hummed in response, even as her cool fingers rubbed about your head, the blue light emanating from them casting an interesting light show upon the walls of the tent.
"I'm thinking about what the Chaos warrior said. The one you fought. His screeches reached across the whole of the battlefield."
You remember. You remember very well. Your scar throbs even thinking about it, even disregarding the fact that he was not the one to give it to you. But now that your mind has been turned to it, the intelligence that is normally obscured behind your normally abrasive nature to everyone around you except for those you like begins to grind forward.
"He referenced someone else, someone who worships the…eldest?" you posit, looking up into her eyes.
She dips her head and places a small kiss of icy lips upon your forehead.
"Indeed. We both know of whom he speaks, the dark god of decay and rot. Someone whose orders they were following. As mighty as they were, someone was their superior," she says while rubbing your temples carefully with her nimble fingers.
You groan in the release of pressure, but frown at her words. She is correct. That is a disturbing thought.
"Not the best news to have after losing half of the army in the fight."
"True, but is it not better to know of our enemies beforehand? I for one do not like such surprises."
The two of you lapse into silence as she quietly massages your head, the hustle and bustle of an army camping out after a day of burning what remains of Salkalten into the ground filling the silence for you. There are other medical tents obviously, but this one is purely for yourself and Natasha.
"It doesn't matter," you say finally, drawing Natasha's attention.
"What doesn't?"
"If this superior, this 'he' fellow, follows one of the dark gods specifically. He'll die all the same."
Natasha tilts her head before nodding.
"True. Now rest, Frederick. You have done much this day."
"All right, all right."
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SneakyWalrus
Is the Water Free?
Why all this talk of Ogre Knights and warriors? Why not Ogre Nobles and merchants? I for one think Court would liven up considerably if an Ogre started attending all the Count's parties.
"Iz say dat de price of pigs is too high. Is un e-con-om-ical Iz say. How is de common Ogre supposed ta eat witout cheaper pigs?"
Nah, what we need are Witch Hunter Ogres
All credit to lew_b81 over on Warseer. He's got a collection of Ogre Maneaters that have been to every place around the Warhammer World, from Lustria to Nippon and everywhere in-between. Go check his stuff out here. You also might recognize some of his work, and that's because a few of his Ogre's were actually featured in the White Dwarf a few years ago!
Nah, what we need are Witch Hunter Ogres
All credit to lew_b81 over on Warseer. He's got a collection of Ogre Maneaters that have been to every place around the Warhammer World, from Lustria to Nippon and everywhere in-between. Go check his stuff out here. You also might recognize some of his work, and that's because a few of his Ogre's were actually featured in the White Dwarf a few years ago!
A Sigmarite warpriest ogre would be a nice thing to do.
Damn missed the whole fight. But as always it was a blast to read through it all. Still adore the Natasha and Freddy interactions. Now to rebuild our army and coast.
btw torroar we are still missing that 1+ intrigue from turn 1 on Freddy. At least going by the first char sheet on page 16.
Still adore the Natasha and Freddy interactions. Now to rebuild our army and coast.btw torroar we are still missing that 1+ intrigue from turn 1 on Freddy. At least going by the first char sheet on page 16.
- Location
- Melbourne, Australia
This picture looks pretty cool.
I love Captain Urgdug. We need more Ogres and to get some Dwarves. I have always thought that the two races could get long well and with their aid we could certainly make our land strong.
all the yes in the world
screw Nuln's steam tank we have the ogre driven rinox tank
screw Nuln's steam tank we have the ogre driven rinox tank
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Turn 2 Rumor Mill
Rumor Mill
Chaos, Unbroken?: Despite the victory of Magnus the Pious a few years ago at the gates of Kislev, the broken armies of Asavar Kul have shown frightening signs of reunification. Across the Empire's northern provinces dozens of shattered warbands have been seen moving in concert with one another towards an unknown location, meeting up and ravaging miles of land before disappearing once more. Thousands of survivors are coming out of the woodwork, laying waste to a small village or town, and then disappearing once more. The Emperor has called for all Elector Counts to increase efforts to root out these savage creatures, and has organized the Rieksguard and much of the Imperial Foot to wipe out these chaos-aligned warriors wherever they may appear.
Major Chaos Warband Destroyed: The new Elector Count of Ostland, Frederick von Hohenzollern, has struck a mighty blow against the forces of Chaos that remained in his lands. The port of Salkalten was taken and cleansed from the disgusting touch of Chaos. Despite facing a force numerically superior to his own, the youngest Elector Count in the Empire sustained a great wound yet succeeded in reclaiming his lands. Many in the Ostland court praise the young Count for his martial abilities and the rapid speed with which he has retaken the coast of his Province. Others have spoken in whispers of the incredible powers shown by Lady Natasha, the Ice Mage of Kislev who is the Count's Wife. Not in fear, but in praise.
Nordland Troubles: The Province of Nordland suffered greatly during the Great War Against Chaos, as all did. However, unlike other northern provinces like Ostland or Ostermark, it seems plagued with issues. Of these are two separate peasant rebellions, a higher than expected amount of Chaos-aligned warriors who survived the death of Asavar Kul, food shortages, a shattered fleet that has yet to be fully repaired and replaced, and worst of all, actual plague. A terrible disease has taken hold in the south eastern edges of Nordland, with over a dozen villages forced to be quarantined.
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Good time for the pandemic meme to shut down everything in Nordland.
may I present sir Orgrim Halfgut
