So I'm almost finished with 6th Edition. By god it's been a long journey, because 6th Edition was chock full of books and supplements and material to go through, and man has it been ridiculously informative. I never thought I'd be learning so much about Lustria, but 6th Edition is obsessed with the place. I will say that the way Lustria is spoken about makes it feel like the writers were absolutely obsessed with Indiana Jones, and that definitely plays through in the writing. The descriptions of the natives (and I'm not talking about Lizardmen here)... it's uncomfortable to say the least.
I will mention this however. Amazons get far more mentions than I'd expected in 6th Edition. It seems that at the time Amazons were a largely accepted part of the setting, albeit one that only ever got stats in White Dwarf articles. There's a decent number of mentions of them here and there all over the place. What confuses me is how 8th Edition just seems to have disapparated them. I think there might be vague mentions of them in 8th Edition, but not nearly as much as 6th. What happened to them between Editions?
I've heard a lot of people saying that 8th Edition was a way to sell models first and a game second. Any place that didn't have an army you could buy models for got mentioned a lot less in the lore, and a whole bunch of brand new creatures with large and expensive models were invented completely from scratch. I suspect the blame for the infamous 'clockwork horse' can be levelled here. The point value of rank-and-file models dropped across the board too, meaning you needed more models to create armies with the same point value, plus new rules were introduced that made it necessary to field larger units overall.
I wasn't part of the community for the transition to 8th Edition so I can't personally attest to any of this, but I do remember being pretty surprised at checking out Total Warhammer and seeing that a lot of factions had some sort of extremely large beasty that didn't exist at all back in 6th Edition.
More prosaically, I believe that every single model for Lizardmen got overhauled in 6th Edition into much better looking ones, and I remember there being a lot of hullabaloo about the 6th Edition Lizardmen Army Book in White Dwarf. I think the people making Warhammer at the time just really liked the Lizardmen and therefore Lustria.
Oh I actually have a bit of insight into this. The Clockwork Horse was a 7th Edition thing first, where the details of Frau Meikle were first mentioned, and 8th Edition just ported that in. Also another interesting thing is that a lot of the units in the core 8th Edition book that didn't exist in previous army books weren't actually original to 8th Edition, they just took optional units from White Dwarfs and supplements and refined them, adding them to the base book.
A few examples:
The Engine of the Gods for the Lizardmen was not in the core 6th Edition book, but it was in the Lustria supplement as part of the Red Host of Tehenhuain. The large monster holding the Engine was called an Arcanadon, but in 8th it's an Ancient Stegadon that has the Engine in its back. They also changed it so that it was two separate units. The Stegadon would hold the Engine of the God which boosted magic and let you summon comets, and the Bastilodon would hold the Solar Engine which sped up all Cold Blooded units, allows you to summon swarms with the Ark of Sotek and let you shoot a Solar Beam.
Another example would probably be the Cauldron of a Thousand Poxes also from the Lustria supplement which was a modified Screaming Bell. In 7th Edition they probably took inspiration from that and made it into its own unit, the Plague Furnace.
I can definitely see what you mean by making points costs lower so you could field more units on the field. 6th Edition Lizardmen had limitations on what mounts you could take, because if you didn't take the "Blessed Spawning of Itzl" you couldn't ride mounts like Cold Ones and Carnosaurs, but there is no such restriction in 8th Edition.
I will say that they could have milked things more, because there's a bunch of monsters and units in previous editions that didn't get ported to 8th Edition. A big example is the Coatl. That is totally the kind of thing you would get people to fork money for, and it was a pretty interesting unit concept too. It did get into Total War though.
Huh. So page 62 of 6th Edition Supplement Lustria says this on the description for the Bubonic Court of Lord Nurglitch, the Pestilens Army List:
"The Skaven of Clan Pestilens bear corruption and disease as a sign of their dedication to all that is foul. They have risen from the nameless band that penetrated the jungles of Lustria, the majority of its members succumbing to the tropical diseases running rampant through the Lizardmens' realm, until the last remaining Skaven sealed their pact with a new god. They embraced their own new plagues and maladies as gifts, sicknesses so vile that they were able to shrug off the jungle-born plagues with ease."
I think this might be the most explicit they've ever been that Clan Pestilens worship something other than the Horned Rat. I'm not sure how I can justify this as "totally not worshipping Nurgle" at this point.
