13th Bee
Worker
- Location
- Tennessee, USA.
That's... not really the angle I've seen people taking that pairing. It's more "step on me harder mommy" in my experience.
Warhammer Fantasy: Divided Loyalties - an Advisor's Quest
- Thread starter Boney
- Start date
- Fantasy Users' Choice!
Voted best in category in the Users' Choice awards.
Codex
Fantasy Addict
- Pronouns
- She/Her
The angle I saw is that Imrik is a dragon rider, Miao Ying is a Dragon, haha laugh at Imrik riding this Dragon woman. Notice how everyone jumped instantly to the Dragon Woman and not the man when shipping. I've seen people bring it up jokingly and get shot down. I've even seen some comments about gay people being "Slaanesh's thing".That's... not really the angle I've seen people taking that pairing. It's more "step on me harder mommy" in my experience.
I'm really sour on the whole ship. People were very weird with Miao Ying after she was first revealed.
- Location
- Utrecht
I mean there's also the possibility of a golden threesome with Johann, Kadoh and Zhao Ming
I don't know if it's a thing, and i'm not familiar with Zhao ming, other than the name, i just made it up to cheer codex up. elspeth has a dragon. mathilde has a dragon. dragomas is a dragon. Johann has a dragon
Droman
𐤊𐤍𐤏𐤍
I've seen both. The mommy vibe has been more common than the purely draconic fever, but there's been both. And yeah, people flatten Slaanesh to purely 'sexual excesses' and non-heterosexual expression, which is odd given that ostensibly there is little if any expectation of patriarchal heterosexuality in a world where women do just as much if not more magic and directly or indirectly control at least four civilizations that deal directly with Slaanesh cults. I want to blame the Morathi cults for Slaanesh being so much sex but it also kind of feels like the sort of British schoolboy nonsense that might proliferate the concept.
Frankly, Slaanesh should be much more dangerously drugs than puritan taboos, if anything. Go full on Mad Hatter Alice in Wonderland type stuff.
The Irish gaming scene was want little different about that.
In that Table top crowds, Slaanesh= gay was fairly common for a time. (Because catholic Ireland)
But it was never that common in the RPG crowds. Mostly because RPG culture had a surprisingly Large hidden LGBT community. (And yes, I mean hidden, progressive Ireland is Shockingly new. I actually remember a time that being gay was still illegal, if not Enforced.)
In that Table top crowds, Slaanesh= gay was fairly common for a time. (Because catholic Ireland)
But it was never that common in the RPG crowds. Mostly because RPG culture had a surprisingly Large hidden LGBT community. (And yes, I mean hidden, progressive Ireland is Shockingly new. I actually remember a time that being gay was still illegal, if not Enforced.)
Droman
𐤊𐤍𐤏𐤍
There was a time before *googles* 1993? I didn't think the Matrix logged that many years.
- Location
- Actually pretty lost
If Dragomas loses the next Wizard Board Meeting and isn't the 25th Supreme Patriarch, he might be down for a trip! It's even high enough stakes to be justifiable.Clearly the most optimal way to get Cathay involved is to ask our Supreme Patriarch to go back to Cathay and perform his magic trick again to get a Dragon or Dragon Adjacent to move in. Nevermind that it would mean that the Supreme Patriarch would be gone for months if not years, I'm sure we can find a stopgap solution to that issue
Well, in the spirit of debating a completely impractical suggestion, I'm going to disagree with you a little.
The distance is certainly extremely inconvenient, but I don't think it's necessarily a dealbreaker, given that dragons are even longer-lived than elves and that it's being hosted in another country anyway. We're hoping to entice Ice Witches and Bretonnian Maidens, I don't think the longer trip really matters at all except in the sense of "possibly not making it there or back home".
I very much doubt that Cathay fails to respect the Elves. They might not be immediately relevant the way they are closer to Ulthuan, but while being less able to project force makes them less of a threat or aid locally it in no way detracts from their magical puissance. I daresay Ulthuan sent some impressive ambassadors, and dragons are long-lived enough to remember any such. Having said that, Mathilde's not representing Ulthuan, she's representing Laurelorn and Karak Eight Peaks. That's probably enough to at least be heard out, but even then, the Cathayans have no reason to share prized and secret knowledge. Mathilde can do her best to earn it, but that's a pretty tall ask...
...But I actually think that this is mitigated by point 3. The Cathayans have strange and incompatible magic? Splendid! So does Kislev, or the Hedge mages. The entire Project is based on taking fragments of knowledge and nominally incompatible magical perspectives, and changing until an answer is found that doesn't disagree with any of them. If the Cathayans didn't share their Waystone knowledge specifically that would be a shame, but I genuinely think that if a Cathayan Astromancer came over and shared nothing but the relatively widely-understood-back-home stuff and some insights on Feng Shui (or whatever the Cathayan equivalent will be called) that that would be of great value to the Project regardless.
And hey, maybe Dragomas could try and convince them regardless?
deathofrats0808
Don’t think of it as dying; just as leaving early
- Location
- Earth
It's at least partially a consequence of the setting being so old. It has a lot of stuff that (hopefully) wouldn't be considered ok now.
Codex
Fantasy Addict
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Speaking of things that shouldn't be ok. Nothing in all of Warhammer Fantasy made me as uncomfortable as 6th Edition Dark Elves Page 74ish in a snippet called "Dark Power", which was one of the most uncomfortably loaded scenes I've ever read between Morathi and Malekith. I have to wonder who the hell even okayed that. I cringed my entire way through those pages.
