Aetheric armor needs to be recast every few minutes, so it would definitely be worse than Armour of Tarnus.
Our robes have AA applied constantly, but Mathilde has used power stone during the enchantment.
Tarnus lived before colleges discovered power stones, so unless Teclis gave him he had to do without them.
Aetheric armor needs to be recast every few minutes, so it would definitely be worse than Armour of Tarnus.
Our robes have AA applied constantly, but Mathilde has used power stone during the enchantment.
Tarnus lived before colleges discovered power stones, so unless Teclis gave him he had to do without them.
?????? Tarnus lived before colleges discovered power stones
where was that said?
Edit: I also refuse to believe that the robes mathy was slightly upset with is better than something made by the best enchanter in the college's history.
ok, but I'm still not seeing why we are assuming that mathy's robes are at the same level as something made by the best College enchanter so far just because of power stones.
ok, but I'm still not seeing why we are assuming that mathy's robes are at the same level as something made by the best College enchanter so far just because of power stones.
The only effect we know that armour of Tarnus have is that the armour does not interfere with casting.
The robes that Mathy are comparable to thick steel plate.
That sounds pretty similar.
I doubt that Armour of Tarnus will end up being just that in quest canon, but so far it does pretty much the same thing as our robes.
I'm fairly certain that Boney is going to have the legendary Armour of Tarnus do more than the basic Aethyric Armor spell that Teclis would have already taught every wizard how to cast at the time it was made.
However, what exactly it does is likely to remain undefined until the subject actually becomes relevant.
Ok, before this goes *completely* off the deep end, does anyone have any evidence of exists in-quest? WOG? Anything besides tabletop stuff that's been partially discarded anyways?
Or, more to the point, evidence that the armor hasn't been lost somewhere outside the grasp of the colleges?
I suppose its the wording for me, in the wiki. I have never seen any other but plate armor be referred to as a suit, which is also used to describe Armour of Tarnus. Not a primary english speaker and mostly self-taught tho so yeah.
Ok, before this goes *completely* off the deep end, does anyone have any evidence of exists in-quest? WOG? Anything besides tabletop stuff that's been partially discarded anyways?
Or, more to the point, evidence that the armor hasn't been lost somewhere outside the grasp of the colleges?
Canonicity (for Quest purposes)
Tier 1: The Quest itself is primary canon.
Tier 2: WoQM applies unless it violates Quest canon (which I assume it has or will at some point).
Tier 3: Army Books (6th+), WHFRPG 2e - reasonably safe to assume that the fluff in these is canon unless the Quest or WoQM says otherwise. Game mechanics should not be taken as canon.
Tier 4: Black Library, White Dwarf articles - canonish, but the QM may not be familiar with them and the details are likely to end up varying if they are used.
Tier 5: Licensed video games, Warhammer Armies Project, WHFRPG 3e & 4e - mostly only used for things that aren't otherwise covered in higher tiers, and by default are not canon.
Tier 6: Army Books (pre-6th), WHFRPG (1e) - the Dwarf Priests Know Necromancy Zone. May be looted for ideas from time to time but is usually completely incompatible.
The Armour of Tarnus is from 6th and 7th edition, so while the exact mechanical effects are likely to be discarded, Von Tarnus crafting a legendary armor that wizards are capable of casting in isn't unreasonable.
I'm not sure why it'd be lost, the Colleges have generally taken pretty good care of Von Tarnus' work.
[*] Eike, as she begins her tutelage at the Grey College.
[*] Panoramia, to properly finishing catching up with her.
[*] Karak Vlag, to see if they've been talked out from behind their fortifications yet.
[+] The Wizards of Karak Eight Peaks (locked in)
[+] Social interaction initiated by someone else (locked in)
The Grey College's dormitories are segregated by age and gender, and the one that Eike would have been assigned to is one that you are quite familiar with, having spent half of your own Apprenticeship in it. Being Lady Magister might get you within the grounds of the College, but that doesn't mean you can simply wander in as you please. Even Algard would not be able to enter outside of emergencies without the permission of whoever he was visiting. It seems Eike has already granted you permanent permission to visit as you see fit, as the caretaker on watch at the crossroads that leads to each of the residential quarters simply nods to you as you pass.