The halls of Karak Norn were restless. They usually were, as would be expected of the largest and busiest of the Grey Mountain Holds of the Dwarves. There was always something to be done, a craft to be performed, a mineral to be exploited, a resource to attain or create, a service to be carried out.
However, the restlessness of the Dwarves in the hold was full of even more anticipatory energy than it usually held. This was not a routine that they were used to, for it held the sort of burning energy that could not last for long. The energy of knowing that a long held grudge would receive its recompense.
For all of that, none of that restlessness within the hold could compare to perhaps the most determined of them all. The sounds of determined hammering, sawing and drilling could be heard from the workshop of one of the most prominent Master Engineers of Karak Norn for the past few weeks, perhaps even months. Most of the hold's Dwarves would hardly see him except for supper or ceremonies for Morgrim. All the evidence they had of his existence was the noise produced from his workshop and the occasional Dwarf sent to check on him.
The Engineer in question was none other than Durin Wutokri or Clan Gunnisson, the Royal Clan of Mount Silverspear. It was expected then, that few Dwarves would be overly concerned with the frankly worrying level of dedication that one could perhaps liken to obsession that he had taken to his work lately. It was always a benefit to the Dwarves to receive so many bolt throwers of such high quality in such a comparatively short time.
In fact, it would have been enough to send many of the Longbeards to grumbling about the standards of the current generation if the ballistae were not so well polished and lovingly crafted.
The production speed of Durin was such that it was difficult for the normal supplies of Karak Norn to meet the demands, and so it was that large shipments of hardwood were imported down river from Ulrikadrin through Barak Varr.
None were so grateful for the evidence of the success of the Karak Eight Peaks expedition as the man working on those bolt throwers.
Within the workshop, the overwhelming scent of sawdust, fresh cut wood and treatment oils for the wood and rope of the war machines of the Dwarves permeated the room. Durin had spent so long working on his rhythm that the sheer monotony of his work no longer wore on him. What he was working on was not a work of art, it was a machine of war, a tool to be used to restore his nation to its former glory and avenge the grudges of the past. It might have been outrageous for some of his elders to hear him speak of it, but he no longer cared for whether these machines would last further than the conquest to retake his ancestor's home.
He hummed the songs of work that his father taught him, that he still remembered from the times that he accompanied his father into the workshop. He took a break every now and then to ensure that he had his measurements right, drawing lines on the wood with charcoal. In those times he couldn't help but remember his father's voice.
'That's my boy. Keep this up, and one day we'll be fighting side by side, my bolt thrower beside yours as we retake our ancestral land'
His father died before he could see his dream come true, but Durin was not dead. He had held hope that one day the Karaz Ankor could retake Mt.Silverspear, and had worked for decades to gain support by joining revanchist expansions to restore the lost holds of the Dwarves. By far the most successful was the K8P expedition, and he held no delusions that if it weren't for Belegar, Ulthar, Mathilde and the rest that his dream would have remained just that.
Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Durin looked to his reading table that he installed into the side of his workshop, where he read the letters sent to him and penned his response. He saw the letters from his allies who had helped make his dream a reality.
He would not fail the memory of his father or his ancestors. He would make right what was wrong with the world even if it meant he would die choking on his own blood. He would make sure of that.
AN: I skipped all the hard work of doing research on woodworking by focusing on literally everything else. Not super happy with it, but I'm used to that. Hope you enjoy. I couldn't think of a title.
The production speed of Durin was such that it was difficult for the normal supplies of Karak Norn to meet the demands, and so it was that large shipments of hardwood were imported down river from Barak Varr through Ulrikadrin.
Perhaps he'll be disappointed to find out that the bolt throwers weren't designed to last 100 years. Durin's kind of super focused on the "near future" (by Dwarf standards) rather than the end of time at the moment.
random musing, Snorri would have a fucking mental break at Kragg over our sword. For all Klausson loves his productivity memes, that's no excuse for a drop in quality.
"You call THIS a work of Runic Excellence?! You just Cast the blade like a beardling's first shoddy attempt at a rune! What, were you rushing to get the work done in under a year?!... What do you mean 'yes'! What do you mean they only live a hundred years or so, that's impossible, they wouldn't have time to get anything done!"
[*] Egrimm, to celebrate his imminent promotion and gauge his reaction to it.
[*] Elrisse, to get to know the most recent contributor to the Project.
