Warhammer Fantasy: Divided Loyalties - an Advisor's Quest
- Thread starter Boney
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- warhammer warhammer fantasy fantasy be gay do crimes (gay) female protagonist pansexual protagonist ck2 quest divided loyalties mountain vietnam ranald is real this is a dwarf quest (dwarfs) this is maybe an elf quest this is not a vampire quest this is not an empire quest try it and find out open voting
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AzureShogun
Tanks are better than Mechs
- Location
- United Kingdom
I feel like this would be better phrased as 'How do you ultimately feel about your recent misfortunes.'
Also:
I feel like even though we already have the Woodelves folded in for the Project, this might be worth an action so we can scout out Ulthuan and maybe grab some interested talent before we get too stuck in.
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As far as I'm aware this isn't an action.
This is a whole potential arc.
- Location
- New Brunswick, NJ
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Yeah, I absolutely want to take some time to do it during the Waystones project, because "impress the hell out of the Shadow Warriors and hope they can introduce us to someone who is willing to lend a hand with Waystones" is a very sensible plan, but it's a multi-RL-month investment of time, not something we bang out in the interstices of other stuff.
Mopman43
Mountain-Hermit of Nitpeak
- Location
- Vermont
At minimum it'd be 3 actions, given that that'd be half a turn, 3 months, and that means 3 actions.
In narrative terms, yeah, it'd probably be another Karag Dum expedition as far as stuff like "amount of writing" and "real-life time spent" goes.
Personally, I just want to finish Branurhune then I'm good to go whenever.
plus, we actually need to know enough about Enoir politics to know if it's actually a smart move.
in a vacuum, getting a loremaster high elf would obviously be a good idea.
In practice, most Enoir fucking hate asking them for help (that's not a Drunken Dynisties thing), we don't want to be kicked out for insulting the host.
in a vacuum, getting a loremaster high elf would obviously be a good idea.
In practice, most Enoir fucking hate asking them for help (that's not a Drunken Dynisties thing), we don't want to be kicked out for insulting the host.
Especially since we've heard from two people (Kurtis and Asarnil) that Finubar keeps trying to make diplomatic overtures to both the Eonir and the Asrai and he doesn't seem to have succeeded on either front. If the elves wanted his help, they'd already have it.
generally, as a rule of thumb in warhammer, no one dislikes elves more than other elves.
this is not hyperbole
Enonir elves social life can be split into three groups: Birth kindreds (the two primary being Toriour and Faniour) and Kithband(s) (social groups/hobby groups and martial fighters etc) and then everyone else that's rudely breathing your air and taking up your space.
Kindred is your family, friends and community
Kithband are your co-workers and friendly acquaintances you somethings take shop with.
and the rest can take a dive off a cliff for all you care. (unless the humans and dwarfs are looking, then try to look like you don't hate each other and lock ranks)
now, a lot of that is WFRP 'everyone's an asshole' theme bleeding through, and Boney is going to do their own thing with it.
but I still expect Laurelorn Forest society to be like a room with 30 cats locked in it.
this is not hyperbole
Enonir elves social life can be split into three groups: Birth kindreds (the two primary being Toriour and Faniour) and Kithband(s) (social groups/hobby groups and martial fighters etc) and then everyone else that's rudely breathing your air and taking up your space.
Kindred is your family, friends and community
Kithband are your co-workers and friendly acquaintances you somethings take shop with.
and the rest can take a dive off a cliff for all you care. (unless the humans and dwarfs are looking, then try to look like you don't hate each other and lock ranks)
now, a lot of that is WFRP 'everyone's an asshole' theme bleeding through, and Boney is going to do their own thing with it.
but I still expect Laurelorn Forest society to be like a room with 30 cats locked in it.
- Location
- Earth
Mathilde knows how to herd cats. Wizards aren't that different from them
That does not seem very credible to me. It does sound a bit like what a human would write about elves with imperfect understanding of how they work
completely different game: dealing with Wizards is a human trying to feed a skittish, but cuddly once you get them to trust you cat.Mathilde knows how to herd cats. Wizards aren't that different from them
dealing with Enoir is like dealing with the herds of cat gangs that don't want you to pay attention to them, but hate the idea you would pay attention to one of the other gangs
I'm just quoting the books. 🤷♂️
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Not disputing that, just pointing out that we should perhaps not trust the books too far.
