Mopman43
Mountain-Hermit of Nitpeak
- Location
- Vermont
Actually, the Lore of Dhar is only used by Dark Elves on tabletop, not by Chaos.
Warhammer Fantasy: Divided Loyalties - an Advisor's Quest
- Thread starter Boney
- Start date
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- Tags
- warhammer warhammer fantasy fantasy be gay do crimes (gay) female protagonist pansexual protagonist ck2 quest divided loyalties mountain vietnam ranald is real this is a dwarf quest (dwarfs) this is maybe an elf quest this is not a vampire quest this is not an empire quest try it and find out open voting
Voted best in category in the Users' Choice awards.
Actually, the Lore of Dhar is only used by Dark Elves on tabletop, not by Chaos.
Parabola
Divided Loyalties Librarian
- Location
- The Destination of Fate
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I know that's how it is in the tabletop, but in the RP, your run-of-the-mill cultist can use Dhar too, even if not to Battle Magic levels.
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Mopman43
Mountain-Hermit of Nitpeak
- Location
- Vermont
The same would be true of vampires, though. I don't see how that's significant, the Lore of Dark Magic isn't more associated with Chaos than Vampires.
- Location
- Outside the Box
- Pronouns
- She/Her
It's not just a +20. (Well, two +20s, to be accurate.) The Gambler has narrative effects, and we've often has Ranald's direct intervention to prevent or mitigate magical accidents in the past.
I hate to be selfish here, but those rituals wouldn't have been personally risky to Mathilde herself like experimenting with AV is.
Parabola
Divided Loyalties Librarian
- Location
- The Destination of Fate
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I did say it was really unlikely. I'm spitballing here. There's very few other times where we could have unknowingly faced off against a Chaos cult. I do believe all the other possibilities have been brought up: the problems with the canal, the Skull River ambush.
Or, of course, we're reading too much in a very clear GM-being-ambiguous statement. But purely for purposes of speculation, it's a possibility.
True. Ranald's blessing was important for securing the Asp in the first place and preventing it from harming Mathilde when it first made its rolls, and then again when we were first investigating AV.
I'd be in general agreement of slowing down just a bit with magical research which we know is dangerous.
We were heavily warned that the monitor was a situation where one bad die roll would end the quest. It was a peculiar situation. Given this isn't a peculiar situation and we have pretty heavy precautions, I don't think this will end the quest.
I think it will mean a series of rolls to survive/fix whatever happened, but not instant death. If we botch those rolls too, the quest could end... Like, if we also roll ones on 'how bad's the damage' and 'how well do we deal with it', then maybe the tower explodes into a warp portal and we get dragged in, but chances are pretty low. I guess we have to hope Ranald does not abandon us.
I think that what most likely happens is that short term our lab blows up, we roll to see if we get hurt, roll to see if it gets damaged. Maybe there's a demon? Maybe not. Long term, Tzeentch takes interest in the AV and pieces move to fuck with us. He could destroy the mirrorcatch box. He could hold it hostage. Or possibly he could reveal our secret and/or recreate it.
ETA: I don't think this will kill the line of inquiry, simply because I'm not sure that whether it's viable or not is up to a die roll?
That's 'True Dhar', which is a different thing from the ordinary lore of dark magic, which is different from the lore of Chaos.
I believe the distinction is that dark magic is mashing winds together to achieve effects, whereas True Dhar is, as the name suggests, channeling pure Dhar. A Dark Magic user starts with the eight winds, they just don't care if Dhar happens. Whereas a Sorceress is taking existing Dhar and directly controlling it.
Lore of Chaos is what Dark Magic does but you have Chaos helping you along. Or maybe it's Divine Magic, but Chaos. Or both.
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Didn't we kill that one dude that was previously the elector count of Stirland that sent himself to the Warp by accident? If we're looking for chaos cults, it feels like there could have been one involved with him, whether before or after his accident. He had to find out about the ritual he was using *somehow* anyways. And after he got back it would have made sense for him to go recruiting. Though maybe that event was after the 'that you know about' comment.
So, is there a reason we're spoilering everything for a dozen pages besides boney putting the original roll in a spoiler box?