Codex
Fantasy Addict
- Pronouns
- She/Her
The exact passage, Dark Power, ends with Morathi telling Malekith "Come my son you must be tired after your little battle, lie with me and tell me how bravely you fought".
This is after a page and a half of severely uncomfortable emotional manipulation and uncomfortable subtext. "Lie with me" is an old expression meaning to have sex with. I don't think I need to further elaborate.
This is after a page and a half of severely uncomfortable emotional manipulation and uncomfortable subtext. "Lie with me" is an old expression meaning to have sex with. I don't think I need to further elaborate.
An Excerpt from the Journal of Soizic d'Karak, a Questing Knight 33
- Location
- Chicago
- Pronouns
- She/They
An Excerpt from the Journal of Soizic d'Karak, a Questing Knight-
An eye opened in the darkness.
First vertically, like a maw yawning open, then horizontally, like a forge door sliding back. Burning with malice and orange light, Iarge enough and close enough that I could see myself like a ghost in the vertical black slit of it's pupil.
But the Lady was with me, I feared no darkness. Her light shone upon me, and by her grace I saw.
I moved forwards even as the eye recoiled back and up, rearing a dozen feet above me. The cave, inky black a moment ago, now filled as if from dim torchlight by the serpent's burning gaze and the touch of the Lady upon me. Dear diary, I shone! Glowing, actually glowing, for the silver light of the pure moon shown on me no matter in what darkness I stood.
But in that light, I beheld the serpent of my Dream, and Dear Diary, I must at least give it it's due. It was a worthy monster.
Teeth the size of my hand filled in the jaws of a head halfway between a snake and a horse- t'was an armspan from eye to eye as it faced me. Scales so dark green as to be black in most lights, coarse like stone worn away by currents. A long neck that swelled slightly into a body, sinuously curving to a pair of clawed legs and a tail curling to a sharp stinger. A Lyndwyrm, as my people would name it, with only the hind legs of a true dragon to set it above crawling on it's belly like a snake. Head of a horse, teeth of a shark, body of a snake, legs of a lion, stinger of a scorpion, and scaled all over. Lo, though, did I perceive: this vast and darkly magnificent beast was not hatched a Lyndwyrm but rather a Wyvern! Upon it's shoulders stood lumps of gnarled scars, as if some beast even more powerful than it had eaten its wings whilst it still lived. For years it must have brooded and nursed it's wounds hiding in this cave, a grave threat awaiting a careless human or preoccupied dwarf to awaken it to a rampage.
I leapt forwards, down the slope from the cave's mouth, planting my feet on flats by grace alone, the pure steel about me ringing like a bell with each jolt. The Lyndwyrm flashed forward, claws tearing into rock with a terrible ripping sound, jaws opened for my head.
I kicked forward and dropped, sliding forward, striking sparks from my tassets. The wyrm must have noticed despite the angle, for it bent it's neck down to follow me at the last moment, catching my rising shield on the chin and deflecting up again- though a thousand pounds of force hammered me into the ground, breaking my planned swipe at it's vulnerable throat like a piece of cheap pottery and nearly taking my collarbones down the same path.
Ah, for those afternoons spent with Hubert dreaming of monsters and how to fight them... Dear Diary I must say that the opener he had vouched for against beasts that led with their mouths would have worked, were it not for my own failure in its execution.
Above me the wyrm committed to it's rush, two pounding footsteps closing as I performed the remise of my attack. With torque from my right knee on the ground twisting out to a whipcrack of a cut against it's abdomen, (which also flipped me from flat on my back to resting on my left side) i dodged the taloned claw that slammed into the ground just vacated by my hip.
I continued my twist into a roll facedown to my left, mind already on the stinger in the tail- but the wyrm broke stride with a stutter kick, missing it's footing and curling into a sort of a shoulder roll, but also scraping a claw down the outside of my thigh where it caught on the plating of the knee, and ripped it off with a shriek of tearing metal.
I stood. The wyrm as well, it's head pointed straight at me even as it's gnawed-upon shoulder made contact with the earth, eyes eeriely motionless as it's body from the neck down twisted and writhed until it's legs were underneath it again. We regarded each other.
My cut had broken through it's hide, though not deeply, and a handspan of liver hung out. It's claw had destroyed the armor on my left knee, though by the Lady's grace I still had mobility in the joint.
It had shown itself crafty, wise to my ploy and willing to move in a way it could not have before it's injury. I knew I could hurt it, but even the Lady's blessing would not save me from any errors I made trying.
It again led the tempo, sweeping forward in a great S from left to right to left again, angling in to threaten my shielded side with darting snaps. I saw what it was doing, the movement and feints to pull my attention (and were I foolish, retaliation) as it's stinger floated to my right before snapping at my kidneys. I could not turn my shield from the wyrm's teeth and so parried with my blade, batting it out and away, even as I stepped forward and to the right, into the curve of the wyrm's body, trying to get inside and behind it's snapping head.
Again, it almost worked. This time though, the price for 'almost' was steep indeed.
I had forgotten the stinger. Foolishly, I can only say in my defense that I imagined it to be following a trajectory like a javelin knocked away- but the wyrm had wrenched it's hips out from the circle it had been forming even as it let it's trail drop.
The snap back of the stinger missed impaling me, though perhaps it would have been better if it had; instead even as I pivoted to bring my sword down behind the jaw, the tail wrapped about my legs, then unwrapped like the string wrapped about a child's top.