[*] Cython, to talk obliquely of what it means for a God to have offspring.
[*] Panoramia, to talk about how well her project in the Eastern Valley seems to be going.
[*] Belegar, to discuss who has been made Loremaster after you.
"I've been hearing rumours of troubles in Gryphon's Wood myself, and I'd be happy to satisfy both our curiosities," you say to Paranoth with a smile. "And I would be equally happy to welcome Magister Grunfeld to the Waystone Project."
He nods. "She's a staunch traditionalist, but more self-aware about it than most. If there is wheat in that chaff, she should be able to help you find it. If not, she might be able to string together enough of it to sound convincing." He extends a hand for you to shake, and his grip is firm and calloused. "But enough of all that business. I have a powerful desire for Halfling food and Dwarven ale. Any recommendations?"
---
By the time Paranoth wanders onwards once more, leaving the Halflings a great deal of food and ale poorer but a few interesting seeds and cuttings richer, Panoramia is more than a little frazzled after spending so much time with the leader of her Order. She particularly seems torn between preening at attention from such a high level and offended that the high-minded blue sky research she intended is being ignored.
"Don't take it personally," you say soothingly to her the evening after Paranoth's departure, sitting close together in front of the fire. "Long-term investment needs to take a back seat to the immediate realities. That's the entire history of the Karaz Ankor too, and it's not like the Dwarves don't value ambitious projects."
She sighs. "I suppose, but it's still frustrating. It's... it's like I'm building a great cathedral, but everyone's paying attention to the way I poured the concrete for the foundations."
"From what I understand, you built those foundations on the botanical equivalent of a swamp. I think you've been too close to it for too long to remember how big a deal that is. You're feeding a big part of a Karak out of what was very recently a wasteland, and that's something that's bankable now. There's a lot of wasteland out there, and a lot of people that could use more feeding."
"Yes, that's... that's true, I know that. I do. And I do appreciate being appreciated, but now it's... well, now I've got no excuse, do I? The Magister Patriarch came here and told me to write up how I did it, and considering he ate the crops that came from that soil I can't really argue that it's not ready, can I? And if I'm writing and submitting it anyway, if I don't submit it as a Masterpiece then it's not me just taking my time any more, it's me actively refusing to be promoted. And then it..." She trails off, and sighs.
"And then it becomes a thing?"
"Then it becomes a thing. And it's a... I don't know what promotion is like for the Greys, but for Jade Apprentices, every year after Mitterfruhl is a month and a half of ceremony and study and then at the end you either get your sickle or you don't. I hated it, I hated it every time. You know what I'm like in late Spring, I want to be out there doing things, not trapped with all the other Apprentices, mouthing along with the stupid rituals and being resented by the outsiders for being an insider, being resented by the traditionalists for not believing, and being resented by the modernists for my mother. So when I got the silver, I left. Ostermark first, because it was as far as I could get from Altdorf without leaving the Empire, and the Mordheim campaign, then King Belegar put the call out. You know the rest. You've been there for the rest." She smiles at you, and finds your hand with hers, and you smile back.
You sit there for a while, and Panoramia's smile fades as she turns her attention inwards, organizing her thoughts into something that can be said. "Ma taught me," she eventually says, "but Da raised me. And Da doesn't believe in the Old Faith. Ma never saw it that way, Ma sees it as him staying out of proper Druid business because he's not a proper Druid. She doesn't think men have a place in the Order, I don't think she even thinks we should be recruiting outsiders. 'Mother teaching daughter, since the dawn of time'. It makes me so angry, and from both directions. I'm angry that she can't accept me believing the same thing that Da believes, and I'm angry that she doesn't see Da as a proper part of the Order." She sighs and is quiet for a while, then looks at you and grimances. "I'm sorry, I know it's nothing compared to what you went through with your family-"
"No," you interrupt, "don't do that. This is hurting you now, that's what matters."
Her hand squeezes yours. "I guess I had fooled myself into thinking that I could just put it off forever. The worst part is, if I had just done it as soon as possible, Ma would have still been just a Magister. But now she's a Lady Magister, so she'll be part of the Sonnstill gathering, who adjudicate the Magister tests. So half the High Druids will be going easy on me because of her, and the other half will be twice as hard because of her, and she'll be damn sure to use the old oaths and the full ceremonies, and no part of any of it would be about me. It would all be about her."