Mopman43
Mountain-Hermit of Nitpeak
- Location
- Vermont
And Doombolt is part of "True Dhar", that's the Lore it's in.
@BaseDeltaZero whether or not a line of inquiry may not be up to the dice, but Mathilde's competence is certainly up to that. Maybe she is just pants at whatever she might have in another life done differently and since it was a 1 on her first action it is irredeemable incompetence, just an anti genius that no amount of practice can fix assuming anyone would be willing to do it
deathofrats0808
Don’t think of it as dying; just as leaving early
- Location
- Earth
I mean, the Dark Elves also say that you can create True Dhar. The concept is more than a little murky honestly.
There's no one Lore of Chaos on the tabletop. There is in WFRP, but even there, there's also separate Lores for Tzeentch, Nurgle and Slaanesh. It also expicitly says Chaos Sorcerers are both Wizards and Priests, and that their Lores cannot be cleanly divided into Arcane and Divine.
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- Location
- Manchester, UK
- Pronouns
- He/They
There will be plenty of people who'd rather only find out what's in the spoiler box when the update comes around - rather than have to interpret it out-of-context and speculate about what it might mean.
Turn 40 Results - 2489.5 - Part 3 - The Architecture of Fate
There is, you discover through trial and error, a minimum amount of Vitae required for you to be able to get an adequate 'grip' on the liquid so you can attempt to squeeze it into a power stone. You're uncertain as to whether this is because of the physical properties of the Vitae changing at differing amounts or if it's simply a matter of it needing to be big enough that you can see it clearly. You end up settling on a third of a gallon as a minimum size to achieve adequate control, and after you've grown familiar with the metaphysical weight of the liquid as you enforce your will upon it, you lift it with a gesture into the air, holding it in as perfectly spherical a shape as you can. Every distortion from that perfectly round shape signifies an unevenness in the willpower pressing in on the ball from each side, and having such plainly visible feedback makes it easier to refine your control than your experiments with power stones. You settle in, take a breath, and begin to squeeze.
[Squeezing Vitae: Learning, 1+29=30.]
For quite some time it remains stubbornly inert, and you have to fight off the worry that Vitae is as incompressible as mundane fluids. But after your attention begins to waver and you turn some of your attention away from the ball of shimmering fluid you drag in your wake so you can see to biological necessities, you notice that as your attention turns elsewhere, the ball grows a small but unmistakable amount. No, not grows - it decompresses.
Reassured, you continue your vigil over the fluid and keep pushing in on what only seems to be unable to be pushed any further. With carefully-honed patience you maintain and very gradually increase the even pressure that keeps the shimmering sphere suspended in the air.
And it disappears. After a moment of befuddlement and looking around the room in case you'd somehow missed the sudden addition of a great deal of agitated Winds, you scrutinize what you just saw and felt. It's more like it drained away extremely rapidly, the pressure sharply dropping to zero instead of instantly being gone. No, not gone. Growing more distant? But your will still grasps it from every spatial dimension, doesn't it?
Well, every mundane spatial dimension. But there is another, isn't there? One you're intimately familiar with.
The Vitae burrows into the fabric of reality, flashing and sparking into magic as it begins to transform, but in the instant of its transformation the energies disappear, replaced with an absence of pushback against your will that almost causes you to stumble. In the place of the shimmering ball of Vitae is a hole orthogonal to real and about the size of your hand, a slit carved in the wall that separates life from dream. And as you circle it, you can see the empty space within, a uniform greyness of the inside of the barrier that makes life possible. You've seen that shade once before - in the Grey College, in the room without walls that reveals its existence within a liminal realm. Either you've uncovered a very small liminal realm - about two cubic meters, by your estimation - that just so happened to be where you performed this experiment, or your experiment has created it.
You peer through the hole, and begin extending the instruments you always have at hand for these sorts of experiments to gauge what's within. Temperature, normal. Air pressure, normal. Humidity, normal. Everything about the inside of this realm is entirely normal. Of all the various states of being, of the infinite variability of reality the Winds have apparently created new reality that is entirely typical for this place.