I was jerked two paces back and spun, my cut suddenly aimed down the throat of the wyrm even as the world jerked and tilted and it's jaws slammed shut.
Dear Diary, I confess I screamed when the teeth crunched through my vambrace and shattered my sword. My body, already half- spun into the air, was pulled horizontal as I faced the ceiling.
I embraced it. That is to say, I saw the smouldering eye off above my right shoulder, then I made a motion as if hugging, whence I drove the corner of my shield into that bastard's eye with every ounce of strength I had.
The shield sank into the slit pupil, slammed sideways a moment later by the inner lid with a noise like pulling a boot from mud; I felt it hit something harder just before the outer eyelids shut and expelled the intrusion.
I had hoped the wyrm would release my swordarm, instead it jerked it's head right straight through where my body was, pinning me against the cave wall. Ichor from the burst eye splattered next to me, and on me. Then as the wyrm hissed with a deep growling note rumbling from it's chest, I realized that my earlier mistake had compounded itself.
When first I had glimpsed the teeth lining the wyrm's mouth, I had noted that there were no prominent fangs as one would see in a venomous snake, so I had assumed the beast carried poison only in it's tail. I was mistaken. And as I gasped for breath against wall and tugged my arm against the teeth peircing it I realized: there were no fangs because the teeth were ALL fangs.
Poison flooded into me as noxious fluids dripped and drooled onto the floor a span beneath my kicking feet. With few other options and no leverage to punch, instead I brought my left arm over my head and back down in an exaggerated wave, aiming the bottom kite point of my shield again into it's eye at the seam of the eyelids. This time the wyrm did release me, jerking it's head away and tossing me a half dozen paces onto the rock.
Again we regarded each other. This time it's cyclopian visage did not evidence malice, but anger. Ask me not how I could tell the difference, for I could not tell you, such only was my instinct.
As for myself, I was covered in blood and ichor, my blade was snapped a half-foot from the hilt and rested twenty feet away besides, and burning poison wept from the half-dozen punctures disabling my right arm.
But moonlight still shone upon me.
Even in that moment, especially in that moment, I could feel The Lady's touch. The burning in my blood redoubled as I staggered to my feet, but pain did not follow: instead my injured arm began to smoke as if the armor were red-hot, and the Lyndwym's poison burned from it.
Praise the Lady, for no poison will she suffer to strike me down, not while I fight in her name!
Little time was I given in the moment, for no sooner had I realized this than the beast again rushed upon me. Weaponless, I broke for it's blindside, baiting it to lash out with a claw. It did, blindly swiping as I danced back, so when it missed and planted itself on the ground I leapt forward upon it. With all my might I brought down my shield like an axe-blade on the haft of my arm, and struck those delicate bones between claw and ankle a crushing blow.
Too crushing, I suppose, for the beast yanked back it's foot, falling and rolling as if to crush me as well but I had the measure of it- I dove to my right, under it's body as it fell, and rolled to my feet already running back at it even as it's head oriented on me and struck.
(Have I told you before, dear diary, of the laughter that Hubert and I had shared in our discussions of monsters? Usually at our own foolishness, as we jested and proposed increasingly outlandish ways to attack and cause injury to our imagined opponents. Though even the most outrageous... I have it on good authority that at least one skaven died of having it's own tail fed down it's nose in the reclaimation, so truth still remains stranger than my fantasies. I bring this up because what I did next was something that we had discussed before, in that context. I had laughed at the very idea.)
With only a moment to act, I braced my shield against my shoulder and hopped right. The wyrm must have expected me to go once again for it's blind spot, and in the midst of it's lunge could not correct fast enough- there was a flash of teeth right by my face and then I swayed left, ramming the point of my shield between the wyrm's teeth, as deep towards it's cheek as I could, then let my arm slip from the springy piece of tempered metal as the beast's momentum carried it forward.
I paid a price- my shield, and a scarred lump of a massive shoulder catching me like an iron plow turning the earth- but the wyrm paid greater: deep in it's back teeth was wedged my shield and it could not close it's mouth! When it bit down my shield flexed like a spring, and when it roared the gouges it's teeth had made on the edges held it in place.
Not even three minutes into the battle, and we were both on the edge. My sword was broken, my shield sacrificed, my right hand bitten and useless and the armor torn from my knee. Three times I'd been struck with a force like a battering ram and though nothing broke, I could feel bone-deep bruises flushing hot all over my body.
My opponent, my challenge, still stood half again as high as I, and stretched four times as long. It still had it's tail stinger, and it's left claw as weapons, and it looked haler than I for all it had spilled more of its blood than I had in the whole of me. It's right eye was burst, it favored it's right claw, and my shield turned it's mouth from a weapon to a vulnerability. It had a cut on it's abdomen, just below the ribcage.
It was then, dear diary, that I knew how I was going to win.
I ran for the broken fragments of my sword. The wyrm hesitated- whether I suprised it, it was distracted by the shield, or beginning to fear me I shall never know- but rushed upon me when it realized I sought my weapon, though too late. I snatched up the hilt in my left hand and pivoted to charge the wyrm in turn, three steps into my sprint ere we crossed.
Once again I kicked forward into a slide even as the beast rutted for me with it's lower jaw, but this time I knew it's cunning and sought no blow upon it's neck. Thus lower did I bend, even my back to the ground, cleanly under it until once again I repeated my first blow.
There was no sword in my limp and bloody hand, no chance of injuring the beast. But when I snapped my punch through the slit in it's scales and up to my elbow in it's liver, t'was merely holding on that was my intent.
