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Warhammer Fantasy: A Dynasty of Dynamic Alcoholism
- Thread starter torroar
- Start date
- Mature
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- Tags
- warhammer warhammer fantasy fantasy intrigue happens male protagonist ck2 quest belief stronk count of cannons drunken wisdom foes in the shadows graf of guns (guns) if you have a question check the front page first it begins... mountain vietnam ogres paranoia rising unseen enemies everywhere use the search function before asking waifu wars wake the bull
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Geez man, you sign up for a cram school or something?
Best of luck mate, take your time.
Massgamer
Advance toward the Future
- Location
- The Future
Still think that is a bit unreasonable for something to start school with but as long as you think you are okay that is all that matters.
Restalaan
What do you mean i am not a real cowboy?
huh, that's interesting.
Where you get it? The lore i mean, cause the only reference i can find to Kattarin is that she got frozen by her son in the Kislev codex(Fanmade one)
Dutch
Bored Spearman of the Wind
- Location
- CET
Night's Dark Masters: A Guide to Vampires
In a section about notable von Carsteins.
Now that you say that, I do recall reading the same.
Bah, Warhammer. Who needs consistency.
Looking at release dates, the books were even released in the same year. With Realm of the Ice Queen being several months newer.
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Easy to explain away in this case though "The Lamians were lying" there, that's all it takes.
Imperious
Without the sun of my life
I'm not sure if the narrator mentions that as their own opinion or something they tell other people though and can't check right now. The latter seems a bit unlikely though as who would care aside from the Lahmians, who are likely in hiding as well?
Dutch's Imperial Culture Corner: Stirland
Dutch
Bored Spearman of the Wind
- Location
- CET
Alright guys, here's Stirland. Including some info on its new ruler. Sylvania will be up after I figure out how to include the recent changes and Mootland still needs to be looked at by Torroar.
Dutch's Imperial Culture Corner
Still with the whiny Bret as intro text.
Stirland
Stirland is bound by the World's Edge mountains in the east and in all other directions by the rivers Stir, Aver and Reik. The province's terrain is highly mixed and its reputation as a rural backwater is largely undeserved, since the province spots many towns of decent size and does a lot of trade with the dwarfs of Zhufbar. It is mostly the mostly the dreaded lands of Sylvania that make people think ill of Stirland.
The northern parts of Stirland are covered by the last reaches of the Great Forest, with the forest thinning and breaking up in different woods further inland, such as the feared Hunger and Grim woods in Sylvania. To the east of the Grim Woods lies the Hel Fenn, where the army of Mannfred von Carstein was beaten by Imperial forces. The west of the Country is dominated by the Stirhügel, hilly country that is crossed by the Old Dwarf Road and the Nuln Road. The hills are mostly home to villages of sheepherders who trade with the towns of Flensburg and Wörden. Hidden within these hills are the tombs of the ancient chieftains of the Styrigen tribes, these tombs are dug into the hillsides or built as turf covered barrows with well-hidden entrances. These tombs were built in pre-Imperial times and are considered thousands of years old. Stirlanders today refer to their occupants as "The Old Kings".
And then there's Sylvania.
Needless to say things have changed in this quest, so I'm not sure how much of this is still accurate.
Stretching from the town of Tempelhof, that hasn't seen a priest of Morr in over 600 years, to the World's Edge mountains. Sylvania was conquered by Stirland sometime between the 5th and 10th centuries during the "Drive to the Frontiers" and broke free from Stirland in the aftermath of the Night of the Restless Dead in 1681. And got reintegrated after the Wars of the Vampire Counts. I'll probably do a separate CC about Sylvania at some point.
In short. It's a horrible place and everyone, including the dworfs, avoids it and pretends in doesn't exist. Internal stuff is more complicated.
The people of Stirland (sans Sylvania) descent from the Asoborn tribe. Stirlanders are a short, thickset people, much like their Ostermarker neighbors. They're dark haired and suspicious of strangers and their bloodline has remained one of the most undiluted in the Empire. With even baseborn peasants being able to trace their decent back many generations. Others within the Empire tend to say that this is because they are inbred fools.
Stirlanders are famed for their superstitions and are a cautious lot. They are often called inbred, backwards, overly rural and mocked within the Empire for their slow speech and pace of life in general. The Stirlanders themselves are proud of their preservations of the ancient customs and their "Long View" on life in general. At their best Stirlanders are calm, thoughtful and take their time to do things. It isn't often that you see a Stirlander rushing head-first into things without a plan. They are also fond of long tales, gossips and news of the outside world. The tavern is often seen as the heart of a Stirlander community.
Racing is popular in Stirland. But not with horses or on foot like in the rest of the Empire. No. Since most of the country outside of the towns is rather rural and most people come together on the farmers markets, it should come as no surprise that it is not people, but animals that race each other. Geese, cows, dogs and pigs are often raced against one another in local competitions. The winners of these competitions will never end up on someone's dinner plate.
At their worst, Stirlanders are isolationist, suspicious and hidebound. They themselves see it merely as keeping traditions. Some of these traditions are rather odd however. Strangers visiting the Stirhügels can expect children to throw pig droppings at them, in the belief that this will drive away evil spirits. (I'm sure it will drive something away.)
If you end up being hit by the pig shit you're especially protected. Villages near Sylvania often have a strain of a potent strain of the local garlic lined from the houses and windows to ward off "the Count's Men". Whenever someone goes missing it is blamed on old garlic.
Another one of these customs is the drinking of hot ale. Stirlander taverns often have a large iron poker kept near the fire. Cold travelers and old soaks trust the poker into the fire while they wait for their drink and then plunge it into their tankard, warming the drink and making an alcoholic cloud of steam.
Stirlanders living in the central portion of the province are known for their dislike for Halflings, this stems from the 1200~1300 year old decision that tore away their best farmlands and gave them to the "Shorties". Although this resentment rarely breaks out into violence, the belief that Halflings are thieves is stronger here than in any other part of the Empire. In Wörden there is a tradition, to make a straw pinata the size of a Halfling for a child's birthday and stuff it with candies and treats it "stole" from the children. Kids hit it with sticks until it breaks and "gives back the candy". Locals deny that drunks have sometimes tied up a real Halfling.
Sylvania has the whole: gloom, evil eye to strangers and hushed conversations in local tongue. But as I said, separate CC for that.
Stirlanders talk with a rustic accent and slow speech, often repeating questions and taking a decent amount of time before answering. In plays it is often used for slow or rural characters.
After the Second Cleansing of Sylvania saw its Count killed by a vampire, Stirland has been ruled by Countess Ava von Krieglitz. Who has recently given birth to her first child Leopold.
Dutch's Imperial Culture Corner
Still with the whiny Bret as intro text.
