pucflek
Verified simpleton
- Location
- Czech Republic
I mean, no, not trading, but it does mean it could've just been raiding instead of conquest.
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.
- Location
- A Pit Of My Own Making
- Pronouns
- He/Him
- Location
- Finland
This seems like a reasonable trade.
I mean, the dark elves certainly are not going to offer not being stabbed.
- Location
- A Pit Of My Own Making
- Pronouns
- He/Him
IMPORTANT QUESTION
High Elves, Lizardmen, Tomb Kings or Vampire Counts?
Like for High Elves
Heart for Lizardmen
Lightbulb for Tomb Kings
Laugh for Vampire Counts
Edit:
Info for Skaven!
2nd Edit:
Vote over! Your votes will no longer be counted!
High Elves, Lizardmen, Tomb Kings or Vampire Counts?
Like for High Elves
Heart for Lizardmen
Lightbulb for Tomb Kings
Laugh for Vampire Counts
Edit:
Info for Skaven!
2nd Edit:
Vote over! Your votes will no longer be counted!
Last edited:
NSMS
Probably evil, unfortunately.
- Location
- A rapidly widening tear in the fabric of reality
Skaven. Always, always, Skaven, yes-yes.
K von Carstein
Likes to go for a walk
- Location
- Belgium
- Pronouns
- He
That seems more likely than outright conquest. Lustria is over the ocean, inhospitable to humans and filled with angry Lizardmen. Settra also predates the Skavens, so the scaly boys wouldn't be weakened by them. And I don't care how badass Settra is, if Mazdamundi sneezes he dies.
- Location
- A Pit Of My Own Making
- Pronouns
- He/Him
EXCELLENT POINT FRIEND-ALLY
deathofrats0808
Don’t think of it as dying; just as leaving early
- Location
- Earth
Pretty sure Settra claims dominion over Araby and goes to have a crack at conquering them every now and again. And then gets distracted or has to leave it to a subordinate who fucks it up.
These aren't actually titles. they're epithets. A bit like how Mathilde is the Dusk Rider. It's not an actual title, it's a way of referring to him. Plus, it's worth pointing out these aren't all of them, and these are taken from Total War, where they're being said by the advisor I believe. And hence are not being said by an actual Nehekharan. They're also a bit of a joke, which is why stuff like "Slayer of Redditras" is in there.
Elements and such don't really work to draw parallels with the Ellinilli. They're defined by being aspects of destruction, rather than by how they bring about that destruction.
I tend to think of Settra as more entitled than arrogant. He believes the world belongs to him because of all the great stuff he's done, rather than because of who he is. Not sure if the distinction matters to other people, but still.
The Great Desert was caused by Nagash casting a ritual to kill everything in Nehekhara. And possibly exacerbated due to the breaking of Settra's pact with the gods. The Waystone network had nothing to do with it. Not to mention, Settra would want his country fixed, but mostly likely wants himself fixed first.
- Location
- Australia
To be fair, Settra is the guy who says "The gods bow. To me."
- Pronouns
- It/Its
Why would Settra want to be a god? He was above them
- Location
- Europa, Jupiter Orbit
The speculation I was thinking of was whether they were previously unknown Ellinilli survivors or if they were versions of the known Ellinilli survivors. If they aren't destructive enough to be Ellinilli in general then the whole theory doesn't work.
That said, Ursun, Tor and the Ancient Widow could definitely be aspects of destruction that later got a few more portfolios and maybe even mellowed down a bit. Dahz is more of a stretch due to his pro-social myth and personality, otherwise I'd peg him as Addaioth.
deathofrats0808
Don’t think of it as dying; just as leaving early
- Location
- Earth
Ah, I see. I don't think they match with the known Ellinilli in any way. Ursun is Bears and Strength (and also Kislev), Dazh comes close to Addaioth with both having Fire, but also has the Sun, rather than Wrath, the Widow is usually presented as the spirit of Kislev IIRC but has associations with Ice and arguably some form of Rulership, and Tor is Thunder and Lightning and to some degree Warriors. None of the known survivors really match any of those. Addaioth/Dazh is definitly the closest, and come across as very different beings.
Last edited:
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
The Gods of Nehekara are like the one group Settra seemed willing to concede to, considering he sacrificed his kids to get them on side.