So what does that indicate? That when forced into the barrier between reality and unreality, Vitae undergoes a transformation into... what, into nothing? No, into empty space where previously there was none. There's nothing there, but there is a there there to contain that nothing, where previously it was not. How? Well, Vitae was the substance of the realm of Aethyr, so transplanted to where there was no realm, it creates some more. But what you're looking it is certainly no Aethyr in miniature, is it? Well, no, you don't know the ground state of the Aethyr, you only know it as it is with the many Gods in residence. It could be that without them, the Aethyr would just be emptiness? But isn't the Aethyr inherently psychoreactive? This little pocket you've created doesn't appear to be. So it's not mimicking the Aethyr, it's instead mimicking reality? Could it have been imbued with... reality-ness from its time as Vitae? Or was this tiny, nascent realm of Chaos overwhelmed by the weight of a much larger reality through the pinhole that the Vitae had escaped through?
No. You've tested Vitae in every way imaginable and know that it is unreactive, its nature unchanged from the moment it bled through into reality. This effect must rely on the inherent properties of the Winds it created. But that would mean that when Winds are presented with a blank slate and transform into a realm to fill it, they birth normality. But that makes no sense - the Winds are the energies of Chaos, aren't they? Well, no, not quite, that's why they're legal when Chaos Sorcery very much isn't. The Winds all represent facets of the real - life and death, light and shadow, passion and instinct, solidity and ephemerality. Mainstream theory is that this is the energies of Chaos having the nature of reality imprinted upon it when too far from the attention of the beings that command it.
And there is no weight of reality here. Your lab is magically isolated from the outside world, and the Aethyr was forced into a space between realms before it transformed. Placed equidistant between real and unreal and isolated from the pressure of existence to impose a decision upon it, Aethyr still became Winds and the Winds still retained the nature of reality.
Which means that the Winds can't be born of the mere inertia of what already is. Reality is being imposed upon Chaos by something other than reality.
[Rolling...]
"Do you know what tickles me most about all of this?" The thought arrives in your brain packaged and labelled as sound, but never existed as something so ludicrously inefficient as vibrating air. The past was simply changed so that the words had been heard. At the far side of the bubble of new space from the opening into reality, tendrils of magic wriggle through the thinned membrane that separates reality from unreality like maggots through dead flesh, and once they wriggle their way free they dissipate into will made manifest. "It's that every word I say will further excavate a warren of bad decisions that you will have to scurry your way through. Do you tell your little friends that you have thinned the one border of their reclaimed home that they cannot guard themselves? Do you tell them that you have been singled out for special attention by one of the Eyes of Tzeentch, the very one that once ensnared their brothers in the far north and began the twilight of their race?"
It took only heartbeats for you to activate the Rune that flushes the magic out of the air, but entire sentences had already manifested themselves.
"What about your little magic club? They've already fretted about this very possibility, haven't they? Can they distinguish between a few whispered words and a full ensnaring of a soul? Could they dare to take such a chance that one such as you might already be suborned when you have the trust and ear of so many? Of course not. You already know what their response would be, because you've already delivered it unto another. The blood on your hands matches that on the crown on your friend's head."
How do you ignore words you never heard in a present tense? You do your best to focus on the whisking away of magical energies, and note that none are escaping the slit in reality you have created. Of course not. Magic bleed-off is the result of inefficiency in spellcasting, and this being is beyond such limitations.
"Do you know how much effort it normally takes to craft a platter of truth and lies that will so haunt a mortal that they will spend the rest of their days trying their best to decorticate it? But you and yours who have so wonderfully usurped the Sword of Tlanxla have so twisted your own minds that I could say anything or nothing and you will dwell obligingly on it forever. If I said 'I like your hat' - and I really, really do - you will wonder, is this an example of the pettiest of statements for you to nevertheless obsess over, to demonstrate that I can command your mind through only your ears? Or am I making a deeper statement about how truly it pleases the Lord of Sorcery for a witch to wear the garb of those that would hunt her? Am I masking truth in lies, or lies in truth? Would it only be a truth if you decide it a lie, or only a lie if you decide it a truth? Or is eternal indecision that which I seek?"
