Warhammer Fantasy: Divided Loyalties - an Advisor's Quest

[picklepikkl]

I'm just saying I've seen Prismatic Wanderer propaganda in the Omake and nothing at all for Armor of von Varnus or Requests. How can one even consider voting against such a thing under those circumstances? Those lobbies need to step up their game.

Click to shrink...

I was busy this morning writing the first story update for my new quest (it's super great and you should all check it out, he says shamelessly), but now that that's published, sure, I'll take a stab at it.

---

EIGHT THINGS THAT WILL TOTALLY DEFINITELY 100% HAPPEN
"You want to know the secret behind Flock of Doom?" Dragomas said.

Mathilde nodded. "And Crow's Feast, and A Murder of Crows. I was thinking it's probably Apparitions you've covered in Ghur, but there's all this stuff about Corvus and I really want to know the real answer."

Dragomas scoffed. "Typical Grey, outthinking yourself and asking for a secret you already know the answer to."

"Oh, so it is Appar-"

"HEY CORVUS," Dragomas bellowed out a window. "SOMEONE WANTS TO MEET YOU!"

Moments later, an enormous crow head peeked into the tower room. "What's up, Draggy?"

Dragomas pointed a thumb at her. "She wants to know how your spells work."

The crow tilted its head and blinked. "Well, it's just manners, isn't it? My friends ask nicely, and then I send some crows, and then the thing they want pecked gets pecked, and then they come home and tell me how it went and we all go out for dri- oh, she's leaving."

"Yeah," Dragomas said. "I think that's not what she was expecting."

"Hey, when are you going to tell her that you're a dragon?"

---

Mathilde stared at the intricately carved rectangular stone Mira had just handed to her. "Sorry, what's this supposed to be?" she asked.

"The most sacred treasure of the Light College, given unto you for your incredible deeds. You hold in your hands what we call a library cartouche."

---

"Hey Feldmann," Mathilde said from behind him. He jumped, and then turned around with a smile fixed on his face.

"Yes, Lady Magister, what can the Gold College do for you?"

"Oh, I honestly think you've done quite enough," she purred. "I mean, Apparitions! Who would have thought it, right? Can't believe I was the first to try all this!"

Feldmann ground his teeth. "Yes, Weber, you're very clever, but I'm a busy man, and-"

"But I owe you so much!" she cried out. "After all, if you'd never come to me to buy the skaventech, I might never have started studying Apparition-lore in earnest! You guys knew so much about them already!"

His eye began to twitch.

"Anyway, if you're really feeling grateful for the... what was it, two separate paradigm-shattering discoveries I just dropped on you using the blood of the sort of beings you guys have just been using to bite things? I think it was two. Maybe three but -- oh, silly me, I'm not allowed to tell you about that one! Teehee. Anyway, I'd like a spider silk robe enchanted with the best combat defenses you guys can muster. You can buy the spider silk from the Eastern Imperial Company, K8P division." She winked exaggeratedly. "Don't worry, I'll make sure you get the friends & family discount. Thank you for your business!"

The best part was, she thought to herself as she closed the door, that she hadn't even told any lies.

---

Paranoth sighed as he contemplated his new travelogue: Thirty Places You Must See Before You Achieve Wizardly Transcendence (And What Dope-Ass Shit Mathilde Weber Did In Each Of Them). Maybe it would make that woman in the Druidic faction have an aneurysm? Cheered by the thought, he sent it to the publishers.

---

"So!" Maria Stossel said brightly. "What can the Celestial College do to repay you? Do you want to see the future? I bet it's that."

"Nope!" Mathilde replied, equally brightly. "Money, please!"

Maria Stossel stared. "I am the most accomplished wielder in the Empire of Azyr, which carries in its every gust currents from fate, which nobles pay fortunes to get the merest glimpse of, and..."

"Yup! That's why I want money! From all those nobles paying you fortunes and stuff!"

Maria sighed. "Are you sure you wouldn't like me to tell your future?"