Masters of Undeath
Zedman7054
Eternally 3rd
- Location
- United States
Masters of Undeath
Omake
The scent of rot and the roar of rusted arms announced the arrival of his foul parade, a discordant orchestra of the dead enslaved to his will which brought what could be mistaken as a grin on his grim features. The Founder of Necromancy, the Usurper, and the Lord of Undeath Nagash walked the world once more. Brought back to unlife by a profane ritual performed by imbeciles who idealized and coveted the power to destroy.
Something had to be done.
The timing couldn't have been worse either. Word from the North said Kisliv was destroyed by a tide of beastmen, cultists, and daemons while Brettonia had apparently lost the entire city of Bordeleaux. And the less said about Tilia and Estalia the better. And now a jumped up skeleton was leading an army of the undead to wage war against the world.
It was a busy year.
The witch's approach was not subtle. Riding upon a nervous horse she aimed not just for the head of the army, but the great necromancer himself. It spoke of many things. Confidence perhaps. Or recklessness. All would soon find out.
The horde of bones and rotting flesh parted before their liege like an ocean as he strode forward to meet either another enemy to crush before his might or another feckless fan aiming to join him and learn his ways.
As the two met, their eyes unwaveringly aimed at their opposite, the woman closed the book in her hand and dismounted, sending her steed off with a single slap on the rump.
"So, you dare to approach me?"
"I can't exactly kill you without getting closer."
The two stepped forward and Mortis, the black sword of death, was brought down of the witch's head only for her to launch forward as a steed of shadow formed below her and throw the two of them under his strike, which hammered uselessly into the dirt. The undead king twists, just in time to be stunned as a massive sword appears from thin air directly into the witch-knight's hand to be swung into his side, the supernatural force of the blow cracking bone and throwing the wight-king off balance.
Both warriors reset, the mounted sword-wielding witch lining up for another pass while the ancient undead merely straightened up, passing a silent command through his army, a rustle of creaking bone and rusted armor heralding their encirclement of the pair.
"You certainly are a surprise. Don't think you can catch me unaware though. That book you have, I can feel the taint from here. So familiar, yet lesser. That tome is steeped in the words I once wrote in my Nine Books." The haunting visage of the king twists, the jaw creaking as honest amusement draws it into a grin. "Are you sure you don't wish to join my march? The lessons you learned from such a petty work is nothing compared to what I could teach you."
A dozen thrown blades of solid shadow are answer enough, but the woman does deign to speak. "I've learned everything I needed to from this book."
She charges once more but another silent command over the dead has them literally jump into her way, spears and swords stabbing and swinging wildly to arrest her momentum or to even kill her, Alakanash, his staff of power, is raised high, charging a spell, only to be countered by another barrage of shadow knives digging deep into his robes. The woman bears a staff of her own, a miasma of twisting darkness swallowing his troops, their movement slowed and allowing the ethereal steed to easily crush their bodies into the ground as the massive blade sweeps through the mob around her, a dozen plus cut down with every swing of the blade, chips of bone and steel sent flying.
Mortis once more flies, meeting the blade of what was now clearly of Dwarven-make. The swords clash once, twice, and on the third time instead of meeting the witch moves out of the way, dodging the blow as the sword disappears. It's just for a moment, a heartbeat for the woman, as her body shifts and the blade returns and in the same movement swung into his wound, shattering the enchanted bone.
This time instead of seeking distance she presses the attack, mixing normal sword blows with her disappearing blade trick, conjured blades of the wind of shadow thrown and wielded in equal measure added as well. But Nagash was no mere conjurer of cheap tricks but a mighty warrior in his own right. Mortis and Alakanash were brought to bear to beat this quickly growing nuisance as his undead swarmed the two of them, a noose inevitably tightening around his enemies throat.
Nagash watched with glee as the Witch tried, it was one thing to fight him, and perhaps if the two of them had fought in a vacuum she might have lasted longer, but no battle was ever fought perfectly and even as she made an admirable effort to avoid or counter the sure death of being struck by his sword, the blow of Alakanash's head into her chest and the constant rain of strikes from his undead began to reap their toll as enchanted robes began to tear and blood began to seep into the cloth.
Undead on every side and Mortis raised high the Witch grimaces and the Winds shift. A coin flips. A mist gathers and when it's swept aside by his staff the woman is gone, but not far.
His army forms around him, a mass of bone and metal arranged into a formation around him, the thumps of his further undead monsters finally catching up to the fight, and whatever chance the Witch had of killing him was gone. She'd never get close enough to him again, not with an ocean of bone to overcome.
The battle was over. A shame. Perhaps she'd have made a fair apprentice. Well, she'd make just as fine addition to army.