Once none remains in the air, the pull of potent runecraft exerts itself on everything within the room, including yourself. It's not exactly painful to have the magical energies that have become so much a part of you drawn forcefully out, but it feels like it should be.
"The importance placed upon such pleasure, upon who has delivered them, grows by the hour. The First Betrayer sobs his fury for all to hear, knowing that the time will soon come again when he will crown one that might achieve what he could not and will never. Already the Four tally their joys and prod their servants, willing and not, knowing and not, into greater efforts. And do you know the most delightful part? That of all the promises and threats that have been whispered into the ears of the greatest and most terrible of champions, none have removed so many of their competitors from the greatest of tournaments as you."
You stride towards the slit and gather your will and what scraps of Ulgu managed to cling to your soul.
"You have heard for yourself how exquisitely cultivated the resentment within Egrimm is, and seen how convincingly soothed his ruffled feathers now appear. You have tasted the millennia of curdled hate of the Briarmaven of Woe, and struck her down when she left her beloved shadows to finally act. You have known how blind Alric is to the unsuitability that all else know and sneer at, and you have thwarted his ambitions and eliminated his last chance to claw his way back into relevancy. You have felt your blade sing as it sliced through the Elector Count that demanded respect for a title when he had no part in the killings that brought it to him, and the knowledge that the one that thwarted him is also the one that has propped up two generations of the dynasty that usurped him will burn within him until the burning is all that remains of him."
You reach forward with your soul and bury talons of willpower into the newly-created fabric of reality.
"And even now, my siblings bicker over whether you should be given credit that the brood that contained three generations of exquisite warlords that were so cleverly walked onto the precipice of apostasy, are now so utterly defeated that they will shriek and bite at any hand that reaches out for them, instead of allowing themselves to be properly usurped like their allies were."
Tendrils of the purest magic burrowing through reality seep into your now magic-starved soul and your grip on reality redoubles and redoubles again.
"Should you earn this world through right of conquest, your will here would be paramount. Not because you would be stronger than the Four, but because They want to see what you would do with it. They have worlds without counting where Their will becomes fact, and They have wrung every morsel of enjoyment out of such simple games. If you would take up the crown and with it make yourself the ultimate bulwark against Them, They would whisper and cajole and threaten and offer you every temptation to turn upon your wards, but every 'no' would be a rapturous novelty. All you'd need do to keep this world from their grasp is to stay true to your purpose. And is that not the founding purpose of your order? To be the 'no' in the darkness?"
You don't even know where to begin rejecting the strength that even the slightest wisp of the energies of the Changer of Ways has given you, and even if you could, it would render you unable to do that which needs to be done.
"Why do you think you were able to pull back so many of the generations born in Chaos from the Desolation Hold? Because the sweetest of victories was not those bludgeoned into submission and dragged off in chains, but those that would forge the chains themselves. A single sentry that walked into the darkness themselves and let the Maidens of Ecstacy have them delights the Four more than ten thousand who fight and bite and scratch and need their souls flayed down to the gristle before they obey."
Already chewed through by the tendrils of magic, it takes only a few tugs for your empowered will-claws to force the newly-formed walls of reality to buckle and pucker.
"When you can be sure of nothing else, be sure of the boredom of the Four. When they want puppets, they have as many of the likes of me as they could ever want. What they don't have is you. Should you be willing to change that, you could command any price. Every price."
Scraps of reality's bloody flesh are pushed towards you by a sudden influx of the energies of the Aethyr, but they cannot flood freely into the world, because their point of ingress is contained within a bubble in the wall, and the only egress is the size of your palm. Like debris in a suddenly-narrowing river, as soon as one part of it snags it causes a pile-up of the rest, and in a moment a portal becomes a scarred pucker, holding fast against all that would press against it. This stops the tendrils, but it cannot stop the last whisper already planted in the past.
"You cannot prevent the emergence of a Thirteenth, just as you cannot prevent the existence of Ulgu. All you can do is decide whether such a weapon should be surrendered without a fight to the whims of the vilest."