"Totes!"

"...can I pretend you asked me to tell your future?"

Mathilde gestured magnanimously. "Be my guest."

Maria Stossel drew herself to her full height, lightning illuminating the windows and thunder resounding portentously in the background. "Mathilde Weber!" she intoned in dirgelike tones. "I have peered into your future, and foretell a most dire fate indeed! I see a future where you go to the Elflands, and in wandering through their storied markets see some cool knickknack that you cannot afford to buy."

Mathilde gasped. "Oh no!"

"Oh no indeed!" Maria cried out. "But behold!" From one of her desk drawers, she pulled a big leather bag that jingled dramatically. "The tools to avert your calamity!"

"Thank you, Matriarch!" Mathilde said with feeling, gathering the sack of lucre to herself. "I will forever remember the day I sought the wisdom of the Celestials!"

---

"Spies," Mathilde said firmly. "Lots of spies."

Algard sighed. "What do you want to do with the spies?"

"Well, you all make look going undercover and being 'discreet' and stuff look like fun, so I figured I'd get some to play with and see if I liked it. Maybe that'll be my next career path!"

Retirement, Algard reflected, could not come soon enough.

---

"Hexensohn," Elspeth von Draken said reflectively, leaning back in her chair. "Old stuff."

"Yes, but it's been bothering me for years and I just want to know what happened," Mathilde replied.

"Well, you see," she said. "When he came himself and brought Battle Wizards, he wasn't doing that out of the goodness of his heart. He thought your Elector Count was up to no good."

Mathilde nodded. "I'd guessed as much."

"It's the funniest thing," Elspeth said. "I read through his notes, and it seems he thought that the Liber Mortis might have stayed in the family."

"...fancy that," Mathilde replied.

"Silly of him, I know. But then the Empress died under the most mysterious circumstances, which of course nobody here had anything to do with, and I spent some time looking into it, and -- did you know I have a minor interest in theology myself, Mathilde?"

"I didn't, but go on."

"Well, you see, I'm particularly interested in how gods die, and I've got bits of one already, and I noticed that things around you seem to work out in such a lucky way ever so often, and-"

Then a cat came screaming down the chimney, and in the confusion Mathilde managed to escape, resolving never to be alone with Elspeth von Draken ever again.

---

"Just an enchantment?" Thyrus Gormann asked.

"Yup!" Mathilde replied. "I want to increase the range on my gyrocarriage."

"Oh," he said politely. "Going anywhere in particular?"

"No plans yet. But one day I'd kind of like to see Ind."

He coughed. "Is that so?"

"Yeah! I just think Ind is so cool. With its different paradigms of Winds, and its... other stuff, I guess? I hope things are going well with the introduction of that paradigm to Mandred. I've got lots more books about Ind in my library if you'd like to borrow them! I understand it can often be difficult to appreciate other cultures, but I think I'm particularly good at it and I would love to help any way I can in the training of the son of my good friend Heidi! So if you're confused about anything in those books, just come to me and I bet I can help you figure it out! I should learn Indic before I go and, ooo, I wonder if I can get some non-translated versions of their media here so I can appreciate it the way it's really meant to be, you know what I mean? And that's another thing-"

As Mathilde Weber rambled on, Thyrus Gormann fantasized about arson.

 

[Glau]

Of Maps and Territories

In a forest late at night at the edges of the empire, humans travel in groups and do not linger, for there are bestial things upon the prowl, this is known. Leagues of cliff-faced peaks and valleys where armies can not march, then dark and fey touched Athel Loren, then even further two-faced Brettonians.

But the boots that crunch cross the borderstones and branches this night are no shuffling mass of hoof and horn, nor the soft leather of elfish scouts, though they come by a path that has known the tread of both.

Instead ironshod feet fall in tandem and the trees around them echo like the low throb of a single giant heart. Or chewing jaw.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

No torches, for their eyes see well enough in the moon's light. No bellowed warcrys, for though they carry waaagh in their hearts, they move with disciplined purpose. They have weapons and armor of blackened iron, but worse, clever commanders with maps of the province and surprise on their side.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.