Prepared as I thought I was, my inexperience still shown: even as I secured my anchor the sheer weight and momentum of the beast did not stop, and when my direction was reversed it was with a shuddering POP! in my elbow and blinding pain.
Then the beast slammed it's chest to the ground and I did truly know the attention of the prince of pleasure.
Unable to see, for my helmet was smashed between wyrm and rock; barely able to think, for the screaming pain in my limb; I knew I had to complete my plan or I would die.
So on feel and instinct I stuck my left arm into the slit on the wyrm's belly right next to my right- and though my right was twisted down toward the wyrm's tail with my left I sawed towards it's throat, the bare inches of blade in my hand restrained from their motion by-
Again it slammed me into the ground. Foolish beast. I had been blinded and in pain with almost no leverage, and here it did me the favor of forcing my questing blade straight through it's diaphragm. Letting go of the hilt, letting the beast scrape me off it's belly and retreat, that was perhaps the easiest part of the entire fight.
The stabbing blow from the stinger I had forgotten about, threading between my tassets and my breastplate to deliver it's load of poison into my abdomen, was less welcome.
Dear Diary, I couldn't help it. I started laughing.
For the Lady protects. And even as I shook off my lethargy and pushed myself up to view my enemy, my wound began to smoke, spitting out poison mixed with blood as if a clog were being driven from a steam pipe as the dwarves use.
My enemy was in worse shape. It had retreated to let it's poison finish me off, wary of tricks as I lay still a moment. But by the time I pulled off my helmet and flopped around enough to see, it must have realized it had taken a mortal wound.
I lay and watched it twist and turn, a step towards me as if to finish me off, then three steps away in retreat as if to try and save itself, figeting before it's legs gave out. I watched it's gaping jaws and nostrils flare for air, barely getting any as it's chest wound hissed and sucked. I watched it try to breath out and choke, it's eye bulging as no air came from it's mouth, but blood and viscera sprayed under pressure out it's gut.
It took longer to watch it die choking than the whole battle before, but when it was finally at rest, I drew myself up. My armor I had slowly discarded on the floor about me; burst strapping and bent plates made it impossible to move in after the adrenaline of battle subsided. My white linens, clean not even an hour ago, were now torn and soaked in blood, both from the battle and from my own efforts to crudely bind my wounds. Much of my skin was bare. I cared not. I had won.
But what of Hubert?
Limping quietly, I made my way back up and out the cave, pausing at the mouth. A two dozen yards away, Hubert knelt, back resolutely towards the cave, praying. I was touched, dear diary, for his trust that I would not fall and leave an enemy to come for his back. That he trusted me to win more than he trusted himself to watch and not interfere. I walked towards him, quiet as a ghost without armored boots, even as I noted distantly that blood loss had made the world dreamy.
"...call upon the wolf of battles, to see her and reward her strength with victory. Let her come back to me. Father of winter, preserve for me the fire of my heart, for your strength reaches where mine cannot. Lord Ulric, hear my faith..."
He chanted softly to himself. A pewter wolf's head rested in his hands, I saw as I drew closer, and then softly laid my hand on his shoulder.
"Hi..." was all I could manage.
But his gasp, the feel of tension just draining out of his shoulder, the way he melted into me instead of jumping in surprise?
Dear Diary, I love him.
But the tension draining from him drained it from me too, and I wavered, then began to collapse. The last I remember is being caught up in his arms as great wings of light opened behind him, and him whispering softly to me.
"My beautiful knight, let us bring you home."
An eye opened in the darkness.
First vertically, like a maw yawning open, then horizontally, like a forge door sliding back. Burning with malice and orange light, Iarge enough and close enough that I could see myself like a ghost in the vertical black slit of it's pupil.
But the Lady was with me, I feared no darkness. Her light shone upon me, and by her grace I saw.
I moved forwards even as the eye recoiled back and up, rearing a dozen feet above me. The cave, inky black a moment ago, now filled as if from dim torchlight by the serpent's burning gaze and the touch of the Lady upon me. Dear diary, I shone! Glowing, actually glowing, for the silver light of the pure moon shown on me no matter in what darkness I stood.
But in that light, I beheld the serpent of my Dream, and Dear Diary, I must at least give it it's due. It was a worthy monster.
Teeth the size of my hand filled in the jaws of a head halfway between a snake and a horse- t'was an armspan from eye to eye as it faced me. Scales so dark green as to be black in most lights, coarse like stone worn away by currents. A long neck that swelled slightly into a body, sinuously curving to a pair of clawed legs and a tail curling to a sharp stinger. A Lyndwyrm, as my people would name it, with only the hind legs of a true dragon to set it above crawling on it's belly like a snake. Head of a horse, teeth of a shark, body of a snake, legs of a lion, stinger of a scorpion, and scaled all over. Lo, though, did I perceive: this vast and darkly magnificent beast was not hatched a Lyndwyrm but rather a Wyvern! Upon it's shoulders stood lumps of gnarled scars, as if some beast even more powerful than it had eaten its wings whilst it still lived. For years it must have brooded and nursed it's wounds hiding in this cave, a grave threat awaiting a careless human or preoccupied dwarf to awaken it to a rampage.
I leapt forwards, down the slope from the cave's mouth, planting my feet on flats by grace alone, the pure steel about me ringing like a bell with each jolt. The Lyndwyrm flashed forward, claws tearing into rock with a terrible ripping sound, jaws opened for my head.