[Squeezing Vitae: Learning, 1+29=30.]
For quite some time it remains stubbornly inert, and you have to fight off the worry that Vitae is as incompressible as mundane fluids. But after your attention begins to waver and you turn some of your attention away from the ball of shimmering fluid you drag in your wake so you can see to biological necessities, you notice that as your attention turns elsewhere, the ball grows a small but unmistakable amount. No, not grows - it decompresses.
Reassured, you continue your vigil over the fluid and keep pushing in on what only seems to be unable to be pushed any further. With carefully-honed patience you maintain and very gradually increase the even pressure that keeps the shimmering sphere suspended in the air.
And it disappears. After a moment of befuddlement and looking around the room in case you'd somehow missed the sudden addition of a great deal of agitated Winds, you scrutinize what you just saw and felt. It's more like it drained away extremely rapidly, the pressure sharply dropping to zero instead of instantly being gone. No, not gone. Growing more distant? But your will still grasps it from every spatial dimension, doesn't it?
Well, every mundane spatial dimension. But there is another, isn't there? One you're intimately familiar with.
The Vitae burrows into the fabric of reality, flashing and sparking into magic as it begins to transform, but in the instant of its transformation the energies disappear, replaced with an absence of pushback against your will that almost causes you to stumble. In the place of the shimmering ball of Vitae is a hole orthogonal to real and about the size of your hand, a slit carved in the wall that separates life from dream. And as you circle it, you can see the empty space within, a uniform greyness of the inside of the barrier that makes life possible. You've seen that shade once before - in the Grey College, in the room without walls that reveals its existence within a liminal realm. Either you've uncovered a very small liminal realm - about two cubic meters, by your estimation - that just so happened to be where you performed this experiment, or your experiment has created it.
You peer through the hole, and begin extending the instruments you always have at hand for these sorts of experiments to gauge what's within. Temperature, normal. Air pressure, normal. Humidity, normal. Everything about the inside of this realm is entirely normal. Of all the various states of being, of the infinite variability of reality the Winds have apparently created new reality that is entirely typical for this place.
So what does that indicate? That when forced into the barrier between reality and unreality, Vitae undergoes a transformation into... what, into nothing? No, into empty space where previously there was none. There's nothing there, but there is a there there to contain that nothing, where previously it was not. How? Well, Vitae was the substance of the realm of Aethyr, so transplanted to where there was no realm, it creates some more. But what you're looking it is certainly no Aethyr in miniature, is it? Well, no, you don't know the ground state of the Aethyr, you only know it as it is with the many Gods in residence. It could be that without them, the Aethyr would just be emptiness? But isn't the Aethyr inherently psychoreactive? This little pocket you've created doesn't appear to be. So it's not mimicking the Aethyr, it's instead mimicking reality? Could it have been imbued with... reality-ness from its time as Vitae? Or was this tiny, nascent realm of Chaos overwhelmed by the weight of a much larger reality through the pinhole that the Vitae had escaped through?
No. You've tested Vitae in every way imaginable and know that it is unreactive, its nature unchanged from the moment it bled through into reality. This effect must rely on the inherent properties of the Winds it created. But that would mean that when Winds are presented with a blank slate and transform into a realm to fill it, they birth normality. But that makes no sense - the Winds are the energies of Chaos, aren't they? Well, no, not quite, that's why they're legal when Chaos Sorcery very much isn't. The Winds all represent facets of the real - life and death, light and shadow, passion and instinct, solidity and ephemerality. Mainstream theory is that this is the energies of Chaos having the nature of reality imprinted upon it when too far from the attention of the beings that command it.
And there is no weight of reality here. Your lab is magically isolated from the outside world, and the Aethyr was forced into a space between realms before it transformed. Placed equidistant between real and unreal and isolated from the pressure of existence to impose a decision upon it, Aethyr still became Winds and the Winds still retained the nature of reality.
Which means that the Winds can't be born of the mere inertia of what already is. Reality is being imposed upon Chaos by something other than reality.
[Rolling...]