----------

The desk was different. The room too, for that matter, and it's occupants. The feeling was the same though, she reflected, so perhaps that is why it put her the mind of when she first pulled on ulgu in frustration at the limits of charcoal and paper.

Back then it was dwarves- young ones, mostly- bustling in and out carrying messages, and dwarves huddled round a slab of stone deep in the chiselwards. Now it was bright eyed young humans in robes (and one elf!) running in and out with the latest updates, polished wood with brass fittings rather than rough stone. And the map table. She was proud of the MAAP table.

Eight feet of polished hardwood, circular, it took up most of the space in the room, it's value underlined more by how much space was at a premium on the airship than by the runes inlaid in gold and silver. There was space for drinks and snacks. Above it floated the refined and perfected version of what she had done almost as fingerprinting back in the karak, now showing tens of square miles below and around them in crisp detail.

But the feeling was similar. Frustration, feeling like you had everything to do and could do nothing but stay in one place and shuffle messages. As the tool grew, so did the challenges.

The truth was that they had fucked up. The iron orcs had been a Brettonian problem, rumors about chaos worshiping orcs in armor, raiding sheep herding villages and sacking small castles, with none able to find their base. Something where help in the matter could have been traded for favors.

But then the attacks on the empire had started, and it became clear very quickly to the more experienced defenders that the orcs had somehow cracked open the beast paths and world roots. And that their numbers were far greater than feared.

An army of disorganized savages that popped up out of near nowhere and ravaged whatever was close by was bad enough. A well-equiped army with drilled tactics and a considered strategy behind them was much worse. All of that, while Kislev struggled at it's northern borders and the call went out for all to match north?

A thing of nightmares.

Already two larger towns had been sacked, their defending forces lured away while orcs reduced the walls and put all inside to the sword and flame. No pursuit was possible, and no defense could be prepared that covered all the directions from which an attack might come.

Enter the Prismatic Wanderer. Her mission: to find the army of the iron orcs and lead the scent remaining forces of the empire in crushing it.

A shout pulled her from her musings.

"MA'AM! We've got something! Chamon teleseveriscope bloom to the south-southeast six miles and change out! And we think it might be an entry point, the bloom was growing!"

She glanced up; the thirty-something in gold robes snapped her a salute and handed off a slate. She glanced to her right. Her arcaneocartographer (the hochlander's grandniece in fact, a not-yet-perpetual named Mariann) bit her tongue as she carefully processed the declension and direction numbers from the slate and adjusted the table- a smear of yellow swirled into being between two low hills. Four miles beyond was a third walled town, much like the first two

"Change course to south-southeast and drop to fifty feet above the trees! Prepare to drop away team and then sprint for Drakfort to assist with the defense!"

Mathilde wanted a closer look at these worldroot things. She had questions.

 

[xamaplak]

Peddling omakes to pimp plans to persnickety posters? Don't mind if I do!

In-case it's jarring: Mathilde's perspective is second-person and present-tense. The other perspective is third-person and past-tense.

Edit bc I'm a genius: [] Plan: Wrong Turn at Albuquerque

---

Beach Blanket Vashanesh​

---

It would be poetic to say that the camp is silent -- however, it would not be true. Food is being prepared, the wounded soldiers who had not been tended to are moaning, crying, or drunk and the wounded soldiers who had been tended to are loudly complaining, gambling and drunk. Anvils are ringing, dogs are barking, Gyrocopters are coming and going. Longbeards are grumbling and an Eonir perched themself atop a canon and had begun strumming a lute.

Not even the command tent can be truly silent -- a sword is being sharpened, feet are tapping the ground. Mandred is engaged in an arm-wrestling match with a priest of Ursun, but you're fairly certain that it's just a pretense to swear a lot.

One messenger cannot halt the noise of an entire army. But as they enter the tent, the wrestling and sharpening stop.