AzureShogun
Tanks are better than Mechs
- Location
- United Kingdom
Shouldn't it be MMAP or MAP if the preceding "Mathilde's" is included?
Edit: I stand corrected, the apprentice level non-differentiated version developed by the a Gold Lord Magister has an extra P.
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It's Mathilde's "Multidimensional Aethyric Polysevirric Projection".
Mathilde made the original "Multidimensional Aethyric Projection" (MAP) version, and someone else upgraded it to the "Polysevirric" (which means "many winds") version (MAPP). "Mathilde's" isn't actually part of it's name.
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- Location
- Oklahoma
Yes it is:
Its just that they sometimes get shortened to Mathilde's MAP or Mathilde's MAPP, cause its more fun and/or confusing that way.
Something I very much hope we get to see is young elves.
Dwarfs have their beardlings but elves have no equivalent. Any elf you meet will be older than you, if not older than your entire country. Logically there must be quite a lot of elves aged 15-75 but there is little evidence to support that logic.
Dwarfs have their beardlings but elves have no equivalent. Any elf you meet will be older than you, if not older than your entire country. Logically there must be quite a lot of elves aged 15-75 but there is little evidence to support that logic.
- Location
- Outside the Box
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Elves are born as fully-grown teenagers. And they never age past being teenagers.
Tales of U-K8P: A Storm from the South, Part 10
- Location
- Chicago
- Pronouns
- She/They
Tales of U-K8P: A Storm from the South
Part 10 - Penultimate
Lissele swore and snapped upright from where she had bent down to peer into a specimen cabinet. At this point, she was sure, a muster-call was so ingrained in her it would probably drag her back from the dead. Downstairs, she heard a clatter on the staircase as Darna bolted for her equipment, shouting her goodbyes and well wishes as she went.
Still, Lissele hesitated for a long, painful moment. Then the jaws of the dragon skull opened, and her girlfriend smiled wanly at her, wrapped in blonde hair and red cloth. The two came together and hugged.
"...go…" Hannah whispered weakly, her voice still shredded from fire and gas. "...told me not to cast yet... can't fight. So you have to stay alive. Promise me?"
Lissele bent and touched her forehead to Hannah's. "Aye." And then with a kiss, she was gone.
Hannah moved to a window and watched the figures of her closest friends dashed out into the fortress and joined the streams of bodies rushing to redeploy, until she lost them in the crowds. There were no signal flares at the East gate, and the towers of Karag Nar lay quiescent. Walking around to the other windows showed the same at the southern defenses, and then the West Gate. An underground assault then- the bottled up Skaven must have gotten tired of eating each other and waiting to be crushed. Her shoulders slumped in frustration. She wouldn't even be able to watch.
Heart already aching, she wandered back to the dragon skull throne and considered the mysterious strongbox sitting on it anew. The letter was clearly written by the Lady Magister Weber herself, and part of her squee'ed to have held and read something written by the legend's own hand. The other part of her was considering. 'At desperate need'- this must be a weapon. Maybe even one she could use.
(The leaders of the Karak had not said anything, but she knew as well as any dwarf that the skaven would never have been permitted to hold under Karagril if the Karak were not stretched to the breaking point. Three fronts at once- against the orcs in the Crag, the dead to the south and west, and the rats within. A fourth still needed guarding as well- patrols in the Lhune depths could not be neglected. Against a powerful Karak, but one built for orders of magnitude more inhabitants than it held, being stretched thin was a deadly threat indeed.)
Hannah pulled the golden key from over her head and interested it in the lock of the lead and iron box. "Senthoi" she breathed as she turned it, but when she heard the click and opened it, her word stopped.
A small book bound in leather. (Oh gods she hoped that was leather.) It could have been an old journal. It was an old journal. But she could *see* the shyish and dhar bound tightly into it. No, not bound- it wasn't struggling to escape, wasn't leaking at all. The dark magic seemed *content* to remain between the covers.
Her mind raced. Yes, it made the note make sense. Yes, the Lady Magister would have had opportunity- she started her legend under the Hunter Count, when they killed Drakenhof Castle. Oh gods it made too much sense.