Stirland
Stirland is bound by the World's Edge mountains in the east and in all other directions by the rivers Stir, Aver and Reik. The province's terrain is highly mixed and its reputation as a rural backwater is largely undeserved, since the province spots many towns of decent size and does a lot of trade with the dwarfs of Zhufbar. It is mostly the mostly the dreaded lands of Sylvania that make people think ill of Stirland.
The northern parts of Stirland are covered by the last reaches of the Great Forest, with the forest thinning and breaking up in different woods further inland, such as the feared Hunger and Grim woods in Sylvania. To the east of the Grim Woods lies the Hel Fenn, where the army of Mannfred von Carstein was beaten by Imperial forces. The west of the Country is dominated by the Stirhügel, hilly country that is crossed by the Old Dwarf Road and the Nuln Road. The hills are mostly home to villages of sheepherders who trade with the towns of Flensburg and Wörden. Hidden within these hills are the tombs of the ancient chieftains of the Styrigen tribes, these tombs are dug into the hillsides or built as turf covered barrows with well-hidden entrances. These tombs were built in pre-Imperial times and are considered thousands of years old. Stirlanders today refer to their occupants as "The Old Kings".
And then there's Sylvania.
Needless to say things have changed in this quest, so I'm not sure how much of this is still accurate.
Stretching from the town of Tempelhof, that hasn't seen a priest of Morr in over 600 years, to the World's Edge mountains. Sylvania was conquered by Stirland sometime between the 5th and 10th centuries during the "Drive to the Frontiers" and broke free from Stirland in the aftermath of the Night of the Restless Dead in 1681. And got reintegrated after the Wars of the Vampire Counts. I'll probably do a separate CC about Sylvania at some point.
In short. It's a horrible place and everyone, including the dworfs, avoids it and pretends in doesn't exist. Internal stuff is more complicated.
The people of Stirland (sans Sylvania) descent from the Asoborn tribe. Stirlanders are a short, thickset people, much like their Ostermarker neighbors. They're dark haired and suspicious of strangers and their bloodline has remained one of the most undiluted in the Empire. With even baseborn peasants being able to trace their decent back many generations. Others within the Empire tend to say that this is because they are inbred fools.
Stirlanders are famed for their superstitions and are a cautious lot. They are often called inbred, backwards, overly rural and mocked within the Empire for their slow speech and pace of life in general. The Stirlanders themselves are proud of their preservations of the ancient customs and their "Long View" on life in general. At their best Stirlanders are calm, thoughtful and take their time to do things. It isn't often that you see a Stirlander rushing head-first into things without a plan. They are also fond of long tales, gossips and news of the outside world. The tavern is often seen as the heart of a Stirlander community.
Racing is popular in Stirland. But not with horses or on foot like in the rest of the Empire. No. Since most of the country outside of the towns is rather rural and most people come together on the farmers markets, it should come as no surprise that it is not people, but animals that race each other. Geese, cows, dogs and pigs are often raced against one another in local competitions. The winners of these competitions will never end up on someone's dinner plate.
At their worst, Stirlanders are isolationist, suspicious and hidebound. They themselves see it merely as keeping traditions. Some of these traditions are rather odd however. Strangers visiting the Stirhügels can expect children to throw pig droppings at them, in the belief that this will drive away evil spirits. (I'm sure it will drive something away.)
If you end up being hit by the pig shit you're especially protected. Villages near Sylvania often have a strain of a potent strain of the local garlic lined from the houses and windows to ward off "the Count's Men". Whenever someone goes missing it is blamed on old garlic.
Another one of these customs is the drinking of hot ale. Stirlander taverns often have a large iron poker kept near the fire. Cold travelers and old soaks trust the poker into the fire while they wait for their drink and then plunge it into their tankard, warming the drink and making an alcoholic cloud of steam.
Stirlanders living in the central portion of the province are known for their dislike for Halflings, this stems from the 1200~1300 year old decision that tore away their best farmlands and gave them to the "Shorties". Although this resentment rarely breaks out into violence, the belief that Halflings are thieves is stronger here than in any other part of the Empire. In Wörden there is a tradition, to make a straw pinata the size of a Halfling for a child's birthday and stuff it with candies and treats it "stole" from the children. Kids hit it with sticks until it breaks and "gives back the candy". Locals deny that drunks have sometimes tied up a real Halfling.
Sylvania has the whole: gloom, evil eye to strangers and hushed conversations in local tongue. But as I said, separate CC for that.
Stirlanders talk with a rustic accent and slow speech, often repeating questions and taking a decent amount of time before answering. In plays it is often used for slow or rural characters.
After the Second Cleansing of Sylvania saw its Count killed by a vampire, Stirland has been ruled by Countess Ava von Krieglitz. Who has recently given birth to her first child Leopold.
Last edited:
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Hot alcohol?
This heresey cannot be allowed to continue!
This heresey cannot be allowed to continue!
Dutch's Imperial Culture Corner: Sylvania
Dutch
Bored Spearman of the Wind
- Location
- CET
As promised here's Sylvania and it's a big one.
Dutch's Imperial Culture Corner
With a new intro text.
Sylvania
Flag varies, undead and all that.
Heh, atleast whoever makes these things has a sense of humor.
That quote sums things up pretty accurately. When you walk into Sylvania, you pretty much walk into a foreign country. Halflings and Dwarfs are almost unheard of, technology lags behind compared to the rest of the Empire, gunpowder is a frightening marvel, there is no middle class, and the gap between the peasantry and nobility is even larger than in Bretonnia.
Welcome to Sylvania.
I'll be your guide.
We'll start off with some history. The lands that would become Sylvania were originally settled by the Fennone tribe, a strange and secretive people who spoke their own language and had little to do with the other tribes, or the dwarfs of Zhufbar. They ended up joining the Empire during the "Drive to the Frontiers" sometime during the 5th and 10th centuries. Today their language is still used, mostly when talking about suspicious strangers. When Sylvania was incorporated as a part of Stirland the populations began to mingle, though Stirlanders like to say that the Fennone blood won out in their cousins. Dark rumors started to circulate about the people dabbling in magic, with Sylvania's nobles building their homes on sites marked by ancient waystones, though for what purpose unknown. The winds blow strong in Sylvania after all (Dhar).
Though not doing particularly well for itself and in many ways struggling, live in Sylvania was manageable until the 12th century. When the Black Plague swept through the Empire, no place was as hard hit as Sylvania, with what records surviving saying that 9 out of 10 people dying because of the plague. To make matters worse, Warpstone fell down on Sylvania in large quantities in 1111. Naturally this attracted everyone's favorite rats.