And then your heart stops. "Magister Matriarch Weber."

And it starts again. Priorities first. He'd been vetted before entering the camp, of-course, but you have to vet him again yourself. To your dismay, he is a legitimate Hand.

You respected Algard, you trusted him. And you had fully agreed with his decision to stay in Altdorf. A full mustering of the Colleges, someone had to stay behind to keep the fires burning... You put your feelings aside. "Skaven?"

"Yes, Ma'am." The messenger pauses, "Well, eventually.."

"Eventually." Dread blooms.

"A nobleman returned from Nehekhara with a prize." The messenger taps his foot nervously. "Algard caught wind, but it was too late. Altdorf burned, and the rats came from the ashes."

"Right." You shake your head, then address the room, "The Colleges of Magic are marching almost in full. The Prince of Reikland is here. The Empress is in Praag with the Tzar. Princess Mathilde" despite everything, you feel your lips quirk, "is safely ensconced in Karag Nar."

There is no cheer, no joy. But you feel a little of the tension bleed from the room. You turn to the messenger. "How fares Altdorf?"

"After great effort, the Skaven were repelled." The messenger pauses, then gulps. "However..."

The bottom falls out of your stomach as he relates the most recent Sack of Altdorf. Tomb Kings -- unfortunate, but given Altdorf's history, expected. Skaven opportunism -- bad. And it kept getting worse. The Skaven fell upon the Temple of Sigmar.

That Temple of Sigmar. The Sigmarites fought hard and forced the Stormvermin to bleed... but the best of them were here. They fell. The temple fell. And the heavily guarded and warded room was breached. Those stupid rats.

On the bright side, he repelled the Skaven. Then he looked upon the ruined city of Altdorf and scoffed.

He headed East.

You know what you want to do, but you can't risk it. Stark was confirmed dead, Grey's focused on destroying Chaos Dwarf artifice, Melkoth's leading the Battle Wizards and the rest are too green. Even freshly awakened, you cannot not risk it.

Sylvania's no longer at the point where it could be instantly seized by one Vampire, even him. You will have to pray that they can hold out, and re-focus on the problem in front of you.

---

Wurtbad was the same as ever -- though it had grown, as living cities are wont to do, and the riverine trade was booming, which was pleasing. Even an incompetent administrator would have to try very hard avoid the prosperity that could bring.

Drakenhoff was prospering, he knew it. Ready and waiting for him.

Given the state of Altdorf, it was likely that none of his children had succeeded in their ambitions. However, given the state of Stirland, it seemed likely that some sort of accord had been reached. The roads to Sylvania were large and well-maintained -- and more traveled than ever before.

Perhaps war was no longer necessary -- perhaps his children had turned to economic warfare. It was not his preference, but as he crested the final hill, he considered that it may have been the correct decision.

And then he stood atop the hill. A bridge across the river was no surprise. The town was larger even than Wurtbad, which would have been pleasing.

Would have been. The vegetation was wrong. No willows along the river's banks. Brambly berry bushes were entirely absent. Instead, oranges. Actual orange trees, of the sort he had snacked from in his youth!

Upon closer examination, the sun itself was acting differently. It seemed to shine more brightly on the Drakenhoff side, and Vlad could taste the magic. His first thought would have been those Four -- particularly Tzeentch. However, there was no trace of that twisting and twisted magic. There was no dark magic in the air or ground, either. None. It was almost as-if the network was repaired, but that would be ridiculous.

Almost as ridiculous as this. No dark magic, no Chaos. But orange and mullbery trees, parrots and monkeys and even hummingbirds! In Sylvania, in Drakenhoff.

It was no matter. His eyes slid off the trees, off the town. He would have to interrogate whichever child was responsible for this -- a great working of magic, to be sure, but what was the point. His eyes went to his castle.

His eyes searched for his castle. His mountain. The mountain where he had met her. The mountain where he had found love. His home.

It was gone.