The Liber Mortis.
She told herself it was just to confirm, but she already knew when she reached to open the cover, read the title page. It helped her ignore the bit of her that was screaming to BURN IT BURN THE EVIL MY GODS JUST BURN IT!
Hannah's head rose. She trembled as she looked out between teeth towards the window. Tears rolled unnoticed down her face as the distant cadence of drums and horns filtered up. She wasn't Lissele, she didn't know those signals. But she could hear them from the west and south now too, and could guess that the dead were probing in the wake of the troop shifts. And a thought that felt almost treacherous slowly drowned out the bit of her that was still shouting to burn it.
I wanted a weapon I could use.
I can use this.
The hand that rested on the title page moved, turned it. And her head bent to read.
_________________________
There was, Darna reflected ruefully, something to be said for the unending endurance of the Dawi, who could march under full pack and armor hauling carts for days… at a brisk walk. There was also, it seemed, something to be said for long legs.
Lissele had caught up to her before they had even reached the fortress gates, given her a quick hug as she ran to the undumgi armory in the Sentinels. And now the fully armed and armored undumgi column was approaching the entrances to Karagril at doubletime, just as she fell in rank with the rest of the dwarven reserves just inside.
They made eye contact for a moment, then the undumgi ran on.
"<Alright Dawi, listen well! There's something stirring the Orcs up, and they're pressing the gauntlet hard. But it's the rats that we're for; they figured out we're under pressure from something and they're trying a breakout. But this is Karak Eightpeaks, and we know that just means they're showing us their backs on the other flanks. Dawi! Break by thirds and move to support the counter-attacks! First of three to the avenue from Karag Ziflin, second to Karag Lhune, and third of three to the Citadel!> Kazakun kaza-kit HA!"
Darna shouted, struck her axe against her shield and spun ninety degrees to her left, in sync with the file that became her rank. Then forward, boots all hitting the ground together.
She hoped there wouldn't be gas.
____________________________
Lissele broke eye contact with Darna as she went running deeper into Karagril. Her orders were to reinforce the fortress known as the Gauntlet.
(It drew it's name from the colloquial reference to the passage between the Black Crag and Karagril, first stuffed full of cannon fire and spiders in the aftermath of the Two-Day War. The orcs, very naturally, soon decided that there were better ways to try and get to the dwarves than going down that passage- by going through solid rock, for example. Years of tunnelling and counter-tunnelling eventually led to the dwarves centralizing a firing position and collapsing the worm-eaten mass to clear firing lanes out from it. Hence the fortress that guarded the entrance to Karagril, "The Gauntlet"- a bastion stacked like a layer-cake against a cliff, facing a valley of scree in a vast, dim cavern. On the far side, dim torches lit the maw of the underway to the Black Crag.)
The stairs down felt endless to Lissele, but that was expected. Their commanders were running the reinforcements hard, all the way from the Sentinels- across the east valley, up and in and down- gambling that there would be time enough for rest once they reached their destination.
It was odd, she mused to herself between great gasping breaths, that the harried pace would have worried her two years ago, before she spent two semesters and change learning the tactical ins and outs of shuffling troops about on a battlefield. Hurrah for college and all that. At least that meant that the battle was under control- it was when they wanted you ready to fight immediately at the end of your march that you needed to start *really* worrying.
Then the running column spilled out into the main thoroughfare running from the Black Crag back to Karagril and on to the rest of Eightpeaks, and she flinched. Half points, as her instructor would have said; the crack-BOOM of lightning cannon and behind her reminded her of the skaven. The haste may instead be an attempt to get ahead of a breakout.
The tunnel was big. Fifty paces across if it was an inch and half again that in height, broad enough for a dozen cannon, if you were being safe. Ahead of her loomed the back of the Gauntlet, with a long ramp and a pair of flanking towers the only defence facing back to the Karak. Almost more aesthetic than practical given what she knew of dwarven defensive architecture, and the statues of the ancestors placed where cannon might have gone butressed that. No wonder the lines against the skaven were deeper in.
But her earlier optimism proved the correct call, and only a half a subjective lifetime later they had passed between the towers and clattered to a halt, chests heaving and arms behind heads while the less-trained members bent over gasping and cramping. Lissele instead moved over to the battlements and leaned against them, looking out and down.