However, the foul lords of Sylvania were ready for them, and used their magics to call up the plague victims from their graves to defend the country. Under the command of Frederick van Hel, later known as Vanhel, the undead crushed the Skaven and forced them back to their tunnels. Ever since, the dead have refused to stay buried for long in Sylvania. For the people of Sylvania this had an unexpected benefit. When the dead rose from the grave in massive numbers in 1681 during the Night of the Restless Dead, the Sylvanians had become experienced at fighting them. Some even battled necromancy with necromancy.
Stirland, meanwhile, was being ravaged by the undead. Sylvania, which had escaped mostly unharmed, used their position to lend aid at the price of independence.
During all this the von Draks rose to power in Sylvania, a family of brutal rulers despised by all. In comes Vlad (or Vladimir) who has been around in Sylvania for long time, teaching Vanhel necromancy and generally turning up every few centuries whenever something tickled his fancy. He married Isabella von Drak and became Count of Sylvania after her father died without a male heir. Vlad was better than the previous rulers and the people continued to follow him even after it was revealed that he was a vampire, all the while Vlad converted the Nobility or murdered them when they resisted. Sylvania became one of the best ruled provinces of the Empire. Then came the Vampire wars and all that stuff. The population joined Vlad's army willingly, and damned themselves in the eyes of the Empire. When Vlad Died and Konrad came to power and everything he did during his insanity, the population began to regret the pact that they had made. But when Mannfred took over they were as loyal to him as they were to Vlad and again joined the Vampire's army willingly. This cemented a special hatred for the people of Sylvania in the Empire, an attitude that survives to this day. The few people who leave the place often claim to be from someplace else to avoid persecution.
After Manndred's fall, Sylvania was brought back under Stirland's control and given a new nobility made out of impoverished noble houses, younger siblings and bastards of the Count of Stirland's line. Bitter at being sent into what was essentially exile, these new rulers treated their people no better than the von Draks and were worse at protecting them from the undead.
In 2158, Gottlieb the Stern led the "Cleansing of Sylvania", Witch hunters and the Cult of Sigmar purged anyone who had collaborated during the Vampire wars. Which caused even more resentment from Sylvanians towards Imperials, and afterwards they saw themselves as a separate nation. In the years that followed a mortal family with the von Carstein name appeared in Sylvania, who gained much support amongst the peasantry.
Whatever plans they had have been put on the back burner however. The Land of Sylvania has rapidly changed in recent years due to two separate forces which shook the very foundations of the long cursed Barony.
The first was the Wolf Crusade, a massive undertaking of the Cult of Ulric involving an army made up of tens and tens of thousands of trained and equipped zealous worshippers of the wolf God at the core of which lay the White Wolves - the premier Knightly Order of Ulric which had most recently been opened up to commoner recruitment - and whipped into a frenzy by Ar-Ulric Kron. During its years of operation, 2316 to 2323, the Wolf Crusade roared its way across much of the Empire before slamming into Sylvania and joining up with the other force already present, the Witch Hunter Army.
The Witch Hunter Army, unlike the Wolf Crusade, was a crusading force of purgation and fire under the aegis of Sigmar. Made up of Witch Hunters from across the Empire, led by Witch Hunter General Rommel and commanded personally by Emperor Magnus and the Grand Theogonist, the Witch Hunter Army ravaged cults of Chaos, vampires, undead, and other such dark things as they made their way across the Empire and eventually entered Sylvania itself, shortly before the Wolf Crusade. Beginning in 2315 IC, it too found success and its own eventual termination in that cursed place in the year of 2323.
Both groups, in their own way, managed to push multiple cults, madmen, vampires, and servants of darkness throughout the Empire into Sylvania. Perhaps it was assumed that the Barony would prove inviolable to the light of Sigmar and wolves of Ulric. If so, it was not to be. Led on by zealous White Wolves and Witch Hunters, Sylvania was set aflame by fires both naturally generated through torches and matches and the powers of Priests of Ulric, Sigmar, Morr and Bright Wizards from Altdorf. The latter two groups proved especially effective. Knightly Orders made their way in, mercenaries were hired by the Witch Hunter Army only to increase the number of troops they possessed to tear into Sylvania.
As for the land itself, seemingly every square inch of it was scorched, prayed over by priests from the three principle God's who had servants present, then scorched again during the course of both crusading forces. Advancing was slow, almost every town put to the torch, and forests that had held and hidden monsters for centuries were uprooted and burnt down or used by the servants of the night within the Barony for haphazard defenses and forts which would eventually prove useless in the long run. Castle Drakenhof was destroyed in the last battle of Sylvania, but that has done nothing to stop the servants of Ulric, Sigmar, and Morr with the 'conclusion' of the fight. In the past years since then, something almost like a competition has begun between the three Gods as Temples and Shrines go up, what very few native Sylvanians are being heavily inundated with sermons and prayers and simple presence by Priests, and the land is burnt again and again before being reconsecrated continually. Knowing that the dead could rise again at any time, any corpse found in Sylvania is immediately put to the torch - or, should it be recognizable as a body from another province, sent to a Garden of Morr there instead - and burnt beyond ash. Said ash is then taken by the servants of Morr far, far away from Sylvania so that even should another powerful vampire or necromancer return to that land, there will be nothing for them to raise. Entire graves are still being turned out, while the more swampy areas that could contain entire armies of bones and corpses are being dredged and cleared on the bill of those who serve the Gods.
Grand Theogonist Gottfried, who fought in Sylvania personally, has sworn that the servants of Sigmar shall not cease in their efforts until the Cleansing of Sylvania is well and truly complete. He has given no evidence as to when this may or may not be, as another grave or vampire tomb seems to be located almost every other month. Luckily, detachments from over fifteen Knightly Orders, five hundred Witch Hunters, and zealous and watchful Priests of Morr, Sigmar, and Ulric remain present in the Barony as all of this takes place.
Claims on Sylvania by provinces such as Stirland or potentially Ostermark are by all accounts to go unfulfilled until the Grand Theogonist is satisfied.
Next up is the land itself.
Sylvania stretches from the World's Edge mountains in the east to a varying western border. It currently stretches from the ruins of Mordheim down to the edge of Bylorhof
Marsh. In the north, the River Stir provides a border with Ostermark. To the south Sylvania stops at a barren region historically claimed by Averland, but currently held by
Stirland. However, the haunted reputation of the marshes and fallow hills results in both Provinces largely ignoring the area. The south-western corner of Sylvania edges onto Mootland, a narrow border that is steadfastly patrolled by Halfling Fieldwardens.