The mountain was gone, and its place was a lake. A steaming lake, surrounded by what his intuition was telling him were Waystones, with a shore of pristine white sand.

'I took a wrong turn somewhere.' It would be easy to say. Too easy.

Someone had done this to him. To his home. To his sanctuary. To the future seat of the Empire, of his Empire.

Hopefully they would make a better child than Manfred.

 

[HanChenYou]

What definitely will happen if we get the armor

Catspaw

You step carefully around another lump of unidentified matter on in what passes for a street in the most non-descript section of the largest city you have ever been in. You mentally scoff at the wiki 'intelligence' report that placed inhabitants at 250,000. The Great City clearly held many more than that. At least before you had managed to sabotage your nth food production site. You mentally congratulate yourself again for the nth time for taking the Armor of Von Tarnus, which proved key in allowing yourself to fight your way out of any scrape before vanishing into the city again.

You had originally planned to find the poorest place to vanish between raids, but the rats there seem to most frequently get eaten, so not looking out-of-place would be inadequate protection there.

Thankfully the now-everpresent attention of Ranald had pointed out many locations where a revolutionary could hide, especially as the best places in the city to hide have changed dramatically. Increasingly, the city had splintered somehow, instead of the whole city counting as one, which made it harder to hide, but reduced the pursuit possible in each one.

Walking at a normal pace, you take a moment to stop and examine the residue from what likely was a long-ago warpstone explosion. In less Dhar-tainted lands, you might have been able to tell how long ago it was from the gradual sublimation of the crystal fragments, but here they seemed to be in equilibrium.

You contemplate how as the city continues to eat itself, that it may not count as a city at all much longer.

Hopefully you can damage the black warpstone pillar again before that happens. You wonder again what would happen if you used the second secret of Dhar on it. Your belt would probably protect you, right?

Ranald began this war, as the cat tried to stamp out the Rat at the beginning. You plan to see if this catspaw can cut the Rat back down to size.

 

[AsuraAtlas]

As Mathilde Weber and Elspeth von Draken sipped their tea, Dracul was grateful he could no longer sweat. His head had long had its flesh stripped from it, his face now an expressionless skull, and that was only a small part of what twenty years as a Battle Wizard had done to him. Still, at least he could drink his tea.

Twenty years. He shouldn't feel so nervous in this company, and yet he did. His own Matriarch had long been momentous company, of course, and Mathilde Weber's star had certainly skyrocketed in the last few months, but…

But he knew of Mathilde Weber long, long before that. That was why he was here.

"That pouch on your neck," Mathilde suddenly said, "Is that… what I think it is?"

Elspeth blinked, and leaned back. "You can perceive it? Without even seeing it? Your Windsight must be impressive indeed."

Dracul suffered silently as the two women spent a few minutes in appreciative and knowing silence. A very long few minutes in appreciative and knowing silence. Were they ever going to speak again?

"Your robes are lovely!"

He had finally broken. Mathilde turned to him in surprise, and he fumbled desperately for a way to either continue the conversation or escape from it. As the moment went on, Dracul wished the earth would open up and swallow him whole.

"-Yes, I understand the enchantment is magnificent." Elspeth continued, earning Dracul's loyalty forevermore. "And the material! Your fellows must be envious indeed."

Mathilde smirked. As they continued to speak, Dracul realized her robes must have been more pertinent than he realized. The material… ah, silk. Even he had heard of the Dwarves crashing into the silk trade like those hammers they loved so much. And as Mathilde had earned eight boons from eight colleges, she must have spent one on the Gold's legendary defensive prowess.

…As a Battle Wizard, Dracul spent most of his life cloistered. As he looked at Mathilde's robes, he wondered what it must be like to wear your associations so brazenly like that. Quite literally on her sleeve and across her back was her life and loyalty and accomplishments in Eight Peaks, and with the We.

He felt a moment of envy and a moment of pride for the woman whose career he had followed so closely.

He had stopped paying attention to the conversation. Elspeth had finished her tea. What were they talking about? "I understand you're preparing for a trip to Ulthuan?"