Eike's is the smallest of the six dormitories and rarely home to more than a dozen young girls, but that doesn't mean it's cramped, nor does it mean there's not privacy to be had. There's a seemingly bottomless warehouse of old and battered but well-made furniture and privacy screens for each Apprentice to customize the portion of the room available to them, and the less social Apprentices can and do take advantage of this to build themselves a solid wall around their bed. You were one of them once, before you found your footing in the atmosphere of easy camaraderie that a shared Wind allows for. Eike seems to be more inherently extroverted than you were at her age, as she's simply screened off her writing desk against one wall and the rest of her space is open to the rest of the room, and she's currently sitting cross-legged on her bed as she frowns at a slim and battered book.
You smile nostalgically at the sight, and more as you run your eyes over her other furniture. She's either a quick study or quick to earn the trust of Apprentices that have been here longer, as there's the telltale signs of very careful breaches of the rules of the dorm rooms. You remember that the custodians were always very careful to emphasize without seeming to emphasize that the rules of the dorm rooms were not the Rules of the College. Little-r rules like those against pets or keeping books past their due date or the trade in harmless contraband were punishable by chores and searched for by carefully predictable spot-checks, while the big-r Rules contained in the Articles were absolutely sacrosanct. A mind unable to navigate what can be perceived as an ambiguity is one unsuited for Ulgu, and those that broke down at or raged against the perceived unfairness of it were transferred to other, more suitable Orders. Eike's area shows the sign of one that has found or been taught adaptations: bedsheets wider than the ones she would have been assigned to protect the area under her bed from prying eyes, the footlocker wedged under the bed so it could not be easily opened and searched, the books on her shelves arranged with spines level to create hidden areas behind them. As an Apprentice you kept bowls of food and water under your bed for a cat you'd adopted called Morr, and as you grew older, you became involved in the trade in officially-forbidden-but-not-forbidden-forbidden novels that required similar protection. It must be a difficult needle to thread, you reflect: to develop the necessary mindset of deception and misdirection while also making sure that those developing them would still cleave to the Articles.
"Mathilde!" Eike exclaims as she finally notices you, and from the corner of your eye you notice the heads popping up and around furniture to take note of the visitor.
"Hello Eike," you say as she comes over for a hug. "How are you settling in?"
She sighs. "It's all very complicated."
You nod. "It starts making a lot more sense when you get used to it." Literal internalization: the soul adapting to the presence of Ulgu. You don't say that out loud, though. People get jumpy about how mutable their souls can be.
She leads you over to her area, and you pull the chair from her writing desk out to sit on as she sorts through her books, and as best you can you try to explain some of the concepts she points out as eluding her. You're far from the best teacher for this, as you haven't gone over material this basic in about twenty-five years, but that's not the point. The point is making sure she knows that she still has people that will help her, even as she's uprooted from the life she knew and dropped into a completely alien environment.
After a while the questions go quiet and Eike seems to be thinking. "Oma says being a Wizard will make me better at running the EIC when I'm older."
You look up, and you smile to yourself at how none of the other girls need to quickly look away, because they're already acting like they aren't eavesdropping. "If that's what you want to do," you say.
"What do you mean?"
"It takes a long time to become a Wizard. You'll be a different person by the time you finish your Apprenticeship. It will be up to that person whether they want to run the EIC, or whether they want to do a traditional Journey, or even whether they want to be a Battle Wizard instead."
"But the EIC's important," she objects.
"Important enough that the person running should want to be running it, that way they'll give it their all. Me and your Oma can work something out for it if we need to." She goes quiet as she considers that. "Now," you say as you stand. "Have you found the good nooks in the library yet?"
"Both of them," she says proudly.
"Only fourteen left to find, then," you say, and smile at her look of shock. "Come with me, I'll give you some hints for the next few."
---
Even for someone that has grown used to the trips across the Old World, the gyrocarriage trip to Karak Vlag is a long and tiring one. You spend a lot of your time reading anyway, but doing so in cramped conditions with the drone of engines and the chill of altitude for company is surprisingly draining and it doesn't take long for you to yearn to be doing anything else. But it's a burden you have to put up with, as your sense of responsibiltiy and your ego are aligning with each other to point you in their direction. You want to know more about the Dwarves that survived almost two centuries locked away in the warp and besieged by Daemons, and how well they're finding their place in the world once more.
The approach to Karak Vlag from Peak Pass is currently watched over by Clan Redbeard and any uninvited visitors would normally be met with a barrage of questions and then a more literal barrage if their answers were not satisfactory, but arriving by air bypasses the worst of it and the Ranger watching the recently-hewn landing pad simply nods you through after you identify yourself. You wonder if Snorri's told the rest of his Clan that you might visit at some point, or if they simply have faith that the Dwarves of Karak Vlag are capable of dealing with a single intruder if it proves necessary.