Sylvania is a place with harsh winters and going out at night means almost certain death. Due to a large amount of storms the land is damp with many moors and bogs like: Dark Moor, Grim Moor on the southern edge of the Grim Wood, the Bylorhof Marsh, Morrfenn, and the twisted Hel Fenn. The Fennone people disposed of their dead in these bogs for hundreds of years, and many of the von Carstein's undead troops come from there. The Sylvanians are forced to visit them as they are the source of the turf that fertilizes their fields and fuels their fires over the winter, the area is also home to edible berries like the sweet cowberry.
Then there's the woods. In the northwest there's Hunger Wood that is cloaked in eternal night by its trees and has strange glowing fungi. Then there's Grim Wood, which is haunted by an unseen monster that takes only maidens who dare to tread there. To the south is Ghoul Wood, said to be ruled by one of the Strigoi who has thrown in his lot with the Von Carsteins.
The Haunted Hills in the center of the barony are good for little more than sheepherding.
Almost done, the only thing left is the Culture itself.
Dutch's Imperial Culture Corner
With a new intro text.
Sylvania
Flag varies, undead and all that.
Heh, atleast whoever makes these things has a sense of humor.
That quote sums things up pretty accurately. When you walk into Sylvania, you pretty much walk into a foreign country. Halflings and Dwarfs are almost unheard of, technology lags behind compared to the rest of the Empire, gunpowder is a frightening marvel, there is no middle class, and the gap between the peasantry and nobility is even larger than in Bretonnia.
Welcome to Sylvania.
I'll be your guide.
We'll start off with some history. The lands that would become Sylvania were originally settled by the Fennone tribe, a strange and secretive people who spoke their own language and had little to do with the other tribes, or the dwarfs of Zhufbar. They ended up joining the Empire during the "Drive to the Frontiers" sometime during the 5th and 10th centuries. Today their language is still used, mostly when talking about suspicious strangers. When Sylvania was incorporated as a part of Stirland the populations began to mingle, though Stirlanders like to say that the Fennone blood won out in their cousins. Dark rumors started to circulate about the people dabbling in magic, with Sylvania's nobles building their homes on sites marked by ancient waystones, though for what purpose unknown. The winds blow strong in Sylvania after all (Dhar).
Though not doing particularly well for itself and in many ways struggling, live in Sylvania was manageable until the 12th century. When the Black Plague swept through the Empire, no place was as hard hit as Sylvania, with what records surviving saying that 9 out of 10 people dying because of the plague. To make matters worse, Warpstone fell down on Sylvania in large quantities in 1111. Naturally this attracted everyone's favorite rats.
However, the foul lords of Sylvania were ready for them, and used their magics to call up the plague victims from their graves to defend the country. Under the command of Frederick van Hel, later known as Vanhel, the undead crushed the Skaven and forced them back to their tunnels. Ever since, the dead have refused to stay buried for long in Sylvania. For the people of Sylvania this had an unexpected benefit. When the dead rose from the grave in massive numbers in 1681 during the Night of the Restless Dead, the Sylvanians had become experienced at fighting them. Some even battled necromancy with necromancy.
Stirland, meanwhile, was being ravaged by the undead. Sylvania, which had escaped mostly unharmed, used their position to lend aid at the price of independence.
During all this the von Draks rose to power in Sylvania, a family of brutal rulers despised by all. In comes Vlad (or Vladimir) who has been around in Sylvania for long time, teaching Vanhel necromancy and generally turning up every few centuries whenever something tickled his fancy. He married Isabella von Drak and became Count of Sylvania after her father died without a male heir. Vlad was better than the previous rulers and the people continued to follow him even after it was revealed that he was a vampire, all the while Vlad converted the Nobility or murdered them when they resisted. Sylvania became one of the best ruled provinces of the Empire. Then came the Vampire wars and all that stuff. The population joined Vlad's army willingly, and damned themselves in the eyes of the Empire. When Vlad Died and Konrad came to power and everything he did during his insanity, the population began to regret the pact that they had made. But when Mannfred took over they were as loyal to him as they were to Vlad and again joined the Vampire's army willingly. This cemented a special hatred for the people of Sylvania in the Empire, an attitude that survives to this day. The few people who leave the place often claim to be from someplace else to avoid persecution.
After Manndred's fall, Sylvania was brought back under Stirland's control and given a new nobility made out of impoverished noble houses, younger siblings and bastards of the Count of Stirland's line. Bitter at being sent into what was essentially exile, these new rulers treated their people no better than the von Draks and were worse at protecting them from the undead.
In 2158, Gottlieb the Stern led the "Cleansing of Sylvania", Witch hunters and the Cult of Sigmar purged anyone who had collaborated during the Vampire wars. Which caused even more resentment from Sylvanians towards Imperials, and afterwards they saw themselves as a separate nation. In the years that followed a mortal family with the von Carstein name appeared in Sylvania, who gained much support amongst the peasantry.
Whatever plans they had have been put on the back burner however. The Land of Sylvania has rapidly changed in recent years due to two separate forces which shook the very foundations of the long cursed Barony.
The first was the Wolf Crusade, a massive undertaking of the Cult of Ulric involving an army made up of tens and tens of thousands of trained and equipped zealous worshippers of the wolf God at the core of which lay the White Wolves - the premier Knightly Order of Ulric which had most recently been opened up to commoner recruitment - and whipped into a frenzy by Ar-Ulric Kron. During its years of operation, 2316 to 2323, the Wolf Crusade roared its way across much of the Empire before slamming into Sylvania and joining up with the other force already present, the Witch Hunter Army.
The Witch Hunter Army, unlike the Wolf Crusade, was a crusading force of purgation and fire under the aegis of Sigmar. Made up of Witch Hunters from across the Empire, led by Witch Hunter General Rommel and commanded personally by Emperor Magnus and the Grand Theogonist, the Witch Hunter Army ravaged cults of Chaos, vampires, undead, and other such dark things as they made their way across the Empire and eventually entered Sylvania itself, shortly before the Wolf Crusade. Beginning in 2315 IC, it too found success and its own eventual termination in that cursed place in the year of 2323.
Both groups, in their own way, managed to push multiple cults, madmen, vampires, and servants of darkness throughout the Empire into Sylvania. Perhaps it was assumed that the Barony would prove inviolable to the light of Sigmar and wolves of Ulric. If so, it was not to be. Led on by zealous White Wolves and Witch Hunters, Sylvania was set aflame by fires both naturally generated through torches and matches and the powers of Priests of Ulric, Sigmar, Morr and Bright Wizards from Altdorf. The latter two groups proved especially effective. Knightly Orders made their way in, mercenaries were hired by the Witch Hunter Army only to increase the number of troops they possessed to tear into Sylvania.