Mathilde smiled. "Honestly, I have been for some time now, but there was just never enough time in the day!"

The sentence had the cadence of being meant to continue, but Mathilde suddenly paused. Dracul and Elspeth and Mathilde shared a look of mutual (and haunted) understanding. There really was just never enough time in the day…

"Well, if you're planning to travel so far afield, that explains what you asked of the Celestials," Elspeth finally mused. "And it was quite amusing how vague you were with that request, by the way. Both the Celestials and the Jades now have to ask themselves exactly how much wealth and influence their part in rewarding such a landmark achievement is worth, and risk being shown up by the other if they fall short."

"While I certainly look forward to raising my brow at whoever arrives to deliver my sum, if we're on the topic of the rewards to such a landmark achievement…"

And there it was. The point they had been circling for half an hour now. The reason he was here.

The emotion fell from Elspeth's countenance. Blank faced, she studied Mathilde. Elspeth was hardly a politician, and she was even less of a people person. It was telling that such a frank and powerful personage had chosen polite and friendly small talk over tea as their venue.

After a long silence, Mathilde clarified. "Your predecessor. Hexensohn. I want to know the circumstances of his presence and his end in Sylvania."

"In your campaign," Dracul said. "In Van Hal's campaign. In that battle..."

Mathilde, again, turned to look at him. Understanding dawned in her eyes. "So that's why you are here, and why you looked so high-strung. You were one of his Battle Wizards. I didn't recognize you."

What the fuck. He couldn't read Mathilde or Elspeth at all! How were the other two people in the room more expressionless than he was! He literally didn't have a face!

"I would be surprised if you had." He replied, "but after so long, I am the only Amethyst participant in that battle who yet lives. It has been well over a decade. Is something that happened so long ago truly worth so much to you?"

Mathilde frowned. "Is it really so surprising? This was my life. At the time it felt like the climax of it, and nobody said anything but vague platitudes. Hexensohn was certainly no help to us."

"Watch yourself, girl." Elspeth snapped. "Whatever else you and I might have thought of him, Hexensohn was the Magister Patriarch of the Amethyst college. I will not allow you to besmirch his name in my presence."

Dracul couldn't look away. What could he even say, ten years later? Twenty years was a long time for a Battle Wizard. Over half of it grappling with that day. Shyish was the wind of death, and he knew it more intimately than he knew anything else.

Mathilde's face hardly changed, though she nodded in acquiescence. "Yes, I apologize. I imagine him and the circumstances of your ascension to his seat would be important to you."

There was a long and knowing silence. Greys love their long and knowing silences, especially in difficult conversations.

"We Amethysts know something about grief." Dracul finally said, "But we also know some things about closure. I'm sure you were told some of what happened. We requisitioned your fighting forces to the tunnels under the city, to get to the structure below even that. Hexensohn went in, and nobody saw what happened. We left, carrying him in our arms. We didn't leave with your men."

Dracul stood up. He remembered it. The purpose behind it all. The darkness, the Shyish and Dhar in the air. Ever-hated undead, the Magic, the Magic…

Dracul took a deep breath. "The reason Hexensohn was in Sylvania to begin with, and the fate that ultimately befell him, it was…"

 

[Nerdasaurus Rex]

For millennia the oasis at Bir Tawil had served as little more than a watering hole for the occasional nomad who remembered it existed. Today, however, it hosted something far grander than a herd of Arabyan steeds—something it hadn't seen since the death of the great cities. Casting the entire oasis into shadow loomed the Sky Scraper, a multi-story monolith hovering gently above the sands.

Inside, in the main research room, worked one Lady Magister Mathilde Weber, grateful for the foresight of whichever Celestial that had added an enchantment that created a cool breeze.

On the workbench before her lay an eccentric collection of items—tools, weapons, a broken death mask.

"You're sure these are not from a tomb?" she asked.