It takes much less time to reach the forewardmost defences of Karak Vlag, and though everything in front of them is still as ruined as you remember, at least the path through them is illuminated now. The illumination itself is of interest, and you take some time to examine one - it looks like a normal lantern at first, but instead of a wick inside there's a small stone sphere bearing a single Rune and emitting a steady glow. After some thought you suppose that makes sense, if they survived almost two centuries cut off from the rest of the world, they would have had to limit the use of finite resources like lamp oil as much as possible. Runes only require the effort of a Runesmith to make, and a simple Rune to make light is the sort of thing that could be made for practice by an Apprentice.
The path of light ends abruptly at the still-formidable fortifications that mark the point where the Dwarves have reclaimed the Karak thus far, leaving yourself harshly illuminated and the defences and defenders plunged into darkness. It's a form of defence that tells you quite a bit. Daemonic invaders would care little for light conditions, as just like you can, they'd be able to see through the darkness with their own equivalent of Magesight. Most other invaders that might come from above would not have this advantage, whether they be Orcs, Hobgoblins, Kurgan, or Chaos Dwarves. So this bodes well for how much they've accepted that they truly have been returned to reality.
No point taking chances, so instead of striding out into the light yourself, you allow an Illusion to go out in your place, just in case the locals are just as free with crossbow quarrels as you remember. "I am Mathilde Weber, Dalmhornzhufokrul," you announce to the darkness once more.
"Aye, that you are," comes a voice in reply. "And more than that, we hear."
You nod. "Currently the Loremaster of Karak Eight Peaks." For a few more months, at least.
"Azrildrekked. Waaaghdrengi. Karag Zangunaz Vengryni. All well and good, but we've had some harsh lessons about things that seem too good to be true. You just stay right there, we've sent for someone to weigh the truth of your words."
You keep yourself occupied by making sure the Illusion convincingly displays slight boredom as you wait, and before too long a Dwarf emerges into the island of light in the middle of the room, carrying a pair of stone stools. "I am Brokkr Ivaldisson of the Second Generation, Azulokri and Rhunkit," he announces, looking your Illusion up and down. "I have the honour of being the current Loremaster of Karak Vlag."
At first glance, he appears fairly typical for a Dwarf of advanced years who is almost but not quite yet a Longbeard, but the more you look, the more discrepancies you spot. The only metal on his person seems to be the axe on his hip, and the rest of his clothing is fabric and leather - and reptilian leather at that, instead of the more typical goat. His hair and beard are unornamented and hang loose instead of being kept under control by rings and plaits, but seems no less carefully tended for it. He's thinner and wirier than the Dwarves you're used to. And he's also looking at your Illusion with growing thoughtfulness.
You dismiss it and step forward yourself, and he nods as he turns to your true self. "No outsiders may be allowed past the second line of defence until a majority of each generation of the Regency Council agree to opening our doors to visitors once again," he says. "We shall have to talk here. Can I offer you a drink?"
"Yes, thank you." He disappears into the darkness, and returns with a pair of flagons - stone, and filled with water, which might have caused you to splutter as you discovered it if you weren't sipping so cautiously. He takes a seat on one of the stools, and you sit across from him.
"What brings you to Karak Vlag?" he asks.
"Curiosity, mostly."
He nods in understanding, one Loremaster to another. "Satisfying that curiosity is the least we could do. What is it you wish to know?"
"For starters, what is the significance of Second Generation?"
"The nearest ancestor of mine to have lived before the Escarpment was a grandparent. There are significant cultural differences between the generations, and as such an equal amount of each is represented on the Regency Council." He smiles wryly. "Which I suppose we shall have to rename. Many of the Royal Clan had been with a Throng that was outside the Karak when it was stolen. There had been hopes they had found refuge with the Karaz Ankor and could resume the throne, but it seems those hopes were in vain."
"You've been without a monarch all this time?"
"The King was on the front lines against the initial assault, immediately after the Escarpment. He fell in battle. His heir disappeared a week later. We put together a Council of Elders to make decisions until things were peaceful enough to investigate what happened to him and work out the succession, but the Royal Clan went extinct within the first decade." He smiles sadly. "Many Clans did not last a single generation in the new reality we found ourselves in."
You frown. "I'd heard that two thirds of the Karak had survived."