You don't know what to say about that, so you don't say anything. You just put your arm around her and pull her to your side, and she exhales and rests her head on your shoulder. Sometimes you're very glad to be part of the sensible Order.
---
With the winter snows turning every peak as white as that of its home, Cython is most active during this part of the year, and between hunting trips and visits to your library it is quite willing to entertain your latest curiosity. "What does it mean for a God to have children," Cython echoes, musingly. "It is a pleasingly faceted question, and one I have given considerable consideration to myself. Shall we begin by defining our sample space?"
"That seems sensible," you reply.
"Of the Elves, the Ellinilli are easily the most numerous, even after Their culling. And then there is Nethu, born of a dalliance between Asuryan and Ereth Khial. Already we have a strong contrast, as Ellinill sired a hundred alone, budding them off from his individual facets, while Nethu's origin is very biological for beings lacking in flesh."
"Among the Old Gods, Manann is said to be the son of Taal and Rhya, and Shallya and Myrmidia the daughters of Morr and Verena."
"And the Gods of the Dwarves consist of a single family, with three biological children and one adopted child of their pinnacle triumvirate. What conclusions can be drawn from this group?"
You frown. "There's not that many, for a start."
"Wherever it is that Gods typically come from, it seems parentage is an oddity - or perhaps They have reason to keep it secret most of the time. There's also significant variation in what that relationship means. Ellinill budded off children as a path to power, splitting Them off from His individual facets, and when that relationship threatened more than it benefited He sought to reverse that process and regain the power lost. In this we find support for my 'territory' model of divinity. Ellinill lessened Himself by withdrawing from individual facets of disaster to create His children, and attempted to regain that strength by retaking that conceptual territory."
"So Him 'devouring' his children was metaphorical? He instead reclaimed the territory He had granted Them, and in doing so starved Them?"
"It depends how separable a God is from Their domain. The intuitive models for beings of flesh is that a God is a single discrete entity that lives within Its domain, but beings of spirit may not be so limited. It could be that a God expands and contracts to match the territory It exists within, thus there would be little difference between supplanting and consuming. In either case, it seems that a God can create another God by either withdrawing from enough territory for a new God to emerge, or by splitting off the part of Themselves that occupies that territory. Similar to how a dragon with a greater territory than it requires might grant some to a child, so that a possible ally would be close at hand."
You frown in concentration as you consider this. This would make a God more like a nation than a single being, drawing belief from those living within a conceptual territory just as a nation draws tax from those living within its borders. If you take this metaphor further... Ellinill split off a hundred city-states from Its territory for... probably similar reasons that the Empire grants Imperial City charters, but then reconquered Them over fears they would secede completely? If you turned this metaphor on its head and considered nations to be like Gods, would Marienburg be a son of the Empire?
You explain this line of thinking to Cython, and it considers it for a while before nodding. "The 'nation' model might be a more familiar fit for you, and does not differ meaningfully from my 'territory' model. Let us move to the example set by the Gods of your people - firstly, Manann." Cython waves its head from side to side in the draconic equivalent of a furrowed brow. "Let us say, for the sake of argument, that Taal and Kurnous are entirely separate, that Rhya and Isha are entirely separate, and so on. I do not believe this to be the case, but I acknowledge it as unlikely but possible that the wilds of one continent might be conceptually separate to the wilds of another, and that the similarities could be coincidence, resonance, and cultural osmosis. But I do not believe there is any rational argument for Manann and Mathlann to be separate beings. On top of all the same similarities, both Gods are of the same ocean. The same waters the Elves say are dominated by Mathlann, your people say are dominated by Manann, and despite close contact between the sailors of your people and they, there is no conflict between the two. This raises an immediate problem with the idea that Manann is the child of Taal and Rhya, because Mathlann is one of the Ellinilli."
"Unless the concept is sufficiently different for Gods that it is possible for two separate sets of parents to make sense."
Cython gives an amused slow-blink. "But we have already mentioned an example of this very phenomena among the Gods."
You run back the conversation in your mind. "Are you suggesting Manann was adopted?"
"Here we arrive at the second type of parentage: metaphor. Manann grew beyond the constrains of His original family, becoming a God of the ocean in general instead of a single variety of disaster related to it - the question of how exactly that occurred is one for another time. And as a result of this transformation, He became more accepted by His worshippers. On Ulthuan, He is part of the inner ring of their Pantheonic Mandala, while Estreuth, Addaioth, Hukon, Drakira, and even Ellinill languish in the outer. And among the humans of your continent, just as Valaya and Grungni and Grimnir adopted Gazul, Taal and Rhya adopted Manann."