I kicked forward and dropped, sliding forward, striking sparks from my tassets. The wyrm must have noticed despite the angle, for it bent it's neck down to follow me at the last moment, catching my rising shield on the chin and deflecting up again- though a thousand pounds of force hammered me into the ground, breaking my planned swipe at it's vulnerable throat like a piece of cheap pottery and nearly taking my collarbones down the same path.
Ah, for those afternoons spent with Hubert dreaming of monsters and how to fight them... Dear Diary I must say that the opener he had vouched for against beasts that led with their mouths would have worked, were it not for my own failure in its execution.
Above me the wyrm committed to it's rush, two pounding footsteps closing as I performed the remise of my attack. With torque from my right knee on the ground twisting out to a whipcrack of a cut against it's abdomen, (which also flipped me from flat on my back to resting on my left side) i dodged the taloned claw that slammed into the ground just vacated by my hip.
I continued my twist into a roll facedown to my left, mind already on the stinger in the tail- but the wyrm broke stride with a stutter kick, missing it's footing and curling into a sort of a shoulder roll, but also scraping a claw down the outside of my thigh where it caught on the plating of the knee, and ripped it off with a shriek of tearing metal.
I stood. The wyrm as well, it's head pointed straight at me even as it's gnawed-upon shoulder made contact with the earth, eyes eeriely motionless as it's body from the neck down twisted and writhed until it's legs were underneath it again. We regarded each other.
My cut had broken through it's hide, though not deeply, and a handspan of liver hung out. It's claw had destroyed the armor on my left knee, though by the Lady's grace I still had mobility in the joint.
It had shown itself crafty, wise to my ploy and willing to move in a way it could not have before it's injury. I knew I could hurt it, but even the Lady's blessing would not save me from any errors I made trying.
It again led the tempo, sweeping forward in a great S from left to right to left again, angling in to threaten my shielded side with darting snaps. I saw what it was doing, the movement and feints to pull my attention (and were I foolish, retaliation) as it's stinger floated to my right before snapping at my kidneys. I could not turn my shield from the wyrm's teeth and so parried with my blade, batting it out and away, even as I stepped forward and to the right, into the curve of the wyrm's body, trying to get inside and behind it's snapping head.
Again, it almost worked. This time though, the price for 'almost' was steep indeed.
I had forgotten the stinger. Foolishly, I can only say in my defense that I imagined it to be following a trajectory like a javelin knocked away- but the wyrm had wrenched it's hips out from the circle it had been forming even as it let it's trail drop.
The snap back of the stinger missed impaling me, though perhaps it would have been better if it had; instead even as I pivoted to bring my sword down behind the jaw, the tail wrapped about my legs, then unwrapped like the string wrapped about a child's top.
I was jerked two paces back and spun, my cut suddenly aimed down the throat of the wyrm even as the world jerked and tilted and it's jaws slammed shut.
Dear Diary, I confess I screamed when the teeth crunched through my vambrace and shattered my sword. My body, already half- spun into the air, was pulled horizontal as I faced the ceiling.
I embraced it. That is to say, I saw the smouldering eye off above my right shoulder, then I made a motion as if hugging, whence I drove the corner of my shield into that bastard's eye with every ounce of strength I had.
The shield sank into the slit pupil, slammed sideways a moment later by the inner lid with a noise like pulling a boot from mud; I felt it hit something harder just before the outer eyelids shut and expelled the intrusion.
I had hoped the wyrm would release my swordarm, instead it jerked it's head right straight through where my body was, pinning me against the cave wall. Ichor from the burst eye splattered next to me, and on me. Then as the wyrm hissed with a deep growling note rumbling from it's chest, I realized that my earlier mistake had compounded itself.
When first I had glimpsed the teeth lining the wyrm's mouth, I had noted that there were no prominent fangs as one would see in a venomous snake, so I had assumed the beast carried poison only in it's tail. I was mistaken. And as I gasped for breath against wall and tugged my arm against the teeth peircing it I realized: there were no fangs because the teeth were ALL fangs.
Poison flooded into me as noxious fluids dripped and drooled onto the floor a span beneath my kicking feet. With few other options and no leverage to punch, instead I brought my left arm over my head and back down in an exaggerated wave, aiming the bottom kite point of my shield again into it's eye at the seam of the eyelids. This time the wyrm did release me, jerking it's head away and tossing me a half dozen paces onto the rock.
Again we regarded each other. This time it's cyclopian visage did not evidence malice, but anger. Ask me not how I could tell the difference, for I could not tell you, such only was my instinct.
As for myself, I was covered in blood and ichor, my blade was snapped a half-foot from the hilt and rested twenty feet away besides, and burning poison wept from the half-dozen punctures disabling my right arm.
But moonlight still shone upon me.
Even in that moment, especially in that moment, I could feel The Lady's touch. The burning in my blood redoubled as I staggered to my feet, but pain did not follow: instead my injured arm began to smoke as if the armor were red-hot, and the Lyndwym's poison burned from it.
Praise the Lady, for no poison will she suffer to strike me down, not while I fight in her name!
Little time was I given in the moment, for no sooner had I realized this than the beast again rushed upon me. Weaponless, I broke for it's blindside, baiting it to lash out with a claw. It did, blindly swiping as I danced back, so when it missed and planted itself on the ground I leapt forward upon it. With all my might I brought down my shield like an axe-blade on the haft of my arm, and struck those delicate bones between claw and ankle a crushing blow.