"Do you know what tickles me most about all of this?" The thought arrives in your brain packaged and labelled as sound, but never existed as something so ludicrously inefficient as vibrating air. The past was simply changed so that the words had been heard. At the far side of the bubble of new space from the opening into reality, tendrils of magic wriggle through the thinned membrane that separates reality from unreality like maggots through dead flesh, and once they wriggle their way free they dissipate into will made manifest. "It's that every word I say will further excavate a warren of bad decisions that you will have to scurry your way through. Do you tell your little friends that you have thinned the one border of their reclaimed home that they cannot guard themselves? Do you tell them that you have been singled out for special attention by one of the Eyes of Tzeentch, the very one that once ensnared their brothers in the far north and began the twilight of their race?"
It took only heartbeats for you to activate the Rune that flushes the magic out of the air, but entire sentences had already manifested themselves.
"What about your little magic club? They've already fretted about this very possibility, haven't they? Can they distinguish between a few whispered words and a full ensnaring of a soul? Could they dare to take such a chance that one such as you might already be suborned when you have the trust and ear of so many? Of course not. You already know what their response would be, because you've already delivered it unto another. The blood on your hands matches that on the crown on your friend's head."
How do you ignore words you never heard in a present tense? You do your best to focus on the whisking away of magical energies, and note that none are escaping the slit in reality you have created. Of course not. Magic bleed-off is the result of inefficiency in spellcasting, and this being is beyond such limitations.
"Do you know how much effort it normally takes to craft a platter of truth and lies that will so haunt a mortal that they will spend the rest of their days trying their best to decorticate it? But you and yours who have so wonderfully usurped the Sword of Tlanxla have so twisted your own minds that I could say anything or nothing and you will dwell obligingly on it forever. If I said 'I like your hat' - and I really, really do - you will wonder, is this an example of the pettiest of statements for you to nevertheless obsess over, to demonstrate that I can command your mind through only your ears? Or am I making a deeper statement about how truly it pleases the Lord of Sorcery for a witch to wear the garb of those that would hunt her? Am I masking truth in lies, or lies in truth? Would it only be a truth if you decide it a lie, or only a lie if you decide it a truth? Or is eternal indecision that which I seek?"
Once none remains in the air, the pull of potent runecraft exerts itself on everything within the room, including yourself. It's not exactly painful to have the magical energies that have become so much a part of you drawn forcefully out, but it feels like it should be.
"The importance placed upon such pleasure, upon who has delivered them, grows by the hour. The First Betrayer sobs his fury for all to hear, knowing that the time will soon come again when he will crown one that might achieve what he could not and will never. Already the Four tally their joys and prod their servants, willing and not, knowing and not, into greater efforts. And do you know the most delightful part? That of all the promises and threats that have been whispered into the ears of the greatest and most terrible of champions, none have removed so many of their competitors from the greatest of tournaments as you."
You stride towards the slit and gather your will and what scraps of Ulgu managed to cling to your soul.
"You have heard for yourself how exquisitely cultivated the resentment within Egrimm is, and seen how convincingly soothed his ruffled feathers now appear. You have tasted the millennia of curdled hate of the Briarmaven of Woe, and struck her down when she left her beloved shadows to finally act. You have known how blind Alric is to the unsuitability that all else know and sneer at, and you have thwarted his ambitions and eliminated his last chance to claw his way back into relevancy. You have felt your blade sing as it sliced through the Elector Count that demanded respect for a title when he had no part in the killings that brought it to him, and the knowledge that the one that thwarted him is also the one that has propped up two generations of the dynasty that usurped him will burn within him until the burning is all that remains of him."
You reach forward with your soul and bury talons of willpower into the newly-created fabric of reality.
"And even now, my siblings bicker over whether you should be given credit that the brood that contained three generations of exquisite warlords that were so cleverly walked onto the precipice of apostasy, are now so utterly defeated that they will shriek and bite at any hand that reaches out for them, instead of allowing themselves to be properly usurped like their allies were."
Tendrils of the purest magic burrowing through reality seep into your now magic-starved soul and your grip on reality redoubles and redoubles again.