Then she draws the book from the straps at her waist. She pauses for a moment then opens it to a certain page. Is she really going to try to use his art to, what, steal his army from underneath him?
She breathes, and slams the book shut. The world erupts into green and heat.
Thoughts swirl in Mathilde's mind. Is she dead? Is Nagash dead? Will the ringing in her ears ever go away? The pain answers the first question at least. Surely being dead couldn't possibly be this painful.
With a grunt she forces herself into a hunch and stares numbly at the massive crater she's sitting in. Her blistered skin, glowing red and a worrying green in places, hangs loosely on her as the Seed of Rebirth regrows the replacement skin underneath. With disgust she claws at the dead, and possibly radioactive, skin, tearing it off.
With that necessary gross work done, Mathilde turns her attention to the deepest part of the crater.
Sliding down, her robe catching on the odd piece of bone or metal haphazardly buried, she finds half-buried the melted form of the Undying King. A name well suited, as even destroyed as he was his head turns and regards her. The ridiculous hat on his head is gone, hopefully disintegrated from the Dhar explosion, and even with an eye socket melted shut with liquid bone still drooping he casts an aura of menace and death.
A haunting wind blows and it takes Mathilde a minute to realize it's actually coming from Nagash himself, an evil glare leveled at her from his still good eye...socket, "Wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhoooooooooooooooo..."
"My name is Mathilde Weber. Lady Magister of the Grey College of Altdorf, in the service of Emperor Mandred and the Empire of Sigmar. And I'm going to do a better job of making sure you stay dead than the last guy."
And with that Moonlit Wit jumps into her hand and is plunged tip first into the skeleton's oversized head, pulverizing it.
Drawing forth the Liber Mortis with one hand she raises the Staff of Mistery in the other and forms a ring of fog in the crater, and then another, and another, corralling it and forming aethyic symbols in the air and Winds alike, stretching it over the breadth of crater, a maze of shadow impossible to navigate to anyone other that it's caster. A labyrinth capable of trapping even the soul of the greatest necromancer in the world.
Then she draws it tight, the magic fog condensing into a trillion blades over her, and she feels when they catch onto the invisible presence that could only be the soul of the most stubborn man to ever be born.
She lowers her staff, planting it in the sternum of the corpse below her, and now raises the Liber Mortis high, aiming it right at where her prey is caught. There's a myriad of ways she could deal with a soul armed with her knowledge of necromancy, she could even try to force him into her own service, though she just barely considers that idea. Instead she destroys it. Rips it apart with Ulgu, Shyish, and Dhar. Into fragments, into pieces of pieces such that it would take millennia, if ever, to reconstitute into a proper soul again. And then, to make certain she binds a handful of pieces into random items she finds on the battlefield to be handed off to the Dwarves and maybe to the human cults as well for safekeeping. The Amethyst wind clings to her, drawn to the slayer of their Incarnate
Her work complete, Mathilde climbs out the pit, breathing heavily from everything, for the first time seeing the unburied graveyard around her. A horde to destroy the world of the living and the hands of the greatest undead ever to cheat death. Ulgu and Shyish bite and claw at each other, neither capable of relinquishing their claim.
An army of undead. The greatest ever risen, made of undead kings and their greatest warriors, the soldiers of a thousand armies slain as long ago as thousands of years ago and as recently as last week. Humans, Ogres, and Halflings. Gors and Ungors, Centigors and Cygors. Giants. Dragons. Where the two winds clash, their vestiges mix and muddle.
The thoughts can't leave her mind. What was she thinking about before? A Chaos Invasion from the North? The greatest seen since Asavar Kul, possibly even surpassing it, and led by an Everchosen? Entire nations destroyed by them and the Skaven? That the End Times had come? Remnants of Dhar, blown into the air from the explosion settle around the battlefield, fed by the ongoing war of the winds of shadow and death.
The wielder of the Liber Mortis looks out onto a sea of the dead and takes note of the eddies in the Winds around her. She wouldn't lack for power. If she was already a traitor for using the secrets of Dhar to end one threat to the Empire, was there a reason to not do it again? Pale hands clasp her book, as she makes her decision.
Omake
The scent of rot and the roar of rusted arms announced the arrival of his foul parade, a discordant orchestra of the dead enslaved to his will which brought what could be mistaken as a grin on his grim features. The Founder of Necromancy, the Usurper, and the Lord of Undeath Nagash walked the world once more. Brought back to unlife by a profane ritual performed by imbeciles who idealized and coveted the power to destroy.
Something had to be done.