"Our population is two thirds of what it was when we were stolen," he corrects, "but it was once lower, and has been climbing steadily for over a century. Once the Daemons changed tactics from their frontal assault to a more insidious probing, we had time to take stock of our circumstances. We had but a single enemy, and Her goal was either inscrutable or mercurial. All would kill or die to thwart Her, but none could agree on how that could be accomplished. Some thought Her goal was to capture as many Dwarves alive as possible, and argued that the Karak should die. Some thought Her goal was to keep us imprisoned to leave Kislev vulnerable from the east, and argued that the Karak should live." He chuckles in what seems like genuine amusement. "Ironically, the two factions found symbiosis. Those that wished to die free needed some to stay living so that they would not be vulnerable to capture before they perished, and those that wished to live needed those willing to die to protect the Karak from predation."
"Do you know which faction was correct?" you ask.
"Both," he says firmly. "We have encountered the harvest that the Prince has taken from us. If She could have secured an entire Hold of those, such a weapon She would have against our southern cousins! Compared to that fate, death would be so very preferable, so the doomseekers were not wrong. It must have been an impossible decision to make all those years ago, without hindsight to vindicate the hopeful. But in living we have rebuked Her thrice - once for escaping Her claws, once for taking pleasure in each others' arms without being ruled by it, and once for returning to the world to protect it once again." He gives the smile of one who has seen the completion of several generations of work. "Some of us always knew the day would come. There is a river running through the lowest levels of the Karak, and even after we were stolen away it flowed clear and clean, bringing water and silt and even fish in. Our Rhunkit-"
"Sorry, you mentioned that before. What is a Rhunkit?"
"No Runesmith survived long past the Escarpment," he says frankly. "They knew too well where we were, and those that didn't fall in battle petrified themselves in their attempts to free us from it. But some of their Apprentices lived on, those that knew a little of the working of Runes but had not yet learned enough to despair. They taught all those that could trace even the narrowest of lines to Thungni what little they could, and now about a third of the Karak bear the title of Rhunkit, those that are able to interact with existing Runes and craft a very few simple ones. The Cult of Thungni, I hear, is quite outraged, but every one of those Apprentices had already embraced every punishment. Their names are forgotten, their properties forfeited, and once they had nothing left to teach, their lives were spent against the Daemons. So the Cult of Thungni can either march to war against the entire Karak or be silent. We will not apologize for surviving, and we have stood firm against far worse than they."
"Ah," you say carefully. He did say that the culture of the Karak had changed over the generations, and you're starting to get an idea of what he means. Those that knew the Karaz Ankor may have once despaired at the judgement that awaited them when they returned to it, but it seems their children and grandchildren are less willing to embrace self-abasement at the measures they had to take.
"As I was saying, the Rhunkit determined that the unchanging river meant that we still had some connection to the mountains we once knew. The entrance to our Karak led to the realm of Daemons, and so did any new tunnels we made, but that river still clung on - and so did the stone around it. So we mined along it for generations, carving out new chambers as we fell back from the old ones, finding cave complexes filled with fresh soil to farm in and small animals to raise for food and leather. Perhaps one day we would have dug our way to the surface along that underground river, or perhaps we merely vexed the sorcerations that imprisoned us by forcing it to cast a wider and wider net."
You consider that. "I think that would be the case," you say. "The enchantment that held the Karak was absorbing an enormous amount of magical energy to sustain itself, and when I cut it off, it seemed to fail more abruptly than the Daemons expected. They had been gathering forces from three of the Chaos Gods, either for a last-ditch assault on you or to try to restore the energy flow, but they fell to infighting when they were caught by surprise by a sudden translation to reality."
He grins savagely. "How wonderful, to have spoked Her wheel so effectively. I hope the next Everchosen arises within my lifetime so I can see it done at least once more."
You smile at that, and clink your flagon against his in a toast to the thought. "Have you reopened communication with Kislev?"
"Oh aye, we've had a veritable landslide of nobles and dignitaries very cautiously asking about the contents of this vault or the other. Been tricky to properly confirm that each is the proper descendant of the manlings that left this, that, and the other in our protection all those years ago, but they seem quite astonished that we went to the trouble and returned every jot of it. That seems to have confirmed for them that we're not meaningfully different than the Dwarves their ancestors knew, which makes our return easier. We've had more than enough of enforced autarky, we want everything the world has to offer - meat and fruit and vegetables and fabrics and ores and precious stones. Oh, and alcohol. The Elders do go on about it, though they've never been able to properly explain why."