As for the land itself, seemingly every square inch of it was scorched, prayed over by priests from the three principle God's who had servants present, then scorched again during the course of both crusading forces. Advancing was slow, almost every town put to the torch, and forests that had held and hidden monsters for centuries were uprooted and burnt down or used by the servants of the night within the Barony for haphazard defenses and forts which would eventually prove useless in the long run. Castle Drakenhof was destroyed in the last battle of Sylvania, but that has done nothing to stop the servants of Ulric, Sigmar, and Morr with the 'conclusion' of the fight. In the past years since then, something almost like a competition has begun between the three Gods as Temples and Shrines go up, what very few native Sylvanians are being heavily inundated with sermons and prayers and simple presence by Priests, and the land is burnt again and again before being reconsecrated continually. Knowing that the dead could rise again at any time, any corpse found in Sylvania is immediately put to the torch - or, should it be recognizable as a body from another province, sent to a Garden of Morr there instead - and burnt beyond ash. Said ash is then taken by the servants of Morr far, far away from Sylvania so that even should another powerful vampire or necromancer return to that land, there will be nothing for them to raise. Entire graves are still being turned out, while the more swampy areas that could contain entire armies of bones and corpses are being dredged and cleared on the bill of those who serve the Gods.
Grand Theogonist Gottfried, who fought in Sylvania personally, has sworn that the servants of Sigmar shall not cease in their efforts until the Cleansing of Sylvania is well and truly complete. He has given no evidence as to when this may or may not be, as another grave or vampire tomb seems to be located almost every other month. Luckily, detachments from over fifteen Knightly Orders, five hundred Witch Hunters, and zealous and watchful Priests of Morr, Sigmar, and Ulric remain present in the Barony as all of this takes place.
Claims on Sylvania by provinces such as Stirland or potentially Ostermark are by all accounts to go unfulfilled until the Grand Theogonist is satisfied.
Next up is the land itself.
Sylvania stretches from the World's Edge mountains in the east to a varying western border. It currently stretches from the ruins of Mordheim down to the edge of Bylorhof
Marsh. In the north, the River Stir provides a border with Ostermark. To the south Sylvania stops at a barren region historically claimed by Averland, but currently held by
Stirland. However, the haunted reputation of the marshes and fallow hills results in both Provinces largely ignoring the area. The south-western corner of Sylvania edges onto Mootland, a narrow border that is steadfastly patrolled by Halfling Fieldwardens.
Sylvania is a place with harsh winters and going out at night means almost certain death. Due to a large amount of storms the land is damp with many moors and bogs like: Dark Moor, Grim Moor on the southern edge of the Grim Wood, the Bylorhof Marsh, Morrfenn, and the twisted Hel Fenn. The Fennone people disposed of their dead in these bogs for hundreds of years, and many of the von Carstein's undead troops come from there. The Sylvanians are forced to visit them as they are the source of the turf that fertilizes their fields and fuels their fires over the winter, the area is also home to edible berries like the sweet cowberry.
Then there's the woods. In the northwest there's Hunger Wood that is cloaked in eternal night by its trees and has strange glowing fungi. Then there's Grim Wood, which is haunted by an unseen monster that takes only maidens who dare to tread there. To the south is Ghoul Wood, said to be ruled by one of the Strigoi who has thrown in his lot with the Von Carsteins.
The Haunted Hills in the center of the barony are good for little more than sheepherding.
Almost done, the only thing left is the Culture itself.
Sylvanians have an attitude towards death that puts them at odds with the rest of the Empire, life has a dismal end for them. Other than that they rarely smile and aren't fond of talking to strangers, doors are bolted shut and people don't often leave the barony. They take pride in the harshness of their lives, seeing others as soft for living in the warmer climates, using black powder weapons and associating with the other races. Sylvanians believe in the worst stereotypes, and it is common to find they believe Dwarfs drown cats, and Halflings routinely eat each other. This attitude goes all the way back to the Fennones, who refused to deal with the Dwarfs they encountered in the foothills of the World's Edge Mountains because they came from the same place as the marauding Greenskins who raided their land.
The largest towns of Sylvania would still be considered rural backwaters by cultured Empire folk, half-empty places where everybody wears clothes that haven't been fashionable for over fifty years. These towns are merely overgrown villages that happen to have been built on slightly better land. As Sylvania's population never recovered from the Black Plague and the countless contagions that followed, overcrowding has never been a problem.
Mutation is rife amongst the peasants. The thin soil has been riddled with Warpstone since 1111, giving Sylvania one of the highest rates of mutation in the Empire. The most deformed Mutants are cast out into the woods or sent to Drakenhof, but many who would be burned elsewhere are accepted in Sylvania. Hunchbacks, walleyes, and those with additional digits are treated no differently from others.
Due to the low yield of the crops, people constantly fight against starvation and hunger pains are a part of life. Turning to "sweet pork," the Sylvanians' euphemism for Human flesh, is considered distasteful but not evil. Desperate times can call for desperate measures.
All this has led to the Sylvanians becoming a detached people. They harbor resentments towards the Empire, especially Stirland. They avoid all contact with the outside world, and many know embarrassingly little about it. It is not uncommon for Sylvanians to not realize they are a part of the Empire, and many could not name the current Emperor if asked. Those who do know a little of the lands beyond their own know that they will not be accepted there, and the Empire has as low an opinion of Sylvanians as Sylvanians have of the Empire.
The life of a typical Sylvanian is as harsh, brutal, and short as that of any Old Worlder, and they see the Vampires as merely another aspect of that. Sometimes the crops fail, sometimes the winter is harsh, sometimes Chaos Warriors raid from the mountains, sometimes the plague comes, and sometimes the Vampires come.
The largest towns of Sylvania would still be considered rural backwaters by cultured Empire folk, half-empty places where everybody wears clothes that haven't been fashionable for over fifty years. These towns are merely overgrown villages that happen to have been built on slightly better land. As Sylvania's population never recovered from the Black Plague and the countless contagions that followed, overcrowding has never been a problem.
Mutation is rife amongst the peasants. The thin soil has been riddled with Warpstone since 1111, giving Sylvania one of the highest rates of mutation in the Empire. The most deformed Mutants are cast out into the woods or sent to Drakenhof, but many who would be burned elsewhere are accepted in Sylvania. Hunchbacks, walleyes, and those with additional digits are treated no differently from others.
Due to the low yield of the crops, people constantly fight against starvation and hunger pains are a part of life. Turning to "sweet pork," the Sylvanians' euphemism for Human flesh, is considered distasteful but not evil. Desperate times can call for desperate measures.
All this has led to the Sylvanians becoming a detached people. They harbor resentments towards the Empire, especially Stirland. They avoid all contact with the outside world, and many know embarrassingly little about it. It is not uncommon for Sylvanians to not realize they are a part of the Empire, and many could not name the current Emperor if asked. Those who do know a little of the lands beyond their own know that they will not be accepted there, and the Empire has as low an opinion of Sylvanians as Sylvanians have of the Empire.