The timing couldn't have been worse either. Word from the North said Kisliv was destroyed by a tide of beastmen, cultists, and daemons while Brettonia had apparently lost the entire city of Bordeleaux. And the less said about Tilia and Estalia the better. And now a jumped up skeleton was leading an army of the undead to wage war against the world.
It was a busy year.
The witch's approach was not subtle. Riding upon a nervous horse she aimed not just for the head of the army, but the great necromancer himself. It spoke of many things. Confidence perhaps. Or recklessness. All would soon find out.
The horde of bones and rotting flesh parted before their liege like an ocean as he strode forward to meet either another enemy to crush before his might or another feckless fan aiming to join him and learn his ways.
As the two met, their eyes unwaveringly aimed at their opposite, the woman closed the book in her hand and dismounted, sending her steed off with a single slap on the rump.
"So, you dare to approach me?"
"I can't exactly kill you without getting closer."
The two stepped forward and Mortis, the black sword of death, was brought down of the witch's head only for her to launch forward as a steed of shadow formed below her and throw the two of them under his strike, which hammered uselessly into the dirt. The undead king twists, just in time to be stunned as a massive sword appears from thin air directly into the witch-knight's hand to be swung into his side, the supernatural force of the blow cracking bone and throwing the wight-king off balance.
Both warriors reset, the mounted sword-wielding witch lining up for another pass while the ancient undead merely straightened up, passing a silent command through his army, a rustle of creaking bone and rusted armor heralding their encirclement of the pair.
"You certainly are a surprise. Don't think you can catch me unaware though. That book you have, I can feel the taint from here. So familiar, yet lesser. That tome is steeped in the words I once wrote in my Nine Books." The haunting visage of the king twists, the jaw creaking as honest amusement draws it into a grin. "Are you sure you don't wish to join my march? The lessons you learned from such a petty work is nothing compared to what I could teach you."
A dozen thrown blades of solid shadow are answer enough, but the woman does deign to speak. "I've learned everything I needed to from this book."
She charges once more but another silent command over the dead has them literally jump into her way, spears and swords stabbing and swinging wildly to arrest her momentum or to even kill her, Alakanash, his staff of power, is raised high, charging a spell, only to be countered by another barrage of shadow knives digging deep into his robes. The woman bears a staff of her own, a miasma of twisting darkness swallowing his troops, their movement slowed and allowing the ethereal steed to easily crush their bodies into the ground as the massive blade sweeps through the mob around her, a dozen plus cut down with every swing of the blade, chips of bone and steel sent flying.
Mortis once more flies, meeting the blade of what was now clearly of Dwarven-make. The swords clash once, twice, and on the third time instead of meeting the witch moves out of the way, dodging the blow as the sword disappears. It's just for a moment, a heartbeat for the woman, as her body shifts and the blade returns and in the same movement swung into his wound, shattering the enchanted bone.
This time instead of seeking distance she presses the attack, mixing normal sword blows with her disappearing blade trick, conjured blades of the wind of shadow thrown and wielded in equal measure added as well. But Nagash was no mere conjurer of cheap tricks but a mighty warrior in his own right. Mortis and Alakanash were brought to bear to beat this quickly growing nuisance as his undead swarmed the two of them, a noose inevitably tightening around his enemies throat.
Nagash watched with glee as the Witch tried, it was one thing to fight him, and perhaps if the two of them had fought in a vacuum she might have lasted longer, but no battle was ever fought perfectly and even as she made an admirable effort to avoid or counter the sure death of being struck by his sword, the blow of Alakanash's head into her chest and the constant rain of strikes from his undead began to reap their toll as enchanted robes began to tear and blood began to seep into the cloth.
Undead on every side and Mortis raised high the Witch grimaces and the Winds shift. A coin flips. A mist gathers and when it's swept aside by his staff the woman is gone, but not far.
His army forms around him, a mass of bone and metal arranged into a formation around him, the thumps of his further undead monsters finally catching up to the fight, and whatever chance the Witch had of killing him was gone. She'd never get close enough to him again, not with an ocean of bone to overcome.
The battle was over. A shame. Perhaps she'd have made a fair apprentice. Well, she'd make just as fine addition to army.
Then she draws the book from the straps at her waist. She pauses for a moment then opens it to a certain page. Is she really going to try to use his art to, what, steal his army from underneath him?
She breathes, and slams the book shut. The world erupts into green and heat.