"It's an acquired taste."
"I've got plenty of tastes without having to acquire more," he says with a shrug. "Oh, as one Loremaster to another, could you answer a question of culture of this Empire of yours?"
"Of course."
"Would it be inappropriate to invite a visitor from the Empire to share an intimate night with my wife and brother-husband?"
You blink at him. "Most would consider it so," you eventually say, taking refuge in answering the question at face value. "It is an invitation that should only be made to someone you were already quite familiar with, and in private."
"I see," he says unabashedly. "Thank you for the information."
"Thank you for satisfying my curiosity."
"It is nothing, compared to what we owe you."
You come away from Karak Vlag thoughtful. It's changed quite a bit, as you suppose would be inevitable after almost two centuries of complete isolation in such trying circumstances. They're something of a makeshift republic, they've splintered from the Runesmithing traditions of the Cult of Thungni, their culture seems, erm, markedly different from the Dwarves you're familiar with. They've had to rebuild their entire society around necessity. No brewers if there's barely enough grain to feed everyone. No smelters and very few miners if you can only mine in a single direction, and that upriver. No traders, no hunters, no rangers. Just farmers, and fighters, and those reworking and maintaining their dwindling and irreplaceable metals as best they can over several generations.
And yet they survived. No, more than that, they thrived. Their nadir was over a century ago, Brokkr said, and their population has been climbing since. Well, you suppose that makes sense, on both sides of the equation. The Daemons had reason to allow that as a renewable source of their new variety of shock troop, and as a self-maintaining toy for them to turn their attention to when they fancied. And on the Dwarven side, well, you're familiar with Dwarven fatalists, those that dwell on the decline of their race. But Karak Vlag's fatalists died in the first decade, leaving only those that embraced life as an act of defiance. You consider that for a moment, then draw a comparison to Karak Azul, isolated for millennia and constantly surrounded by greenskins but still strong despite it. Perhaps Dwarves with an immediate enemy to spite are ones more mentally healthy than those with no immediate threats, who have sufficient safety and freedom to despair at how much greater they used to be.
For a moment you feel that same tinge of despair, as you wonder if the Karaz Ankor will learn from this and immediately feel that they probably won't. But Karak Vlag has a lesson for you too. Those that embrace despair will die, and leave only those that still know hope to inherit. The arch-conservatives of Karaz-a-Karak may continue to wither, but they are not the be-all and end-all of the Karaz Ankor. The Young Holds continue to grow, Zhufbar continues to invent, Barak Varr continues to trade, and Karak Kadrin continues to deepen its relationship with Ostermark. And Karak Eight Peaks lives once more.
You find yourself smiling as you climb aboard the Gyrocarriage once more.
"Would it be inappropriate to invite a visitor from the Empire to share an intimate night with my wife and brother-husband?"
You blink at him. "Most would consider it so," you eventually say, taking refuge in answering the question at face value. "It is an invitation that should only be made to someone you were already quite familiar with, and in private."
"I see," he says unabashedly. "Thank you for the information."
The rest of the dwarf holds are going to be in for a real surprise if that kind of relationship is normal for this one. I can already here the grumbling from the elders. Next thing you know these beardlings might even talk to elves without bringing up the grudges.
Now, I am not a child psychologist so I might be wrong about this, but I suspect that this may have something to do with the whole "not having been dragged to the pyre by everyone she knew and loved" thing Eike has going on.
As an Apprentice you kept bowls of food and water under your bed for a cat you'd adopted called Morr, and as you grew older, you became involved in the trade in officially-forbidden-but-not-forbidden-forbidden novels that required similar protection
Now, I am not a child psychologist so I might be wrong about this, but I suspect that this may have something to do with the whole "not having been dragged to the pyre by everyone she knew and loved" thing Eike has going on.
Just a hunch.
Mathilde has since upgraded to secretly keeping Skaven in a cave and forbidden-forbidden novels.
You consider that for a moment, then draw a comparison to Karak Azul, isolated for millennia and constantly surrounded by greenskins but still strong despite it. Perhaps Dwarves with an immediate enemy to spite are ones more mentally healthy than those with no immediate threats
Republican teetotaler dwarfs more than half of which have some affinity to rune magic but next to no lore... yeah I have no idea what we could ask for them for a Transcendent Boon
So we got hit on by a dwarf.
Considering that we have been kinda/sorta/not really/but close enough flirted with by a sapient swarm of giant spiders, this is downright mundane.