The life of a typical Sylvanian is as harsh, brutal, and short as that of any Old Worlder, and they see the Vampires as merely another aspect of that. Sometimes the crops fail, sometimes the winter is harsh, sometimes Chaos Warriors raid from the mountains, sometimes the plague comes, and sometimes the Vampires come.
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Elector’s Meet of 2325, Part 9
Elector's Meet of 2325, Part 9
Your wife has quite plainly barred her doors to you, and by now you've learned that the best way to deal with this is to let her cool off for a bit. She'll warm back up to you eventually but for now she's just showing how much she cares by going a little bit mad with fury at you for putting yourself in danger again. Yes, things will be right as rain eventually. Probably. As for your children, Magnus has wandered off, presumably back to the training area where he'll drag anyone he can to test himself against. The boy seems to refuse anything less than utter perfection in every single sword stroke or hammer blow. Your daughters, you actually see them leave the manse as both babble to one another at the speech speed that only twins can manage, Anna holding a sheaf of papers so thick she could bludgeon a man to death with them. Urgdug is sleeping off the results of his stress eating, apparently your brother ogre decided to see if it was possible for an ogre to eat themselves to death when he heard what you had done and agreed to. Three days of almost completely break-less eating emptied the larder of the manse within the first day, and your servants had been running to and fro about the various markets of Nuln buying just about every piece of food they could.
Time-wise, you've got a little bit more than what you expected, and so you decide to indulge yourself in some idle curiosity. For over a decade and a half your efforts, and thus that of your entire province, have been largely geared in the north of the Old World. Kislev, the Trident, Norsca. That is where you've fought and lived all this time, where the vast majority of your concerns lie. But now your mind, muddled with drink as it usually is, is drifting slightly with thoughts of the south. The nations down there might not normally face the true brunt of Chaos, but greenskins are everywhere, as are beastmen. Besides, Roland has made a reasonably good showing of what Bretonnians are like, or rather what you might hope they are like. But how much do you really know about the man? Not that much. Only that he apparently does get visions from his Goddess about where to go on this vaguely defined quest – at least vaguely defined to you, if he really is as devout as he says you'll bet that he has a much sharper definition than you currently know right now – and…ah. There's a good excuse to talk to the man.
Next year you possess the chance to join Ortrud and the dwarves in an attempt to reclaim Karak Ungor. It's not like it is required of it, but the offer is open. That alone is saying quite a bit of how highly either Otrud or the dwarves might regard you. Perhaps it is a combination of Bugman and Garagrim, or just the latter. You may never know, but the point of the matter is that barring something vastly requiring your attention, you'll be delving into what is, according to your own idle research and conversations with the dwarves in the Dwarf Quarter, the deepest reaching Hold in all of the history of the short folk. That's sort of what Roland was talking about with his visions, right? Maybe? You might as well suggest it to him. If this supposed Grail is down there, however unlikely that might be, is it possible for you to see an honest to Goddess manifestation of his Lady?
You would be lying to yourself if you weren't interested in something like that. Sure, somewhere down in the depths of that temple, or perhaps while lashed to the stake, you found a bit more faith. That doesn't quite exclude you for looking for more concrete signs of Gods that actually show themselves capable of doing things.
So you go looking for him, pausing to check if he is still sleeping in Magnus's room. Heh. Though your son's arrogance was disconcerting, it still amuses you to think about his punishment. You find him in a rather familiar state – carefully cleaning and sharpening his enormous two handed sword, apparently the weapon marks his station as a Questing Knight of Bretonnia. Your son's things have been shifted to one side of the room, and rather than partaking in the considerable bed and blankets afforded to the heir presumptive of Ostland the knight has chosen to lay down a rather mundane bedroll along the far wall from the fireplace. To anyone else, the wooden chair would have been perfectly average sized, though on Sir Roland it practically looks like the seat of a child. Occasional ominous creaking reaches your ears even as he shifts back and forth and eyes the edge and flat of the blade after each stroke of the whetstone.
"Hail, Count Hohenzollern," he says without looking up, "You honor me with your presence once more," he finally raises his head on the last word, in fact standing up entirely to offer you a somewhat deep bow and lowering of his head before returning to the chair which squeaks in protest. "Do you require something of me?"
"I think I know where your visions might be leading you next," you respond in your usual manner. Which has charitably been described as blunt as an ogre wielding a small tree.
Your words garner a rather immediate reaction, for as ever it seems the quiet man gains a surprising reserve of energy when it comes to anything regarding to the Lady of the Lake and his Quest. Said quiet yet noticeable energy fills his frame as he stands again and comes closer, a strange fervor and faith in his eyes that you've begun recognizing in the eyes of those who really are true believers. The Ar-Ulric, both of the ones you've met, had it. Both Grand Theogonists had it. So too does Roland. Does the Lady have male priests?
"How could…hmm, of what would you speak, Count Hohenzollern?" he rumbles. He only looms because of his height, not because he's making an effort to do so. "Tis a curious vision the Lady sends me every night, of a world of rock above my head and a lake filled with light at the very bottom of treacherous depths. The flash and screech of greenskins..I know by now that surely it must be some Dwarven Hold or another," he drifts off as his eyes slightly fog over.
Is that what getting a vision looks like? You've never had one after all. No, wait, that's just a regular remembering look. Your mind has been a little too flighty ever since…ever since. You don't begrudge the Witch Hunter Eva…but your body still twitches painfully every now and then. The smell of the smoke and incense...
Confess! I will wring the truth from your corpse if need be!
Jung's voice booms in your ears, even now. Breath comes harder to you, all of a sudden. The shadow from the window covers you, the only light from outside of the dark shade, just like before. Like before. With fire and whips and knives and screws and-
"Count Hohenzollern?" an enormous hand claps onto your shoulder, and jerks you out of…of whatever that was. You shake yourself and attempt to refocus.
"Aye, my apologies. I am…all right. You speak of travelling beneath the surface of our world to a place infested with greenskins, and that is where I aim to go next year. The dwarves are planning to try and reclaim Karak Ungor, and only Dwarf Friends and those who are vouched for by said Friends are allowed to assist. According to those dwarves who reside in my home, Karak Ungor is the Delving Hold, the deepest that the dwarves ever went. It fell to the greenskins millennia ago, and they aim to retrieve it and its vast treasuries and rich veins of ore."
Roland rubs at his chin, but you can see, no, feel the excitement rolling off of him.