Thoughts swirl in Mathilde's mind. Is she dead? Is Nagash dead? Will the ringing in her ears ever go away? The pain answers the first question at least. Surely being dead couldn't possibly be this painful.
With a grunt she forces herself into a hunch and stares numbly at the massive crater she's sitting in. Her blistered skin, glowing red and a worrying green in places, hangs loosely on her as the Seed of Rebirth regrows the replacement skin underneath. With disgust she claws at the dead, and possibly radioactive, skin, tearing it off.
With that necessary gross work done, Mathilde turns her attention to the deepest part of the crater.
Sliding down, her robe catching on the odd piece of bone or metal haphazardly buried, she finds half-buried the melted form of the Undying King. A name well suited, as even destroyed as he was his head turns and regards her. The ridiculous hat on his head is gone, hopefully disintegrated from the Dhar explosion, and even with an eye socket melted shut with liquid bone still drooping he casts an aura of menace and death.
A haunting wind blows and it takes Mathilde a minute to realize it's actually coming from Nagash himself, an evil glare leveled at her from his still good eye...socket, "Wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhoooooooooooooooo..."
"My name is Mathilde Weber. Lady Magister of the Grey College of Altdorf, in the service of Emperor Mandred and the Empire of Sigmar. And I'm going to do a better job of making sure you stay dead than the last guy."
And with that Moonlit Wit jumps into her hand and is plunged tip first into the skeleton's oversized head, pulverizing it.
Drawing forth the Liber Mortis with one hand she raises the Staff of Mistery in the other and forms a ring of fog in the crater, and then another, and another, corralling it and forming aethyic symbols in the air and Winds alike, stretching it over the breadth of crater, a maze of shadow impossible to navigate to anyone other that it's caster. A labyrinth capable of trapping even the soul of the greatest necromancer in the world.
Then she draws it tight, the magic fog condensing into a trillion blades over her, and she feels when they catch onto the invisible presence that could only be the soul of the most stubborn man to ever be born.
She lowers her staff, planting it in the sternum of the corpse below her, and now raises the Liber Mortis high, aiming it right at where her prey is caught. There's a myriad of ways she could deal with a soul armed with her knowledge of necromancy, she could even try to force him into her own service, though she just barely considers that idea. Instead she destroys it. Rips it apart with Ulgu, Shyish, and Dhar. Into fragments, into pieces of pieces such that it would take millennia, if ever, to reconstitute into a proper soul again. And then, to make certain she binds a handful of pieces into random items she finds on the battlefield to be handed off to the Dwarves and maybe to the human cults as well for safekeeping. The Amethyst wind clings to her, drawn to the slayer of their Incarnate
Her work complete, Mathilde climbs out the pit, breathing heavily from everything, for the first time seeing the unburied graveyard around her. A horde to destroy the world of the living and the hands of the greatest undead ever to cheat death. Ulgu and Shyish bite and claw at each other, neither capable of relinquishing their claim.
An army of undead. The greatest ever risen, made of undead kings and their greatest warriors, the soldiers of a thousand armies slain as long ago as thousands of years ago and as recently as last week. Humans, Ogres, and Halflings. Gors and Ungors, Centigors and Cygors. Giants. Dragons. Where the two winds clash, their vestiges mix and muddle.
The thoughts can't leave her mind. What was she thinking about before? A Chaos Invasion from the North? The greatest seen since Asavar Kul, possibly even surpassing it, and led by an Everchosen? Entire nations destroyed by them and the Skaven? That the End Times had come? Remnants of Dhar, blown into the air from the explosion settle around the battlefield, fed by the ongoing war of the winds of shadow and death.
The wielder of the Liber Mortis looks out onto a sea of the dead and takes note of the eddies in the Winds around her. She wouldn't lack for power. If she was already a traitor for using the secrets of Dhar to end one threat to the Empire, was there a reason to not do it again? Pale hands clasp her book, as she makes her decision.
***
Invisitext Alert: There is transparent text in this omakeSo I was inspired by all that talk about Nagash last week, and had this neat idea of Mathilde, wielder of the Liber Mortis, fighting Nagash the founder of Necromancy and decided I had to write it. Originally I had this segment planned where Mathilde stole some of Nagash's undead and the two of them fought a battle of destroying and raising each other's undead, like a battle between two bodies of water pushing and pulling on each other. But I didn't want to drag the battle out too much, and also seeing as how Mathilde has never used or even practiced necromancy it didn't feel like fighting THE necromancer in his own art would be a fair fight. So instead I just cut that and went to the simple solution for dealing with an undead necromancer that you can't kill but is surrounded by, if you know how, extremely volatile undead. Boom. And then of course a character like Nagash can't just be killed by something impersonal like that so he gets Branulhune shoved through his skull and a made-up-on-the-spot ritual to make sure he can't come back again(TM).