You nod slowly as you digest this. "That does make sense. Do you have a similar argument for Shallya and Myrmidia?"
Cython exhales. "Not while I am constrained by the possibility of the separation of the Ulthuan and Classical Pantheons. Instead I have something much more ephemeral. It is..." It snorts. "It is too neat. Where death meets wisdom, you find mercy and martial prowess? It is too elegant to have arisen from the random strife of existence. There is some invisible hand at play here. To me this can only be an extension of parentage as metaphor, either from the Gods themselves or from mere mortal theologians stumbling across poetry too beguiling not to incorporate."
You consider retorting, but Cython appears perfectly aware that this is an idea that needs considerable more time in the soil to sprout, and that digging it up would do it no favours. "Very well. I take it that next is a third model of parentage, a more biological one?"
"The Dwarves have extensive records of the births of each of the three children of their triumvirate. By all appearances, the Dwarven Ancestor-Gods were biological when They were walking the earth. I do not think there is insight to be found in the nature of Gods by studying Them before They had ascended. But there is one left in our sample, is there not?"
"Nethu," you say. "Son of Asuryan, you said? Isn't Asuryan supposed to be married?"
"And Ulthuani belief would tell you that when Ereth Khial attempted to seduce Him, He rebuffed her and remained loyal to Lileath. But Nehekhara has the very same myth between the Sun God Ptra, the Moon Goddess Neru, and the jealous usurper Sakhmet, but in this version Sakhmet uses trickery and illusion to usurp the position of Neru for a night. While it is easy to see this as a mythologization of the phenomena you know as Hexensnacht, the similarities are too many to be coincidence. I believe the Kingdom of the Dead preserves a tale that the orthodoxy of modern Ulthuan rejects - the conception of Nethu, who I believe to be known to Nehekhara as Sokth."
"If this is the case, then we have a very biological birth among the Gods."
"That would seem to be the case. And I do not think it too unlikely. While the Gods themselves may owe nothing to biology, they are bound to mortal beings that very much do. In the same way that Gods can reasonably be thought of as having two arms and two legs, it is entirely possible that they may be similarly equipped with the more distracting paraphernalia of flesh, and the consequences that those distractions can lead to."
While there's a great deal of opinion, speculation, and pure guesswork in all of that, it's definitely thought provoking. Three models of Godly children: territorial, metaphorical, and biological. A territorial child of Ranald and Shallya would originate in a conceptual subset of one or the other, or perhaps one on the cusp of both. Righteous vigilantism? Protection of the weak? Stealing from the rich, giving to the poor? The overlaps between Shallya the Merciful and Ranald the Protector make it very easy to invent possible identities for territorial children. And if they follow the example of Mathlann, it's possible that the children could have evolved beyond this conceptual nursery.
A metaphorical child of Ranald and Shallya would represent an adoption, a God that had abandoned a previous position to take up one aligned with Ranald and Shallya. You're reminded of the pilgrimage of the followers of the Ancient Widow, and their abandonment of Chaos worship in the Great Steppes to build a bulwark against Chaos in the lands now known as Kislev - but you already know something of the relationship between the Widow and Ranald, and it is a frosty one, not one enshrined in metaphor. And that these children are ones not generally known goes against the entire concept of metaphorical familial relationships among the Gods, does it not?
Thirdly, biological. Ranald and Shallya are often depicted with human forms, and according to this theory those forms would still be able to... engage in the sorts of activities that result in children. But if you discount the Dwarven examples, then you are left with only Nethu, who you know next to nothing about. You make a foray into your library, returning with the few Dwarven books on the Elves that might have mention of Him. Several hours later you're left with a very few scraps of information: Nethu is the Gatekeeper of Mirai, where the souls of those stolen or seduced away from Morai-heg toil in servitude to Ereth Khial. This is the trouble of a sample size of one: you cannot tell if this close tie to the mother is part of being a 'biological' child of a God, or a product of Ereth Khial's controlling personality that would not apply to what you would hope to be a healthier relationship between Ranald and Shallya and Their own children. You do find mention that Nethu is also the God of Dark Pegasi, the bat-winged, flesh-eating flying horses of Naggarond, and this appears to be unique to Him, rather than something shared with His mother - though you do not have anywhere near enough sources to say that with any confidence.