"Yes…yes, that must be it. I was led south, where the Lady guided me to your son, or perhaps your son to me, so that…yes…I see!" he begins pacing back and forth before whipping around with surprising quickness. "If you would permit me to accompany you upon this noble quest, I would be eternally grateful," he looks close to outright clasping your hands with his own at this point. "I shall prepare immediately, Silver is forever ready to ride, and-,"
"Sir Roland! The march begins next year, in early summer, good knight. We are not quite there yet, I am merely extending the invitation to you now."
"I…of course," he slumps ever so slightly, "I…hah, look at me, acting like a Knight Errant again. Ready to run off at the smallest moment," Roland half falls into the chair he began sitting in and half sits carefully. Sighing, he runs his gloved hands over his face. "I apologize, Count. I mean no disrespect."
"It's fine," you answer simply. And it is. You sort of get the whole fugue state that profoundly religious folk get into sometimes. After all, did you not just suffer for three days as result of just that?
It takes you another moment to snap out of the remembered sensation of flogging, and twitching only for a moment that you clamp down on with iron control do you sit as well in another of the chairs in the room. Directly in the late morning sunlight this time, not on its edges again. You don't need another…'reaction' like you had just a short time earlier. This is only somewhat of a mistake, as you happen to sit near where Magnus must have kept his own candles and incense in his prayers to Sigmar, which something deep in your body recoils from as soon as the scent crosses your nostrils. You shake yourself out of it, but luckily Roland is still rubbing his face with those cooking pan sized hands.
"It…is not fine," he finally says, letting his arms rest on his knees. "I must be better than that. I need to be controlled, precise, not running off half-cocked at every opportunity. I should be at this point."
"What do you mean?" you ask, taking a small drink of ostka to dry and burn your nostrils and thus the scent of the increasingly wretched smell of incense.
The answering smile is quite a tired one.
"I have been a Questing Knight for quite a long time, Count Hohenzollern. I left my people, my responsibilities, behind. My family, behind. I have not stepped foot in Bretonnia for over a generation at this point."
That sets you back on your heels a bit.
"You…how do you-," you struggle to respond. You can't even imagine that. Leaving your family…leaving Natasha and your children? Leave Ostland?
"...I set down my lance symbol of duty. I spurn those whom I love.
I relinquish all, and take up the tools of my quest.
No obstacle will stand before me. No plea for help shall find me wanting.
No moon will look upon me twice lest I be judged idle.
I give my body, heart and soul to the lady whom I seek..."
You stare at the words as they march themselves out of Sir Roland's mouth. There is a sort of strange power behind those words, which you can feel as they are recited by rote. You shiver, probably because the room is colder than you are used to, the fire in the fireplace has gotten quite low. Yes, that's it. A far off look is in the knight's eye as he says the words, his whole frame going still save for his mouth, from start to finish. After it's over he tilts his head and sighs, resting his chin on his fist.
"That, Count Hohenzollern, is the Questing Vow. I swore it, by the reckoning of your calendar, in the year 2298. A month after I was named Knight of the Realm for slaying a Doombull in single combat, though that was more luck than anything else," he lets out a small huff and chuckle, "I just barely managed to get my lance angled into its eye when it charged me. Really, it did all the work, not me. But it was enough for a friend of my father, another Lord, to knight me for my service in protecting his daughter and the village the Doombull had been ravaging."
2298….
"You've been running around on this Quest of yours for over twenty six years?!" you stare. Forget leaving your family alone for a few months, you can manage to visit both Alexandra and your youngest daughters every now and then, but leaving them all behind for over twenty six years…no. No you almost literally cannot conceive of such a thing.
"It'll be twenty seven at the conclusion of this one. And yes, for about that long. I've, well," he points at one of the thick leather gloves covering his hands. Then, he pulls one off, and you can then say that you have seen the most heavily scarred piece of human flesh you've ever seen in your entire life. Including your own scars. "I've faced much in the Lady's name. My dreams guided me from Bretonnia's borders after two years, so from the onset of the third century of this millennia to this day I have travelled the world. I am only recently returned to the Old World for a few years now."
"But, your family, your father? You can't make any contact with them at all?"
"None," he says as he shakes his head slowly. There is an old ache in the word. "Even if it were possible, I would not put much faith in messages being able to carry reliably from where I have travelled."
"I don't think I could do the same." No, you know you couldn't do the same.
"Mmph. I understand what you mean. Even now, I do not know who has suffered more, me or Amalie," the aching sadness in his voice only grows on the name.
"Amalie?"
"My wife," he shifts in the creaking little chair, "We were betrothed and married young. Managed to fall in love, even, and she managed to grant me a child. Charlemagne, I named him, though it shortened to Charles more often than not."
"Then you…left them all behind."
"I can hear the distaste in your voice, Count, no," he raises his hand to stop your protests, "It is a tremendously trying act to do what I have done, may continue doing forever. But I thought…I wanted to serve the Lady to the best of my ability. I…I have to," there is the hint of desperation in that voice. "I must prove to the Lady that, despite everything, She...." he trails off, fists clenching and unclenching.
There is a haunted look in his eyes then. Then he stirs, and meets your eyes.
"I can hear the question you leave unspoken. It is…private, Count. I apologize, but…it is my own burden to bear. Rest assured, it will not stop me from aiding you to the best of my abilities in Karak Ungor should you have me."
Well, now you're curious. But for now, you'll respect his wishes. Of course, if he turns out to be some sort of servant of Chaos you'll have to gut him, which would be regrettable, but you will. You hope he isn't. It would be a shame. After your own experiences, you aren't feeling too charitable towards infiltrators, human or vampiric.
"Do you drink?" you pull out one of your flasks and gesture with it.
He seems confused at the sudden invitation, but accepts the flask gingerly.
"Not…not that much, no."
You narrow your eyes, but luckily for him he takes a small pull from the flask, and responds appropriately. Hmm. Well, even Sir Roland has secrets, it seems, but he drinks ostka like a man should. He's got over twenty years of experience, and obviously hasn't spent it sitting on his ass like some southern Imperials might have. But now you're a bit twitchy about the potential for being stabbed in the spine by some enthralled servant of the vampires, or perhaps a cult of Chaos like what ruined your family when you first became Count. And this damn incense burning in your nose isn't helping you at all, damn it. Blinking rapidly, the hazy afterimages of Jung and Witch Hunters fade from behind our eyelids which had become scrunched shut at some point.
Egh. Whatever. You need to make a decision, and looking at the position of the sunlight which somehow put you on its edges again, after that you'll have to head in for the rest of the Meet.
[] Accept Sir Roland, veteran Questing Knight of Bretonnia, in the Karak Ungor Campaign. Why has he dedicated himself so harshly to his Quest, however? Shame? Corruption? Uneasy thoughts indeed. You can probably convince the dwarves to let him come when you show up.