Too crushing, I suppose, for the beast yanked back it's foot, falling and rolling as if to crush me as well but I had the measure of it- I dove to my right, under it's body as it fell, and rolled to my feet already running back at it even as it's head oriented on me and struck.
(Have I told you before, dear diary, of the laughter that Hubert and I had shared in our discussions of monsters? Usually at our own foolishness, as we jested and proposed increasingly outlandish ways to attack and cause injury to our imagined opponents. Though even the most outrageous... I have it on good authority that at least one skaven died of having it's own tail fed down it's nose in the reclaimation, so truth still remains stranger than my fantasies. I bring this up because what I did next was something that we had discussed before, in that context. I had laughed at the very idea.)
With only a moment to act, I braced my shield against my shoulder and hopped right. The wyrm must have expected me to go once again for it's blind spot, and in the midst of it's lunge could not correct fast enough- there was a flash of teeth right by my face and then I swayed left, ramming the point of my shield between the wyrm's teeth, as deep towards it's cheek as I could, then let my arm slip from the springy piece of tempered metal as the beast's momentum carried it forward.
I paid a price- my shield, and a scarred lump of a massive shoulder catching me like an iron plow turning the earth- but the wyrm paid greater: deep in it's back teeth was wedged my shield and it could not close it's mouth! When it bit down my shield flexed like a spring, and when it roared the gouges it's teeth had made on the edges held it in place.
Not even three minutes into the battle, and we were both on the edge. My sword was broken, my shield sacrificed, my right hand bitten and useless and the armor torn from my knee. Three times I'd been struck with a force like a battering ram and though nothing broke, I could feel bone-deep bruises flushing hot all over my body.
My opponent, my challenge, still stood half again as high as I, and stretched four times as long. It still had it's tail stinger, and it's left claw as weapons, and it looked haler than I for all it had spilled more of its blood than I had in the whole of me. It's right eye was burst, it favored it's right claw, and my shield turned it's mouth from a weapon to a vulnerability. It had a cut on it's abdomen, just below the ribcage.
It was then, dear diary, that I knew how I was going to win.
I ran for the broken fragments of my sword. The wyrm hesitated- whether I suprised it, it was distracted by the shield, or beginning to fear me I shall never know- but rushed upon me when it realized I sought my weapon, though too late. I snatched up the hilt in my left hand and pivoted to charge the wyrm in turn, three steps into my sprint ere we crossed.
Once again I kicked forward into a slide even as the beast rutted for me with it's lower jaw, but this time I knew it's cunning and sought no blow upon it's neck. Thus lower did I bend, even my back to the ground, cleanly under it until once again I repeated my first blow.
There was no sword in my limp and bloody hand, no chance of injuring the beast. But when I snapped my punch through the slit in it's scales and up to my elbow in it's liver, t'was merely holding on that was my intent.
Prepared as I thought I was, my inexperience still shown: even as I secured my anchor the sheer weight and momentum of the beast did not stop, and when my direction was reversed it was with a shuddering POP! in my elbow and blinding pain.
Then the beast slammed it's chest to the ground and I did truly know the attention of the prince of pleasure.
Unable to see, for my helmet was smashed between wyrm and rock; barely able to think, for the screaming pain in my limb; I knew I had to complete my plan or I would die.
So on feel and instinct I stuck my left arm into the slit on the wyrm's belly right next to my right- and though my right was twisted down toward the wyrm's tail with my left I sawed towards it's throat, the bare inches of blade in my hand restrained from their motion by-
Again it slammed me into the ground. Foolish beast. I had been blinded and in pain with almost no leverage, and here it did me the favor of forcing my questing blade straight through it's diaphragm. Letting go of the hilt, letting the beast scrape me off it's belly and retreat, that was perhaps the easiest part of the entire fight.
The stabbing blow from the stinger I had forgotten about, threading between my tassets and my breastplate to deliver it's load of poison into my abdomen, was less welcome.
Dear Diary, I couldn't help it. I started laughing.
For the Lady protects. And even as I shook off my lethargy and pushed myself up to view my enemy, my wound began to smoke, spitting out poison mixed with blood as if a clog were being driven from a steam pipe as the dwarves use.
My enemy was in worse shape. It had retreated to let it's poison finish me off, wary of tricks as I lay still a moment. But by the time I pulled off my helmet and flopped around enough to see, it must have realized it had taken a mortal wound.
I lay and watched it twist and turn, a step towards me as if to finish me off, then three steps away in retreat as if to try and save itself, figeting before it's legs gave out. I watched it's gaping jaws and nostrils flare for air, barely getting any as it's chest wound hissed and sucked. I watched it try to breath out and choke, it's eye bulging as no air came from it's mouth, but blood and viscera sprayed under pressure out it's gut.
It took longer to watch it die choking than the whole battle before, but when it was finally at rest, I drew myself up. My armor I had slowly discarded on the floor about me; burst strapping and bent plates made it impossible to move in after the adrenaline of battle subsided. My white linens, clean not even an hour ago, were now torn and soaked in blood, both from the battle and from my own efforts to crudely bind my wounds. Much of my skin was bare. I cared not. I had won.
But what of Hubert?
Limping quietly, I made my way back up and out the cave, pausing at the mouth. A two dozen yards away, Hubert knelt, back resolutely towards the cave, praying. I was touched, dear diary, for his trust that I would not fall and leave an enemy to come for his back. That he trusted me to win more than he trusted himself to watch and not interfere. I walked towards him, quiet as a ghost without armored boots, even as I noted distantly that blood loss had made the world dreamy.