You sigh in frustration, looking up from your book and blinking at the dragon across from you that you'd completely forgotten about. "I'm sorry, I just dropped completely out of that conversation. That was very rude of me."
Cython looks up from its own book, tilting its head in mild confusion. "Why apologize? You stopped talking because you had gathered so many questions, you had no choice but to pursue them. I know of very few better ways for a conversation to end."
---
"My initial thought was a diplomat of some sort, but I eventually decided to take the opportunity to do some further reorganizing," Belegar says to you as the two of you walk through the construction site of your library. "Edda will be stepping down as Steward in the coming months."
"Is everything okay with her?" you ask, concerned. It's not unknown for Advisors to Dwarven Kings to be dismissed, but it's normally prepared for far in advance when the person involved would be entangled in so many ongoing projects.
"She's grumbling, but she understands the necessity. Between you and me, her Clan and Kazador's are in some rather hurried nuptial negotiations. The sort with an immovable deadline."
You take that in. In theory, a child conceived out of wedlock is a source of great shame. In practice, Dwarven children are rare enough that everyone will pretend not to notice a heavily pregnant bride, and will swear on their beard that the child born a month later must be extremely premature and declare it a miracle from Valaya that it was born in perfect health despite that. "Then I suppose I will soon owe them my congratulations."
"Her Clan back in Karak Izor are grumbling - I think they still had hopes of her marrying me - but her Clan here are overjoyed. I'm pleased with it, myself. The more ties with Karak Azul, the better. With Edda having established Dwarven industry so thoroughly, we have the opportunity to turn our attention to less traditional methods, so I'm going to make Francesco Caravello the new Steward when the time comes. There's going to be a lot of trade negotiations happening once the five passes are fully secured, and he has the knowledge and he's proven himself trustworthy. And I want him keeping an eye on the east, too - there's rumours of a new Overtyrant among the Ogres, and that could really interfere with trade. But while that worked out nicely, it put me rather at a loss for Loremaster. For the same reasons you stepped down, I suppose."
"Nothing weird left that needs poking," you say with a nod.
"More or less. So if we don't have troubles today, we should lay in for the troubles of tomorrow. I've brought in a promising young Engineer named Okri Drakkisson of Clan Bronzebeard - Karak Norn's offshoot of Karak Drazh's Stonebeards, cousins to the Karak Eight Peaks Stonebeards."
"'Promising' and 'young' seem a bit less than what Karak Eight Peaks could have attracted," you observe sceptically.
"Aye, though I've heard good things about him. I'm hoping that through him I can bring in others from his Clan to refound the Karak Drazh Stonebeards, one more general in purpose than the modern Gyrocopter-focused Karak Eight Peaks Stonebeards. His father would be the real catch, he's said to be a genius with steam and hydraulics."
You refrain from further comment, somewhat disappointed that your successor is so prosaic. But you suppose it's a good thing that Karak Eight Peaks no longer needs a strange and exotic troubleshooter any more. If anyone's earned the right to some boring and run-of-the-mill build-up, it's the Dwarves. "I'm glad Karak Eight Peaks is secure enough to invest in the future in this way."
He nods. "As am I. The only downside is that now my Clan is pushing more than ever for me to get married, and I've run out of reasons why not to."
"Does the thought terrify you so?"
"Of a wife? Not so much. But of having children I could fail... that scares me more than anything. There's been times over the years where I've drawn great comfort that if I failed, I've failed no worse than a great many of my ancestors. But the thought of having children to pass the crown to, children I might fail to pass the crown to..." He shakes his head. "The price of climbing higher, it seems, is that it gives you further to fall."
"So don't fall."
He chuckles. "That simple, eh?"
"Nothing we've achieved here has been simple, but we've achieved it anyway. It would be good to have some little Princes or Princesses Ironhammer running around the place. If you truly don't want to then by all means let the crown pass to a nephew or something, but don't let fear be the only reason you don't."
He frowns at you. "Didn't you step down from giving advice?"
"I stepped down from being paid for giving advice. You're still getting it, whether you want it or not." He gives you a scrutinizing look. "What?"
"Just checking your plaits for grey hairs. You've spent so long around us Dwarves that you're turning into a longbeard."