And then of course, what's the wielder of the Liber Mortis to do with an army of the undead and an army of beings she wants dead to do?
Invisitext spoilers
I wanted a quick nod to the fact that in the End Times Nagash was the Incarnate of Shyish, and it tied nicely with my idea of Mathilde being put in a compromised headspace due to using and being exposed to a lot of Dhar putting down Nagash. Besides, if any Wind could be won over by killing the most qualified person, then it would be Shyish. Which is a problem because being human and attuned to Ulgu, becoming the Incarnate of another Wind is probably a breeding ground for Dhar.
The Dhar itself, internally formed and externally excavated, was also the reason why Mathilde is so tempted to use Necromancy and revive Nagash's army under her control to use it against the Everchosen and the Skaven.
And yes, that was a Jojo's reference.
And then of course, what's the wielder of the Liber Mortis to do with an army of the undead and an army of beings she wants dead to do?
Invisitext spoilers
I wanted a quick nod to the fact that in the End Times Nagash was the Incarnate of Shyish, and it tied nicely with my idea of Mathilde being put in a compromised headspace due to using and being exposed to a lot of Dhar putting down Nagash. Besides, if any Wind could be won over by killing the most qualified person, then it would be Shyish. Which is a problem because being human and attuned to Ulgu, becoming the Incarnate of another Wind is probably a breeding ground for Dhar.
The Dhar itself, internally formed and externally excavated, was also the reason why Mathilde is so tempted to use Necromancy and revive Nagash's army under her control to use it against the Everchosen and the Skaven.
And yes, that was a Jojo's reference.
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- Pronouns
- It/Its
the good ending
My assumption is that Tor, Dazh, and Ursun are all ellinilli whose elven names have been forgotten. As for the Ancient Widow… has it ever been established who the ellinilli's mother was?
Mopman43
Mountain-Hermit of Nitpeak
- Location
- Vermont
The Widow's relationship to Dazh, Tor, and Ursun has been stated to be that of a sibling by Liljana.
Also, Ellinil followed the "bud parts of myself off as new gods" route, not the "look, it's like we're biological" route. So no mother necessarily involved.
Clearly the Ellellells had to lay low to survive for so long that they managed to acquire some metaphorical/literal chill, and then they poked the peoples who would become Kislev.
dinomannitro6
all your gender is belong to us
- Location
- The Land Where The Sunflowers Bloom
I doubt it will be the last.
shepsquared
Erratic Aussie
- Location
- Melbourne, Australia
Same here and I just realised - is it possible the initial animosity between Maximilian and Johann come from Johan leaning on him to keep his status as a magister quiet? Or did Max's tendency to dramatically bounce off groups until he finds someone who can work with him mean he never noticed Johan was gilded, let alone a magister?
I doubt it will be the last.
somewhatLazy
Serial Procrastinator
- Location
- lurking
Just finished reading through today too, though I personally dropped the quest sometime after Laurelorn (I watched but all the updates and WoGs just absolutely flooded my inbox) so it's been a pleasure to catch up on Alberich and Athel Loren. Especially Alberich, after so long as just references in the first part of the quest.
I doubt it will be the last.
By the way, what's the thread theories on what was going on with Karag Dum? Cor-Dum patted Borek affectionately which is entirely out of character for him, so I think it can't be something as simple as a daemon-binding or an illusion affecting Cor-Dum's perceptions.
Side note, but that ranger going "Karag fucking Dum" was so funny to me.
- Location
- Earth
I'm hoping we can get Liminal Pathways books sometime. It includes Beast-Paths, so hopefully that can shed some extra light on how the hell Morghur got there in the first place. That, and backfilling and/or expanding the Beastmen section of our library.
Anyway, @Boney, are we allowed to get books on Beastmen from the Library of Mournings? On one hand, they're often brought up in a military context, but on the other hand, I don't see any way of weaponizing that knowledge against the Eonir without someone getting executed for dabbling in dark arts.
Anyway, @Boney, are we allowed to get books on Beastmen from the Library of Mournings? On one hand, they're often brought up in a military context, but on the other hand, I don't see any way of weaponizing that knowledge against the Eonir without someone getting executed for dabbling in dark arts.
TimEd
Meteor maker
I like how this bit is invisitexted as well.