"Should you earn this world through right of conquest, your will here would be paramount. Not because you would be stronger than the Four, but because They want to see what you would do with it. They have worlds without counting where Their will becomes fact, and They have wrung every morsel of enjoyment out of such simple games. If you would take up the crown and with it make yourself the ultimate bulwark against Them, They would whisper and cajole and threaten and offer you every temptation to turn upon your wards, but every 'no' would be a rapturous novelty. All you'd need do to keep this world from their grasp is to stay true to your purpose. And is that not the founding purpose of your order? To be the 'no' in the darkness?"
You don't even know where to begin rejecting the strength that even the slightest wisp of the energies of the Changer of Ways has given you, and even if you could, it would render you unable to do that which needs to be done.
"Why do you think you were able to pull back so many of the generations born in Chaos from the Desolation Hold? Because the sweetest of victories was not those bludgeoned into submission and dragged off in chains, but those that would forge the chains themselves. A single sentry that walked into the darkness themselves and let the Maidens of Ecstacy have them delights the Four more than ten thousand who fight and bite and scratch and need their souls flayed down to the gristle before they obey."
Already chewed through by the tendrils of magic, it takes only a few tugs for your empowered will-claws to force the newly-formed walls of reality to buckle and pucker.
"When you can be sure of nothing else, be sure of the boredom of the Four. When they want puppets, they have as many of the likes of me as they could ever want. What they don't have is you. Should you be willing to change that, you could command any price. Every price."
Scraps of reality's bloody flesh are pushed towards you by a sudden influx of the energies of the Aethyr, but they cannot flood freely into the world, because their point of ingress is contained within a bubble in the wall, and the only egress is the size of your palm. Like debris in a suddenly-narrowing river, as soon as one part of it snags it causes a pile-up of the rest, and in a moment a portal becomes a scarred pucker, holding fast against all that would press against it. This stops the tendrils, but it cannot stop the last whisper already planted in the past.
"You cannot prevent the emergence of a Thirteenth, just as you cannot prevent the existence of Ulgu. All you can do is decide whether such a weapon should be surrendered without a fight to the whims of the vilest."
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infinityDivided
Prince Of Doom
- Location
- USA
...What just happened?
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Dammit man I wanted to say that
But given the title "Architecture of Fate" in line with Tzeentch's title of "Architect of Fate"…
- Location
- Earth
That Tzeentchian daemon was lecturing us on various vague things we'll pick apart later while Mathilde was trying to close the rift. For some reason the Changer was giving her extra power or something.
No char sheet changes yet, though I'm worried Mathilde got a permanent soul stain or "blessing" out of it.
No char sheet changes yet, though I'm worried Mathilde got a permanent soul stain or "blessing" out of it.
I think we got an invite to the EverchosenBowl.
Mathilde accidentally opened a gate into the Warp, or something like one, and found a daemon waiting.
She managed to seal the hole, but picked up at least one mutation in the process.
- Location
- A Pit Of My Own Making
- Pronouns
- He/Him
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaadjehebeuwbjdbehjebebbn
FUCK
FUCK
Chlof
Her Ladyship
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Oh god, we got Magnus'd
- Location
- Bretonnia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Uh... what?
MiracleGrow
Miracles for only $19.99 [They/Them]
- Location
- DOOR STUCK DOOR STUCK PLEASE I BEG U
Oh, we always were on the ever chosen ladder.
Also, I think this is the first proper interaction we had with a chaos demon, and I'm sure as fuck not disappointed.
Also, I think this is the first proper interaction we had with a chaos demon, and I'm sure as fuck not disappointed.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
How fitting considering how old this work of ours is.
Anyways, we appear to have been given the poisoned offer of using Chaos to prevent Chaos from being the worst Chaos it can be as the latest Everchosen.
Needless to say, I think everyone is genre savvy enough to recall how those things tend to go, of becoming evil to stop a greater (at the time) foretold evil.
Anyways, we appear to have been given the poisoned offer of using Chaos to prevent Chaos from being the worst Chaos it can be as the latest Everchosen.
Needless to say, I think everyone is genre savvy enough to recall how those things tend to go, of becoming evil to stop a greater (at the time) foretold evil.
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