"Have you forgotten you're more than twice my age?"
"Aye, I often do."
You pat him companionably on the shoulder, and the two of you continue your walk through the construction site.
random musing, Snorri would have a fucking mental break at Kragg over our sword. For all Klausson loves his productivity memes, that's no excuse for a drop in quality.
"You call THIS a work of Runic Excellence?! You just Cast the blade like a beardling's first shoddy attempt at a rune! What, were you rushing to get the work done in under a year?!... What do you mean 'yes'! What do you mean they only live a hundred years or so, that's impossible, they wouldn't have time to get anything done!"
Sure there is an excuse, it is called 'all the experts died in a cataclysmic war and only the apprentices lived to carry on the craft'. It might not be an excuse Snori or any dwarf really would accept, but is is actually true.
God I love when that kind of thing gets addressed by the narrative, like, in ADODA, the whole bit where the Eonir lady is all "oh yeah we were real surprised when your empire just showed up all of a sudden and was actually doing things, usually that takes a lot longer" is a great insight into what it must be like to be that much of an elder race
I won't lie there re times when I resent social turns a bit, when i think about all the cool magic and mysteries of the setting we could have unveiled in their place... but then something like the above drops and I recall why it is all more than worth it.
God I love when that kind of thing gets addressed by the narrative, like, in ADODA, the whole bit where the Eonir lady is all "oh yeah we were real surprised when your empire just showed up all of a sudden and was actually doing things, usually that takes a lot longer" is a great insight into what it must be like to be that much of an elder race
This reminds me of some stuff I was thinking about how lifespan and risk are really intertwined.
Dawi live longer, so by that metric, they're inherently less risky because they have more opportunities to metaphorically roll the dice than a human does (Doing something more times ups the potential for this time being the one where things go horribly wrong). Elves are pretty much the same way. So they develop very thorough and precise precautions about what not to do, no seriously, you keep doing that and it will end up killing you one of these decades.
which in turn further reinforces the concept of 'Do this thing properly, even if we have to drill it into your skull a hundred times over'.
Humans lack the time to do this, and for most the risks never actually come up anyway, so what appears to humans like 'Acceptably low chances in the sake of getting this done in a meaningful fashion' looks to everyone else like 'Trying to speedrun something through numerous insanely lucky stunts and somehow not blowing themselves up this time'.
You kinda do see why everyone else shits on humans in general - Rule of averages, to them, suggests they really should have just imploded themselves by now, but somehow they just keep rolling 6's at just the right times not to, and subsequently keep relying on what seems to be those same reckless stunts.
You kinda do see why everyone else shits on humans in general - Rule of averages, to them, suggests they really should have just imploded themselves by now, but somehow they just keep rolling 6's at just the right times not to, and subsequently keep relying on what seems to be those same reckless stunts.
This reminds me of some stuff I was thinking about how lifespan and risk are really intertwined.
Dawi live longer, so by that metric, they're inherently less risky because they have more opportunities to metaphorically roll the dice than a human does (Doing something more times ups the potential for this time being the one where things go horribly wrong). Elves are pretty much the same way. So they develop very thorough and precise precautions about what not to do, no seriously, you keep doing that and it will end up killing you one of these decades.
which in turn further reinforces the concept of 'Do this thing properly, even if we have to drill it into your skull a hundred times over'.
Humans lack the time to do this, and for most the risks never actually come up anyway, so what appears to humans like 'Acceptably low chances in the sake of getting this done in a meaningful fashion' looks to everyone else like 'Trying to speedrun something through numerous insanely lucky stunts and somehow not blowing themselves up this time'.
You kinda do see why everyone else shits on humans in general - Rule of averages, to them, suggests they really should have just imploded themselves by now, but somehow they just keep rolling 6's at just the right times not to, and subsequently keep relying on what seems to be those same reckless stunts.
Cython looks up from its own book, tilting its head in mild confusion. "Why apologize? You stopped talking because you had gathered so many questions, you had not choice but to pursue them. I know of very few better ways for a conversation to end."
I don't think we can. The only thing we have that even resembles green wind magic is our seed and the nut. And we know Jack and shit about both of these...
Well, no, they very much do when they're the ones that have to do something remotely dangerous, instead of foisting it off on underlings. Problem is, the ones so low on the totem pole as to have no underlings are at even greater risk of death if their boss thinks they're not working fast enough.
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