[] Reject Sir Roland, veteran Questing Knight of Bretonnia, in the Karak Ungor Campaign. Risking the ire of the dwarves for someone brand new besides your own direct armies is not what you want. Also, these secrets concern you.
==============================
It always seems to behoove you to arrive a little be early before the Meet begins again, and even with the unusual circumstances revolving around this one, you still make it there. No one else is around, and so you find yourself with a moment to yourself and sit on a bench near the main doors. It is nice to…reflect. You are not the most eminently self-aware individual, but you are not entirely unaware either. Something is…wrong. With you. No nightmares, last night at least, but now that you sit here with only the silent Imperial Foot Greatswords standing by the doors to the Hall as companionship, your newly scarred flesh twinges as it rustles against your clothing. Some of it is still red. Worse, the stench from the oils and incenses associated with the Cult of Sigmar which suffuse this entire building are not settling well with your stomach. Damn Jung. Even though your anger is normally enough to push back such things, it doesn't…it doesn't seem so here. No. Your eyes scan the shadows, or more specifically the borders between light and dark, where Jung and the interrogators always seemed to loom. A low, nearly soundless growl escapes your throat as your hands clench over your knees.This may be a problem.
"Frederick," a calm voice calls out, and you turn to see Kattarin steadily advancing down the corridor accompanied by twenty Kreml Guard. And advancing is really the only word for it, as if she was marching upon a battlefield. Sometimes you wonder just what she must have been like around her now dead husband. You'd pay quite a sum to see that side of her, if she ever truly possessed a 'side' like that at all. The only other option would be Rasputin somehow engendering himself to her as is. Which either meant that Rasputin was insane, brave, or some combination of both.
"Tzarina Kattarin," you rise and bow slightly to her. The stomping black armored Guard slow before parting before her.
"I heard you got set on fire," she pauses in front of you and puts her hands on her hips. Her lip curls fractionally as she looks you up and down before she lets loose with an almost idle glare towards one of her Kreml Guard. "I do not enjoy receiving false information, Captain."
"Sorry, mother," the voice of her heir and first born son comes from the face concealing helmet, surprising you somewhat.
"Mattrin." The reproach is faint, but there.
"I apologize, Tzarina."
"He's not entirely wrong, Kattarin. He did shove a torch at me, and I just happened not to be set on fire, despite the kindling and oil," you interject.
Which you are still somewhat concerned about.
"I see."
Then she's done with you, apparently, and walks past to the exact same lacquered and greatly detailed bench which was probably carved from some ancient tree or another before being worked on by the most devout Sigmarite artists possible. The Kreml Guard assemble in a lockstep formation in a half crescent around her, while her back leans slightly against a thick wall instead of a window or anything similar. Typical Kislevites.
After that, everyone else starts to filter in, but there is a new face. The stern looking older woman, the one wearing the heraldry of Stirland, is now accompanied by actual Greatswords, which can only mean that she really is the new Countess of Stirland. You...actually don't know her name, you realize abruptly, or anything about her at all. She doesn't look that pleased when her gaze crosses your own, which you hope is attributed due to your rather uncommon closeness to the Moot or at least its peoples rather than anything else you did. Still, she grants you a surprisingly respectful nod, which everyone else matches or exceeds. The tale and sight of what you did is still spreading like a wildfire throughout the city by this point, and may even have gone beyond it.
There better not be any flagellants following you around after this damn it.
On the other hand, it looks like Stephan is trying to get your attention for something, which is interesting. You and him haven't had that much besides usual pleasant conversation between the two of you in your letters. Mostly discussing ways to destroy Norscan ships and defend coastlines. You never did congratulate him on being able to re-expand his people into the third of his land that have finally healed from the Plague God's taint. Apparently, according to his letters, he's turning the whole area into an agricultural sector, all to better feed the growing and yet denser population of greater Nordland.
You'll only have time for one of the two, considering everything, the Meet is highly likely to begin quite soon.
[] The New Countess in Town
[] Nordland Concerns
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Evaunit02mark1
S-s-smell the Prey, S-s-start the Hunt.
[X] Nordland Concerns
Old Bros before New Hoes.
Edit: Roland vote
[x] Accept Sir Roland, veteran Questing Knight of Bretonnia, in the Karak Ungor Campaign. Why has he dedicated himself so harshly to his Quest, however? Shame? Corruption? Uneasy thoughts indeed. You can probably convince the dwarves to let him come when you show up.
Old Bros before New Hoes.
Edit: Roland vote
[x] Accept Sir Roland, veteran Questing Knight of Bretonnia, in the Karak Ungor Campaign. Why has he dedicated himself so harshly to his Quest, however? Shame? Corruption? Uneasy thoughts indeed. You can probably convince the dwarves to let him come when you show up.
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- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] The New Countess in Town
I think our friends can handle ourselves. This is a vital and going concern, and we need to expand our base of support, which ALSO implies we need to know who our enemies are so we can know who *their* enemies are. Now, Freddy's an abrasive guy, but even so, I still think we should at least learn her disposition.
There's not *much* that we can't talk about later with Nordland.
I think our friends can handle ourselves. This is a vital and going concern, and we need to expand our base of support, which ALSO implies we need to know who our enemies are so we can know who *their* enemies are. Now, Freddy's an abrasive guy, but even so, I still think we should at least learn her disposition.
There's not *much* that we can't talk about later with Nordland.
[X] Nordland Concerns
Trident brother FTW.
Edit:
[X] Accept Sir Roland, veteran Questing Knight of Bretonnia, in the Karak Ungor Campaign. Why has he dedicated himself so harshly to his Quest, however? Shame? Corruption? Uneasy thoughts indeed. You can probably convince the dwarves to let him come when you show up
Trident brother FTW.
Edit:
[X] Accept Sir Roland, veteran Questing Knight of Bretonnia, in the Karak Ungor Campaign. Why has he dedicated himself so harshly to his Quest, however? Shame? Corruption? Uneasy thoughts indeed. You can probably convince the dwarves to let him come when you show up
- Location
- The evergreen land of clouds and rain.
[X] Accept Sir Roland, veteran Questing Knight of Bretonnia, in the Karak Ungor Campaign. Why has he dedicated himself so harshly to his Quest, however? Shame? Corruption? Uneasy thoughts indeed. You can probably convince the dwarves to let him come when you show up.
[X] Nordland Concerns
[X] Nordland Concerns
Evaunit02mark1
S-s-smell the Prey, S-s-start the Hunt.
Ah right, forgot about that.
General call, whats the opinion on Ronald?
Personally I wouldn't mind the extra muscle, but the flavor text of his unknown past is leaving me a bit wary.