"...call upon the wolf of battles, to see her and reward her strength with victory. Let her come back to me. Father of winter, preserve for me the fire of my heart, for your strength reaches where mine cannot. Lord Ulric, hear my faith..."
He chanted softly to himself. A pewter wolf's head rested in his hands, I saw as I drew closer, and then softly laid my hand on his shoulder.
"Hi..." was all I could manage.
But his gasp, the feel of tension just draining out of his shoulder, the way he melted into me instead of jumping in surprise?
Dear Diary, I love him.
But the tension draining from him drained it from me too, and I wavered, then began to collapse. The last I remember is being caught up in his arms as great wings of light opened behind him, and him whispering softly to me.
"My beautiful knight, let us bring you home."
Last edited:
deathofrats0808
Don’t think of it as dying; just as leaving early
- Location
- Earth
I mean, yeah, it used to be canon that Malekith and Morathi had a sexual relationship. It was a way of pointing out how depraved the Dark Elves were. Plus it reinforced Morathi's link to Slaaneshi worship.
K von Carstein
Likes to go for a walk
- Location
- Belgium
- Pronouns
- He
Imo, it's supposed to feel cringy and uncomfortable. It's probably there to emphasise how depraved the Druchii are, and does a great job at it.
Codex
Fantasy Addict
- Pronouns
- She/Her
@Glau That was excellent, exciting, and well worth the wait. Great job, I loved it.
I think it fits Soizic very well.
I assume you decided on Virtue of Purity, the one that belonged to Rademund of Quenlles? It's the one that makes the most sense for the Lady's protection. If it was Heroism, Soizic would have been more offensively effective and less capable of shrugging off the poison.
I think it fits Soizic very well.
Droman
𐤊𐤍𐤏𐤍
Unfortunately, incest as a fiction plot point seems to have only grown more popular since then.
Don't worry, it will get better when the rest of the Cathay dragons gain prominence.
(Slightly NSFW)
Last edited:
So to summarise what's happening in Kislev:
Drycha is seeking relics and artefacts of divine nature in order to free a chaos corrupted treeman.
She's besieged and veiled a series of villages in southern Kislev in order to lure the local Boyar into a trap.
Said Boyar isn't currently in the region he rules—instead he is visiting Praag, a cursed city. He will not return in time to join the battle.
Said Boyar is also from the same lineage as the former Vampire Queen of Kislev, and presumably has inherited some of her dark secrets (and possibly powers?). Said lineage is also historically based in Praag.
A leyline that's supposed to link Kislev city to the Forest of Shadows is actually being routed back north into Praag, where it is either powering "the Land"; the source of Ice Magic and the Ancient Widow's power base, or the Fire Spire, an unregulated research institute that brought together multiple different disciplines before its destruction by chaos sorcerers, which continues to leak magic into the surrounding area and kills any intruders.
Six days ago, a hedgewitch scried Drycha and pierced the veil she wove. In response to this she intentionally let a messenger escape the forest, presumably hoping that the Boyar would respond before the person who scried her could. It is unknown if she identified who scried her, but since we haven't heard of anything moving downstream against the Hedgewise, I think it's safe to assume she's unaware of our specific presence, even if she knows someone spied on her.
Thanks to Mathilde's warning, a large Kislev army has assembled, and will be commanded by the Tsar and his heir. This army consists of: the Kreml Guard, Winged Lancers, Ungol Horse Archers, whatever troops the City Boyars assembled, three Ice Witches, a Grey Wizard Lord, and an Gold Wizard. The army was described as consisting of three "pulks", or divisions, which is typically the size an army has to be to fend of a major chaos incursion (outside of Storms of Chaos, that is). It is not stated how big the Tsar's reinforcements are, but it's likely to be a substantial addition.
In fact, the only reason the Tsar is even making an appearance is because he's such a warhawk that the possibility of commanding three pulks in a single battle is what drew him here—anything less, and he'd have likely left the matter to the local Boyars.
... I can't help but feel that this has escalated way outside of Drycha's expectations.
Drycha is seeking relics and artefacts of divine nature in order to free a chaos corrupted treeman.
She's besieged and veiled a series of villages in southern Kislev in order to lure the local Boyar into a trap.
Said Boyar isn't currently in the region he rules—instead he is visiting Praag, a cursed city. He will not return in time to join the battle.
Said Boyar is also from the same lineage as the former Vampire Queen of Kislev, and presumably has inherited some of her dark secrets (and possibly powers?). Said lineage is also historically based in Praag.
A leyline that's supposed to link Kislev city to the Forest of Shadows is actually being routed back north into Praag, where it is either powering "the Land"; the source of Ice Magic and the Ancient Widow's power base, or the Fire Spire, an unregulated research institute that brought together multiple different disciplines before its destruction by chaos sorcerers, which continues to leak magic into the surrounding area and kills any intruders.
Six days ago, a hedgewitch scried Drycha and pierced the veil she wove. In response to this she intentionally let a messenger escape the forest, presumably hoping that the Boyar would respond before the person who scried her could. It is unknown if she identified who scried her, but since we haven't heard of anything moving downstream against the Hedgewise, I think it's safe to assume she's unaware of our specific presence, even if she knows someone spied on her.
Thanks to Mathilde's warning, a large Kislev army has assembled, and will be commanded by the Tsar and his heir. This army consists of: the Kreml Guard, Winged Lancers, Ungol Horse Archers, whatever troops the City Boyars assembled, three Ice Witches, a Grey Wizard Lord, and an Gold Wizard. The army was described as consisting of three "pulks", or divisions, which is typically the size an army has to be to fend of a major chaos incursion (outside of Storms of Chaos, that is). It is not stated how big the Tsar's reinforcements are, but it's likely to be a substantial addition.