In the distance, the darkness seethed.
Part 10 - Penultimate
Lissele swore and snapped upright from where she had bent down to peer into a specimen cabinet. At this point, she was sure, a muster-call was so ingrained in her it would probably drag her back from the dead. Downstairs, she heard a clatter on the staircase as Darna bolted for her equipment, shouting her goodbyes and well wishes as she went.
Still, Lissele hesitated for a long, painful moment. Then the jaws of the dragon skull opened, and her girlfriend smiled wanly at her, wrapped in blonde hair and red cloth. The two came together and hugged.
"...go…" Hannah whispered weakly, her voice still shredded from fire and gas. "...told me not to cast yet... can't fight. So you have to stay alive. Promise me?"
Lissele bent and touched her forehead to Hannah's. "Aye." And then with a kiss, she was gone.
Hannah moved to a window and watched the figures of her closest friends dashed out into the fortress and joined the streams of bodies rushing to redeploy, until she lost them in the crowds. There were no signal flares at the East gate, and the towers of Karag Nar lay quiescent. Walking around to the other windows showed the same at the southern defenses, and then the West Gate. An underground assault then- the bottled up Skaven must have gotten tired of eating each other and waiting to be crushed. Her shoulders slumped in frustration. She wouldn't even be able to watch.
Heart already aching, she wandered back to the dragon skull throne and considered the mysterious strongbox sitting on it anew. The letter was clearly written by the Lady Magister Weber herself, and part of her squee'ed to have held and read something written by the legend's own hand. The other part of her was considering. 'At desperate need'- this must be a weapon. Maybe even one she could use.
(The leaders of the Karak had not said anything, but she knew as well as any dwarf that the skaven would never have been permitted to hold under Karagril if the Karak were not stretched to the breaking point. Three fronts at once- against the orcs in the Crag, the dead to the south and west, and the rats within. A fourth still needed guarding as well- patrols in the Lhune depths could not be neglected. Against a powerful Karak, but one built for orders of magnitude more inhabitants than it held, being stretched thin was a deadly threat indeed.)
Hannah pulled the golden key from over her head and interested it in the lock of the lead and iron box. "Senthoi" she breathed as she turned it, but when she heard the click and opened it, her word stopped.
A small book bound in leather. (Oh gods she hoped that was leather.) It could have been an old journal. It was an old journal. But she could *see* the shyish and dhar bound tightly into it. No, not bound- it wasn't struggling to escape, wasn't leaking at all. The dark magic seemed *content* to remain between the covers.
Her mind raced. Yes, it made the note make sense. Yes, the Lady Magister would have had opportunity- she started her legend under the Hunter Count, when they killed Drakenhof Castle. Oh gods it made too much sense.
The Liber Mortis.
She told herself it was just to confirm, but she already knew when she reached to open the cover, read the title page. It helped her ignore the bit of her that was screaming to BURN IT BURN THE EVIL MY GODS JUST BURN IT!
Hannah's head rose. She trembled as she looked out between teeth towards the window. Tears rolled unnoticed down her face as the distant cadence of drums and horns filtered up. She wasn't Lissele, she didn't know those signals. But she could hear them from the west and south now too, and could guess that the dead were probing in the wake of the troop shifts. And a thought that felt almost treacherous slowly drowned out the bit of her that was still shouting to burn it.
I wanted a weapon I could use.
I can use this.
The hand that rested on the title page moved, turned it. And her head bent to read.
_________________________
There was, Darna reflected ruefully, something to be said for the unending endurance of the Dawi, who could march under full pack and armor hauling carts for days… at a brisk walk. There was also, it seemed, something to be said for long legs.
Lissele had caught up to her before they had even reached the fortress gates, given her a quick hug as she ran to the undumgi armory in the Sentinels. And now the fully armed and armored undumgi column was approaching the entrances to Karagril at doubletime, just as she fell in rank with the rest of the dwarven reserves just inside.
They made eye contact for a moment, then the undumgi ran on.
"<Alright Dawi, listen well! There's something stirring the Orcs up, and they're pressing the gauntlet hard. But it's the rats that we're for; they figured out we're under pressure from something and they're trying a breakout. But this is Karak Eightpeaks, and we know that just means they're showing us their backs on the other flanks. Dawi! Break by thirds and move to support the counter-attacks! First of three to the avenue from Karag Ziflin, second to Karag Lhune, and third of three to the Citadel!> Kazakun kaza-kit HA!"
Darna shouted, struck her axe against her shield and spun ninety degrees to her left, in sync with the file that became her rank. Then forward, boots all hitting the ground together.
She hoped there wouldn't be gas.
____________________________
Lissele broke eye contact with Darna as she went running deeper into Karagril. Her orders were to reinforce the fortress known as the Gauntlet.
(It drew it's name from the colloquial reference to the passage between the Black Crag and Karagril, first stuffed full of cannon fire and spiders in the aftermath of the Two-Day War. The orcs, very naturally, soon decided that there were better ways to try and get to the dwarves than going down that passage- by going through solid rock, for example. Years of tunnelling and counter-tunnelling eventually led to the dwarves centralizing a firing position and collapsing the worm-eaten mass to clear firing lanes out from it. Hence the fortress that guarded the entrance to Karagril, "The Gauntlet"- a bastion stacked like a layer-cake against a cliff, facing a valley of scree in a vast, dim cavern. On the far side, dim torches lit the maw of the underway to the Black Crag.)
The stairs down felt endless to Lissele, but that was expected. Their commanders were running the reinforcements hard, all the way from the Sentinels- across the east valley, up and in and down- gambling that there would be time enough for rest once they reached their destination.
It was odd, she mused to herself between great gasping breaths, that the harried pace would have worried her two years ago, before she spent two semesters and change learning the tactical ins and outs of shuffling troops about on a battlefield. Hurrah for college and all that. At least that meant that the battle was under control- it was when they wanted you ready to fight immediately at the end of your march that you needed to start *really* worrying.
Then the running column spilled out into the main thoroughfare running from the Black Crag back to Karagril and on to the rest of Eightpeaks, and she flinched. Half points, as her instructor would have said; the crack-BOOM of lightning cannon and behind her reminded her of the skaven. The haste may instead be an attempt to get ahead of a breakout.
The tunnel was big. Fifty paces across if it was an inch and half again that in height, broad enough for a dozen cannon, if you were being safe. Ahead of her loomed the back of the Gauntlet, with a long ramp and a pair of flanking towers the only defence facing back to the Karak. Almost more aesthetic than practical given what she knew of dwarven defensive architecture, and the statues of the ancestors placed where cannon might have gone butressed that. No wonder the lines against the skaven were deeper in.
But her earlier optimism proved the correct call, and only a half a subjective lifetime later they had passed between the towers and clattered to a halt, chests heaving and arms behind heads while the less-trained members bent over gasping and cramping. Lissele instead moved over to the battlements and leaned against them, looking out and down.
In the distance, the darkness seethed.
deathofrats0808
Don’t think of it as dying; just as leaving early
- Location
- Earth
I suspect part of this is due to the "Elves dying out" theme WF has going on, so there simply aren't many kids. But also, generally speaking Mathilde and protags of similar quests spend time with people of at least some importance, and kids are too young to have those sorts of positions. So the Elves that are kids, are simply not mentioned because they're not important to the narrative.
- Location
- Aotearoa
And fourty year old Elf kids would compare very unfavourably to Wolf's development anyway.
Mopman43
Mountain-Hermit of Nitpeak
- Location
- Vermont
I don't think there's any indication that Elves grow up slower?
(Not that there's much that's been written on the subject...)
As the only example of it I'm aware of, I'm pretty sure the Tyrion and Teclis trilogy showed them as being basically like teenagers when they were teenagers?
(I think that's what I have heard, I have not read the books)
deathofrats0808
Don’t think of it as dying; just as leaving early
- Location
- Earth
The trilogy showed them to grow at roughly the pace of humans yeah. Slightly slower cultural markers (T&T went to court at 16 and it was implied this was An Adult Thing) but that's possibly due to Ulthuan being relatively safe to grow up in.
NeonLights
Formerly Reliable_2IC
- Location
- In shambles
The Ulthuni dislike the Eonir, the Eonir dislike the Ulthuani, and the Dwarves dislike both. Three is peace!