Egrimm shook his head. "The ruin Johann and I acquired them from had the look of a temple to it—but we didn't see any tombs. At a guess, I'd say that it was a place where funerary goods were prepared—and whoever these items were intended for wasn't entombed in time to be affected by the Great Ritual. And so the Liche Priests abandoned them."

Mathilde didn't say anything in response, but ran a careful eye over the items. Whatever enchantment had been on the corroded weapons had long since faded, and the deathmask was too broken to tell what the magics on it were supposed to do. The fact that they hadn't curdled to dhar yet was nothing short of a miracle.

But the tools were in surprisingly good condition.

There! Buried deep within the metal, an enchantment—but not made of a magic she recognised. Divine magic, although to which god she knew not.

Too weak to tell what the purpose of the enchantment was, or even if it had been intentionally placed or if it had just absorbed the essence of divinity from the rituals it was used in, but it was clearly touched by the gods in someway. The only way to find out more would be to disassemble them, which would take time.

Mathilde sighed. "Good work, but we can't do a full study of it right now. Add them to the vault and cross off the location on the map. Our nexus isn't here."

Egrimm nodded, and began to collect the artifacts. Max could break down the swords and use the raw material in his blacksmithing, and the museums of Altdorf would fight each other for a genuine Nehekaran deathmask with no current owner.

The tools would stay on board the Sky Scraper, however.

With a cantrip, Mathilde teleported to the command room of the tower. Her hands danced over the control slate, touching glowing runes. Arcane runes, not dwarven runes, of course. Don't let the dwarves hear you say otherwise.

Slowly, steadily, the tower raised itself higher into the air, liberating the oasis below from the shade it had been covered in. It rotated, angling itself southwards, and began to drift in defiance of all the natural laws. From a distance, the pace it set might seem leisurely, but that was only an illusion cast by its sheer size—it could still outpace a mortal horse.

Mathilde smiled as the open desert passed beneath her. Surely there was no better way to travel than in the comfort and luxury of her own personal tower.

 

[Derpmind]

Armor Testing

"I'm ready, Eike. Hit me as hard as you can."

You were standing in your training hall, resplendent in your new armor. You'd had it fitted at the Bright College, but you hadn't had a chance to really put it through its paces until now. (You'd been told it could block anything short of a cannonball, but what did that mean in practice?) Your Aethyric Armor had been cast, the Armor of von Tarnus somehow locking the spell in place around itself, and you had Eike standing ready with a practice sw-

You felt a tap through the breastplate. You could see Eike recovering from a full-force thrust, but all you'd felt was a tap. You had her strike at your side, your back, your vambraces, your greaves - tap tap tap tap. No harm done, and no force to push or bruise you either. She eventually acquiesced to switching to her real sword, but to no effect. No matter how hard she hit you. Finally, as her sword swung at your helmet, you reached out with your gauntlet and grabbed it.

-In an instant its talons are out of Deathfang's neck and catching Branulhune in mid-air, and though daemonic ichor spills forth, it manages to arrest the swing of the runic blade.-

You used her surprise to yank the sword out of her hands, and called an end to the exercise. You pulled off your gauntlet to see your calloused but unharmed hand underneath. Ultimately, there were no bruises on your body; not so much as a single sign that you should have taken multiple mortal wounds.

"This... requires further testing." You concluded.

---

A half dozen of Sozic's best (along with Sozic herself) stood in the fighting pit, exhausted. First there had been duels, then group fights, until finally you'd faced a coordinated assault with nets and rope. But you never grew tired during combat, and so you stood where some of the best of the Undumgi had failed to topple you.

"I should do more testing." You remark to yourself.

---

You stood at the entrance to the Underway to Karak Drazh, just outside of the maximum range of the grapecannon and ballistas behind you. Your presence here alone is all the challenge you need make, and soon enough a charge of orcs comes to take your head.

Hours later, you finally retreated back down the tunnel. Not because you had to - you are neither tired nor injured. But you've cast Aethyric Armor so many times that you'd started to sense your steady grasp on the familiar spell slipping. And while Black Crag had countless hordes to replace the ones you'd slain, the piles of orc corpses you've left behind would be quite the feast for the We today.

"Gonna need more testing."

---

You were hidden in the innermost sanctum of the Iron Orc's citadel, listening in as their General discussed strategy with his Lieutenants, and all you could feel was disappointment. Was this it?

It had been difficult to pierce the enchantment hiding their compound, but despite the Iron Orc's military-like organization, it was easy to sneak through the rest of their security. They were quite dangerous, to be sure: Orcish strength paired with Chaos-runed armor and iron discipline. Their general even more so, a towering edifice of metal, muscle, and demonic enchantment. But you'd faced stronger opponents (and actual demons) during the Karag Dum Expedition. You realized, quite startlingly, that here was compound's entire leadership in one room - and you could take them. So you did.

During a momentary distraction as the Lieutenants argued over meat rations, you sliced the General's neck, then stabbed through his heart. You would've bisected his head as well, just to be sure, but it was then that the Lieutenants fell upon you.

They did not live long enough to raise the alarm.

As the afternoon sun fell into twilight, you walked down down the mountain to retrieve your sheep.

"I didn't really get much testing done that time."

---

A small army of skeletons surrounded you, as one of the last Necromancers stupid enough to remain in Sylvania monologued at you from across the crypt.

But it was only a small army, with no artillery or heavy hitters of any kind.

"I need better testing."

---

A Druchii assassin was behind you, dagger pointed at your gorget. You didn't bother to turn from the pair of Druchii dueling you, as you managed to maneuver your hands through one's guard and strike with Branulhune. The dagger skittered off of you, and only then did you turn around and ensure the assassin did not get in a second strike. A shadow warrior finished off the last, before you could manage to do so.

"I need more testing."

---

You were hidden in the second best hiding spot above a Skaven encampment. It was nostalgic, really, just like back before the Battle of the Caldera. You were deciding upon your approach when out of the shadows a sword appeared at your neck. Your sword.

"Many-many stories have reached Eshin's ears. An unstoppable quiet-quiet man-thing in armor that only her own sword could breach. But you are not the only one who knows a trick-secret of space-time, and now your sword is mine."

You looked down at the sword threatening your life, then back up at where the unseen voice was speaking.

"Look again. That's my decoy sword."

There was a silence of befuddlement, as the other assassin tilted the sword to examine the one rune upon it. And then Branithune, your training sword, clattered to the ground.

"So-so it is." Came a faint voice from outside sword-point reach. "Next time, I will take your real sword. But perhaps next time you will spot-find me before I do so, yes?"

You had no time to reply, as the sudden crash of metal on rock had alerted the guards.

"Maybe I should pause further testing." You muttered.

 

[Derpmind]

Commissar-Waving-A-Sword-Atop-A-Tank.

Click to shrink...

Well. I had to, didn't I?

Spoiler: MEME

(Made misusing Kart Studio's excellent art, commissioned by @pucflek.)

 

[consequences]

The Azrildrekked stole Karaks from the dead, With sight that pierces through stone, The skies be ours and damn the Powers, Where we will, we'll roam.

Yo-ho, all hands, Hoist the Colours high, Heave-ho, thieving wizards, Ever shall we fly

Yo-ho, haul together, Hoist the Colours high, Heave-ho, Thieving Wizards, Ever shall we fly

Some will scribe, And some now derive, Others seek strength within, With Orbs for all Mages, And the devil to slay, We lay to Morr's Garden.

The Crown has been raised from its Aethyric grave, though we know not who owns, A call to all, Pay heed the squall, Turn to shield our home.

Yo-ho haul together, Hoist the Colours high, Heave-ho, thieving wizards, Ever shall we fly.

I'm gonna join "song-posting":

View: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=lNRjt4rCymM&pp=ygURaG9pc3QgdGhlIGNvbG91cnM%3D

Click to shrink...

Yo Ho.