In fact, the only reason the Tsar is even making an appearance is because he's such a warhawk that the possibility of commanding three pulks in a single battle is what drew him here—anything less, and he'd have likely left the matter to the local Boyars.
... I can't help but feel that this has escalated way outside of Drycha's expectations.
- Location
- Wherever I feel like being
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Drycha, looking at the forces that are arrayed against her. "I took a calculated risk. But man am I bad at math..."
To be fair, I'm not sure you can calculate the occurrence or impact of a grey wizard interrupt in advance.
Unless you're, like, Teclis or Malekith, I guess.
... aw fuck I just realised that Coeddil is an Everchosen champion, isn't he? That's why the Four are watching—They want to see if Drycha succeeds in releasing Their champion so They can empower him.
Last edited:
Milica said it best:
Alas, this is not literally true as Boris does not yet have an actual bear to ride.
Dear Oma
Dear Oma
I hope you are doing well back at home and I do miss you and uncle Anton.
I don't know if I like the Grey college very much. I like it a little, I think, but I'm not sure if I like it a lot.
Somedays it's nice, it is fun solving the different puzzles and there is a lot of reading of hard books, I don't think I like reading the hard books, but thanks to your training I'm very good at it, and being good at it is nice.
And magic is exciting, but also scary. In sone ways more then when I didn't know anything about it. Like how [redacted] but some of the teachers are very silly in how they act. Was Lady Magister Mathilde one of the silly wizards or the scary ones? I hope she won't be one of the scary ones.
The other girls in the dorm are alright, but I think they don't like me very much. They act like they like me but it doesn't feel right. Most of [redacted] I think they know that I'm not going to be like them in how I will be doing the grey wizard thing. Like with the EIC and how Lady Weber is going to be my master, I think they think I have a gold spoon, at least I think that they think that.
I don't like [redacted] I think the priestess would be unhappy with those lessons, but I think I understand why the Grey colleges say that it's important. Does that make me a bad Shallyan?
But I really like exploring the college itself, there is so many things to find [I'm sorry madam, but there was just no way to selvage any of this part without breaking security, the little lady was explaining how she really enjoyed how much of a labyrinth the college is.]
I do kind of like how I'm allowed to do thinks in my own way, but it's kind of scary too. It was hard, but easy to just do what everyone wanted me to do before, mom, you, the EIC. If that makes sense, but the college and Lady Weber want me to make my own choices, and that's hard, but really really nice. But scary.
I hope that I will get to see you when a become Lady Weber's student. I don't want to have to wait for my journey.
The doves blessing to you
Eike
(I wanted to capture that while it's not all bad, the colleges are really not a nice or fun place a lot of the time. Mathy being very biased from her poor background and traumatic joining. I don't think Eike, with her more comfortable background and more loving family would take to the setting as well, at lest at the beginning.)
I hope you are doing well back at home and I do miss you and uncle Anton.
I don't know if I like the Grey college very much. I like it a little, I think, but I'm not sure if I like it a lot.
Somedays it's nice, it is fun solving the different puzzles and there is a lot of reading of hard books, I don't think I like reading the hard books, but thanks to your training I'm very good at it, and being good at it is nice.
And magic is exciting, but also scary. In sone ways more then when I didn't know anything about it. Like how [redacted] but some of the teachers are very silly in how they act. Was Lady Magister Mathilde one of the silly wizards or the scary ones? I hope she won't be one of the scary ones.
The other girls in the dorm are alright, but I think they don't like me very much. They act like they like me but it doesn't feel right. Most of [redacted] I think they know that I'm not going to be like them in how I will be doing the grey wizard thing. Like with the EIC and how Lady Weber is going to be my master, I think they think I have a gold spoon, at least I think that they think that.
I don't like [redacted] I think the priestess would be unhappy with those lessons, but I think I understand why the Grey colleges say that it's important. Does that make me a bad Shallyan?
But I really like exploring the college itself, there is so many things to find [I'm sorry madam, but there was just no way to selvage any of this part without breaking security, the little lady was explaining how she really enjoyed how much of a labyrinth the college is.]
I do kind of like how I'm allowed to do thinks in my own way, but it's kind of scary too. It was hard, but easy to just do what everyone wanted me to do before, mom, you, the EIC. If that makes sense, but the college and Lady Weber want me to make my own choices, and that's hard, but really really nice. But scary.
I hope that I will get to see you when a become Lady Weber's student. I don't want to have to wait for my journey.
The doves blessing to you
Eike
(I wanted to capture that while it's not all bad, the colleges are really not a nice or fun place a lot of the time. Mathy being very biased from her poor background and traumatic joining. I don't think Eike, with her more comfortable background and more loving family would take to the setting as well, at lest at the beginning.)
Last edited:
Codex
Fantasy Addict
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Coeddil was corrupted by Morghur but he isn't really chaos aligned as far as I know. Coeddil disliked Elves even before Morghur, it's just that Morghur's corruption removed his inhibitions and made him go berserk, causing him to hunt them down. I'm not really sure he'd be a candidate.
I think the reason the Gods are watching is as simple as this being a good show. My guess is that Khorne was attracted to Drycha's rage, Tzeentch to her scheming, Nurgle to her corruption and Slaanesh to her obsession.
Last edited: