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Warhammer Fantasy: Divided Loyalties - an Advisor's Quest

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veekie said:
The undead attacking our lines from the civilians literally come from necromantic timebombs.
We explicitly know it drives the target berserk before killing them and animating the corpse into an undead monster.
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I think you're greatly overrating the threat of those dhar timebomb civilians. Remember when they were first discovered that it turned out the bound spell would quickly deteriorate and couldn't last longer than a week or so, as such I doubt there's very many civilians with the timebomb treatment on them. It really seemed more like something they used just for their sleeper agents to keep them from running off at the first opportunity.

mass graves of zombies though are still a likely threat of course, assuming there's a necromancer around.
 
WorldSlayer said:
I think you're greatly overrating the threat of those dhar timebomb civilians. Remember when they were first discovered that it turned out the bound spell would quickly deteriorate and couldn't last longer than a week or so, as such I doubt there's very many civilians with the timebomb treatment on them. It really seemed more like something they used just for their sleeper agents to keep them from running off at the first opportunity.

mass graves of zombies though are still a likely threat of course, assuming there's a necromancer around.
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They couldn't last longer than a week without someone to renew the binding. That was more of a problem for their infiltrators, less so for their home base.
 
WorldSlayer said:
I think you're greatly overrating the threat of those dhar timebomb civilians. Remember when they were first discovered that it turned out the bound spell would quickly deteriorate and couldn't last longer than a week or so, as such I doubt there's very many civilians with the timebomb treatment on them. It really seemed more like something they used just for their sleeper agents to keep them from running off at the first opportunity.

mass graves of zombies though are still a likely threat of course, assuming there's a necromancer around.
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Hardly
BoneyM said:
The entire area surrounding the gatehouse is knee-deep in corpses - those of the Army of Stirland, those of the skeletal foe, and mixed in among them, what you assume were Drakenhof townsfolk.
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BoneyM said:
"The picket holds," reports the halfling, "though we've had to stop asking nicely after several of them went berserk and caused heavy casualties. Now any that try to escape are greeted with arrows, and we hope the sight of their bodies just outside the gates dissuades the innocent."
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Heavy casualties. They might be few, but their specs are nasty
 
kaeim said:
So what was the tally?
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Adhoc vote count started by Derpmind on Mar 8, 2018 at 9:40 AM, finished with 7707 posts and 75 votes.
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Assault on Drakenhof, Part 5: Thunder of Guns
  • Threadmarks
    • [*] "We have the high ground. We have artillery. We level the town hall, and any other pockets of resistance, and the infantry pushes through the rubble."

    You're tempted, oh so tempted, to let Asarnil do what he and his partner do best and turn the entire town to ash. But good sense prevails. The short conversation you had with Van Hal before... well. Before. It rings in your mind; a quote from the greatest Emperor since Sigmar, Magnus the Pious. 'If the wall is carried, then the other walls will hem in the defenders, and leave them ripe for massacre.' The wall has been carried, the defenders are hemmed in, and that means that they are, indeed, ripe for massacre.

    You gave the order and it was accepted without question; with that, your position as de facto warleader has been cemented. Perhaps if Gustav had been around longer, had cemented his position as Marshall more, he might have resisted... but then, perhaps not. You know from your investigation into him that he's well respected as a cavalry leader, and from experience that he's gifted as a teacher, but it could be that his gifts just don't extend to being military leader for an entire province. It would likely be different if, instead, the knight had been given the role, the one you accidentally knocked out in the courtyard all those years ago...

    You shake your head, resisting the pull of nostalgia, and look down at the map, hastily sketched out from what could be seen from above. Sketched notations cover it, half of them crossed out and half of the rest with several question marks after them. Fog may be within the domain of Ulgu, but the fog of war bows down to no power, and it rules over this battlefield as it does every other. At least you can tell which parts of the town are lost to the flames, both magical and mundane, and as they send twin plumes into the sky you know for sure that any element of surprise that could be had against Drakenhof Castle is lost.

    You shrug to yourself. That was the decision Van Hal made when he chose to move on the town first, and it's one you supported.

    Outside, the distant clammer of battle starts to be overlaid with the hammer of masonry; you glance outside the door to see Dwarves erecting scaffolds of wood to dangle pulleys over the battlements. It would be easier than trying to carry a cannon up a staircase, you suppose. Practically anything would be. You return to the window, trying to see the view of the city with an artilleryman's eye. The entire town is laid bare before you, though smoke and distance renders all but the closest buildings anonymous, save for a few larger landmarks; the town hall, of course, and a severely decrepit building that may have once been a church. You daresay a ballistic arc could deliver a cannonball into any building one desired. The trick, you suppose, would be in identifying the correct building.

    Do Dwarves use cannonballs in their cannon, you wonder.

    There's a knock on the door and you whirl in shock. "Ma'am?" asks the Dwarf at the door, the distinct accent of Dwarf-spoken Reikspiel lying light upon his tongue. Discounting the Slayers, he's wearing less armour than any Dwarf you've seen in this whole campaign - only a single layer of chainmail is visible, which is practically casual dress for a Dwarf. "My name is Launy of Karak Kadrin. Thori asked that I speak with you, if I'm not interrupting."

    "Not at all," you say, waving him towards the chairs, he takes one and sits, and you resist the urge to pace as you sit across from him. If you're to lead this army, you'll have to make nice with your allies.

    "I am a..." he hesitates. "The word in my tongue is Barazul; Reikspiel has no equivalent, but you could consider me an appraiser of oaths."

    "Is Zhufbar reconsidering the alliance?" you ask, alarmed. That more than anything could doom the campaign.

    "Not at all." You exhale, relieved. "What I wish to discuss is your Oaths to your fallen liege." Your thoughts must have shown on your face, because he holds up his hands conciliatorily. "Allow me to explain. You know the other name for Karak Kadrin?"

    "The Slayer Hold," you respond, trying to keep a level tone.

    "Aye, the Slayer Hold. And one of the more common reasons for a Dwarf to take the path of a Slayer is if an Oath they have taken is broken or rendered impossible. It is, of course, right and good that they do so; but not if the Oath has been fulfilled, or can still be fulfilled. And to help in this, we Barazul are called upon."

    "So..." You squeeze your eyes shut as you try to make sense of this glimpse into Dwarven psychology. "You're... worried I'm going to become a Slayer?"

    "Or some human equivalent," he says evenly. "We extend this to you as a courtesy. We witnessed your defence of your fallen liege, and have great respect for it. Some of us had taken to call you Govibarazak - she who makes an oath-stone of their liege - but with his passing, it seemed rather in poor taste."

    You grit your teeth and drum your fingers against the table, looking across it at this patient Dwarf with his neat clothes and well-groomed beard. You want to send him away, and you'd rather do anything than re-examine those events, but... Dwarves take oaths seriously. If you can get this 'appraiser' to vouch for you, it would likely keep the Dwarves happy.

    "Very well," you say.

    He nods. "Wanbarazek. What oaths bind you?"

    You take a breath. "Journeywoman's Oath to my Master. Wizard's Oath to the Grey College. The Oath of Service to Van Hal. And the Oath of Fealty as a Knight of Stirland, also to Van Hal."

    He nods thoughtfully. "Are the first two relevant to the matter at hand?"

    You consider. "The Wizard's Oath includes conditional loyalty to Elector Counts and to employers both, but it wouldn't apply here. So, no."

    "Very well. The Oath of Service. Does it call for you to physically defend his person?"

    You try to remember the wording. "No. To perform the duties given, and to work only in his interests."

    "And has he instructed you to physically defend his person?"

    You smile sadly. "He tried to talk me out of it a time or two, actually."

    The Dwarf lets you dwell for a moment, before gently continuing. "And the Oath of Fealty?"

    You close your eyes and let memory bring you back to the day that you were knighted, and the words leap to your lips as readily as when Anton taught them to you. "This day do I render homage and fealty to my Lord, the Elector Count Abelhelm Van Hal of Stirland, who will, from this day forward, be my Liege. I will remain true in all ways, serving him faithfully - this do I swear, by my life and by my Gods." You wipe at your burning eyes with a sleeve, angry at yourself. "So say I, Mathilde Weber."

    He ruminates on it. "A good Oath," he says eventually. "Nadammen - no insult is meant, an important word in such matters. Did you fight to the limit of your ability and strength, in defence of your Liege?"

    You grit your teeth. "I did."

    "Nadammen. Did you do all in your power to save his life?"

    "I did."

    "Nadammen.     Do you intend to carry out your Liege's unfinished business, as best you understand it?"

    "I will."

    "Then I judge you Nubarazeni - one who is currently Oathbound, but fulfilment of the Oath is possible. Work to fulfil the unfinished business of your fallen liege and you will be Anadgirdbarazanui, one whose Oath shall soon be fulfilled."

    "Just like that?" you ask, put off-balance.

    "Just like that," he says simply. "Your word is sufficient."

    "And that would prevent..." you wave your hand in the vague direction of any Slayers that might be left fighting. "The Slayers?"

    He smiles, a little sadly. "The Dawi are Duri, people of stone. And just like stone, if we are caught alone and struck hard enough, we can crumble. A Dwarf who has lost those closest to him can be blinded by grief, unable to see a way to fulfil his Oaths and honour those he has lost, and thus many take the Slayer Oath and seek oblivion. Honourable, but often... wasteful." He taps himself on the chest. "It is the duty of many of we who serve the Karaz Ankor to take the raw ore of our people and smelt them into azul." He smiles. "Which is both our word for metal, and for dependable Dwarves."

    You do your best to tuck away the insight into the Dwarf psyche for future thought, when you're not... distracted. "I see," you say.

    He rises to his feet. "An honour to meet. And my condolences for your Liege. He was Anaddreki - destined for greatness. It is my thought that you will finish matters here and make him go down in history as Addreki, one who achieved greatness."

    "Thank you," you say, and find that you mean it.

    ---

    When you emerge, some minutes later, the walls are busy with Dwarven engineers running to and fro. The walls already bristle with cannon facing inwards, and more are being winched up by the minute. "Weber!" one calls, and you recognize Narfi at the center of activity. He waves you over to his island of tranquillity in the midst of all this business, and you maneuver through the toing and froing to reach him. "By Morgrim, you've given us the greatest firing gallery I've ever seen. This will be the volley that any cannoneer worth his beard has dreamt of."

    "Have you got initial targets picked out?"

    "Aye, we want to maximize the carnage before the enemy figure out what's going on and go to ground." He unrolls a parchment and holds it up for you to view; it's a miniature version of the map in the tower, though annotated in runes rather than Reikspiel. "The town hall, three barricades, and two points where a demolished house will allow for a badly-needed shortcut between streets. I've got some lads putting together smoke bombs that would give off smoke of different colours, to stand out against, well..." He waves a hand at the city in general, the district still burning with Hysh-white flames and one smouldering in a more conventional fashion, as well as a dozen smaller conflagrations scattered through the city. "Dawi, are we ready?"

    "Nearly!" cries a Dwarf hurrying past under a burden of strange, conical metal objects, and you watch him go thoughtfully.

    "What are they?" you ask.

    "Ammo, of course."

    "But the shape-"

    "Er, right, you lot still use the round ones. Forget I said anything, won't you? Secrets, and all that." He doesn't seem at all sheepish about it, though. "On an entirely unrelated note, I will share the observation that an arrow flies truer than even a spherical slingstone."

    "Noted," you say, watching as another cargo of the... cannonbolts? be carried past.

    "Right, might want to cover your ears," Narfi observes, and you follow his gaze to a long line of cannon, each with a Dwarf holding up a hand to signify his readiness to fire. You cover your ears with your hands.

    [Artillery of Zhufbar: 72]

    And the world becomes noise.

    As you gingerly release your grip on the sides of your head and check your palms for blood from what must surely be your burst eardrums, the cannon crews are reloading. In the city below, massive holes have been punched in the side of the town hall, and what you presume were the houses targeted for demolition are looking much the worse for wear. And in what feels like no time at all hands are already going up along the line of cannons, and you barely get your hands over your ears as Narfi barks the order and once more noise, noise that is felt rather than heard, batters you mercilessly. You're contemplating your retreat into the tower when you feel it - the feel and taste and smell like a disturbed swamp, as the Dhar that lies thick on the ground stirs in answer to a distant call. You gather your own will, ready to counter whatever is coming...

    [Magical counter-artillery: 34]

    And wait. And keep waiting. And cover your ears as another volley is fired, and the spell is still forming. You're disgusted at the fumble-handedness of whoever it is you're facing, and only the slightest bit intrigued that Dhar has made someone so incompetent into such a threat anyway. And finally the spell is formed and you instantly spot the manifestation - sickly-green bolts of dark magic shooting from a window of the devastated town hall, flying directly towards you, and you narrow your eyes as it as you recall the lessons you suffered as an Apprentice on the art of dispelling, confident that you can smash this spell asunder-

    [Hexensohn interrupt: 40+40=80.]

    And then, with barely a flash of amethyst light, the spell is snuffed contemptuously out.

    The Dwarves saw the projectile even if it didn't reach them, and all around you cannon swivel and minute adjustments are made as almost three dozen cannon are trained on the exact window where the dark magic was so ineptly cast from. Pity attempts to surface under the contempt you feel for whoever is within that town hall, and fails.

    [Dwarven cannon volley: 77]

    The entire front of the town hall is obliterated in an instant as some thirty odd cannonbolts plunge into and through the outer walls. For an instant it stands as a cross-section of a building, and then surrenders to gravity and starts to collapse in on itself at the point where the would-be necromancer had so foolishly tried to strike back from. Whether the collapse would have been total or partial would forever be unknown to you, because the Dwarves with their characteristic thoroughness had been preparing another volley, and the structure's fate is sealed.

    You think you're starting to get used to the noise, or at least you've been deafened enough that it doesn't bother you any more.

    "Here," Narfi says, passing you his spyglass, and with some difficulty you unfurl the the unfamiliar device and peer onto the battlefield. Men are charging into the heart of the town that had been spewing forth, and a ragged and desperate charge it is; the spyglass is powerful enough that you can see bloody bandages and the hesitation in their step from here. But they charge nonetheless, their backbone partially stiffened by the knights and slayers scattered among their number.

    [Infantry push - heart of the town: 55-10(poor morale)=45 vs 83-40(devastated)=43]
    [Infantry push - hotspots: 25-10(poor morale)=15 vs 4-20(pounded)=-16]
    [Infantry push - ???: 28-10(poor morale)+40(Amethyst trio)=58 vs 20]
    [Dwarves on the walls: 53 vs 52]

    The infantry are ragged, but their enemy so much more so, and their resistance is in the form of half-shattered skeletons and a few fresh zombies. The battle is bloody and gruesome, and only your own experiences with the human body in extremis gives you the stomach to keep from looking away, but in the end flesh and steel triumph over bone and darkness, and the infantry pour into the ruins of the building. You turn your eye to the streets and the barricades that the cannons were targeting, but the action there is already over, with the barricades torn apart and the few remaining skeletons smashed apart.

    You turn your eye to the walls on either side, and find the Dwarves guarding the approaches to your position caught in desperate battle against a tide of skeletons and fresh zombies, carving a terrible toll from their numbers but being pushed back nonetheless. Narfi has already spotted this, even without his spyglass, and a hurried burst of Khazalid orders has the cannons swinging around to fire on what looks like his own men. You cringe, expecting to see the horrible carnage of friendly fire...

    [DANGER CLOSE: 97]

    But it was foolish of you to expect shoddy craftsmanship from Dwarves.

    A single cannon barks, a cannonball plucking the head neatly from a skeleton, and seconds later the Dwarves disengage and fall back a dozen paces. Their foes would take only a few seconds to reach them once more, but that is all that is needed, as every other cannon sounds as one, and in a single very loud instant a tide of lead washes the walls clean of skeleton and zombie alike.

    The Dwarves take up defensive positions once more and stamp out a straggler or two foolish enough to still be moving, but it seems the danger on the walls, much like the resistance in the town below, is finished.

    [Town Hall seized and looted: 91-40(devastated)=51]
    [Hotspots overrun: 49-20(pounded)=29]
    [Other discoveries: 88]
    [???: 1]

    The troops, freshly buoyed by victory, bring you gifts - wonderful gifts of paper, bound in leather you hope is pig. Tax records, census data, all the accumulated paperwork of centuries of functioning governance, which somehow survived unscathed despite the frankly stupendous amount of firepower that was directed at it. Also captured, and unconscious, is a man in dark black robes with skulls, actual full-size human skulls, dangling from the sash. The mind boggles.

    The results from the hotspots that, for whatever reason, the enemy attempted to defend is less grand - they received less of a pounding but whatever goodies they were protecting caught the brunt of it. Still, dead necromancers are their own reward.

    You're also brought word, as Gustav and the generals file in and report to you without even needing prompting, that the warehouses of the town have been captured intact. Inside is mostly the stored result of toiling the harsh Sylvanian soil in such amounts that feeding your army has now become a non-issue, but after taking you aside and glancing about for anyone that could overhear, Gustav drops a small pouch into your palm. Giving him a quizzical look, you pull it open and the unmistakable shine of whats inside causes your jaw to drop.

    Gold. Unworked, freshly mined gold.

    "This was all there was," he murmurs, and you're not sure whether to believe him. "But there was mining equipment too, picks and shovels and wheelbarrows and whatnot."

    Well. That complicates matters. When you've got a great deal more time on your hands, you'll have to go through every scrap of paper from the town hall and see if you can find where they've been hiding this literal gold mine of theirs.

    What also complicates matters is the sudden departure of Hexensohn and the Battle Wizards. You seek out the men that were with him, and they tell of a mad delve through tunnels underneath the town, crawling with undead. From what you can piece together, the three Amethyst Wizards seem to have been searching for something, and had commandeered a significant portion of your men in the town to fight a path through the undead. But when he found whatever it is he was looking for - a small stone structure embedded in the deepest part of the tunnels, deeper than the undead of the town above had penetrated - Hexensohn had gone in, but hadn't come out. Eventually his Battle Wizards had followed after him, and then come out again carrying their Patriarch, who was deathly pale and quite possibly dead - none of the men got a good enough look to tell. That was the last of the Battle Wizards any of the men saw, carrying Hexensohn into the darkness of the tunnels, and they had to make their own way out using chalk marks they had left in their path.

    How very confounding. And infuriating.

    At the end of the day, the town is, more or less, yours. There's still undead roaming the streets, but have seemingly lost any direction, not even attacking anyone they see. The surviving townsfolk are mostly penned up in one quarter of the town, and under heavy guard even though they seem to have stopped producing those ensorcelled berserkers. The mundane fires are under control, and the Hysh fire is at least not growing any further.

    The butcher's bill is heavy: a full quarter of the men that went into the town are dead or missing, with about the same wounded. The Greatswords appear to have been wiped out to a man, with Markus having led them into battle time and time and time again until there were none left, with Markus himself last being seen charging the town hall with only a few Slayers for company shortly before the cannons started firing. The Company of Honour, who featured heavily in the fourth wave that was supposed to support your charge into the city, are almost totally destroyed. And, of course, every single other Wizard has either died or left.

    On the bright side, the Dwarves took minimal casualties, having taken to the walls early and apart from a brief foray to come to your rescue, not having left it. The knights and halflings have taken only minor attrition. Your artillery is untouched. And Asarnil and Deathfang are as ready as ever. Kasmir still lives, though he's currently wandering the town and smashing skeletons apart in a brooding sort of way. And everyone looks to you for orders.


    Lords and Heroes
    Elector Count Abelhelm Van Hal
    Marshal Gustav von Jungfreud
    Brother Kasmir
    Journeywoman Mathilde Weber, Grey Wizard
    Magister Patriarch Viggo Hexensohn, Amethyst Wizard Lord
    Magister Sigismund Herwig, Amethyst Battle Wizard
    Magister Marike Grünberg, Amethyst Battle Wizard
    Magister Jovi Sunscryer, Light Wizard
    Asarnil the Dragonlord
    Thori Stoneheart, Dwarf Thane
    Narfi Hammerfist, Dwarf Engineer
    Giantslayer Bjorgvin, Dwarf Slayer
    Sir Markus von Pfaffbach

    Army of Stirland
    12,000 9,000 spearmen
    7,000 5,000 swordsmen
    9,000 crossbowmen
    800 pistoliers (dismounted)
    500 greatswords
    70 cannon
    20 mortars

    Throngs of Zhufbar and Karak Kadrin
    6,000 5,500 Warriors
    2,000 Miners
    4,000 Thunderers
    1,500 Quarrelers
    500 300 Slayers
    40 cannon
    30 grudge throwers
    20 organ guns

    Other
    Black Guard of Morr, 1000 900 knights
    Talabeclander Knightly Orders, 400 350 knights
    Altdorf Company of Honour, 2,500 500 infantry
    Halfling Regiments, 5,000 4,800 archers



    What is to be done with the town?
    [ ] Leave a garrison; it is now de facto Stirland, not just de jure.
    -[ ] Heavy Garrison - 10k men, 40 cannon.
    -[ ] Medium Garrison - 6k men, 20 cannon.
    -[ ] Light Garrison - 4k men, 0 cannon.
    -[ ] Other Garrison (write in)
    [ ] Nothing good can grow in such tainted soil. Burn it to the ground.
    [ ] Abandon it to fend for itself.

    What is to be done with the captured Necromancer?
    [ ] Execute him at once, before he awakens. (+1 dead necromancer, 0 risks)
    [ ] Execute him publicly, in the traditional way. Burn him at the stake. (+morale)
    [ ] Spare some attention from matters of command to wake and interrogate him. (-your leadership, ???)
    -[ ] Focusing on the 'Elector Countess'
    -[ ] Focusing on the castle and its defences
    -[ ] Focusing on the gold mine
    -[ ] Focusing on the magic he wields
    [ ] Leave him hog-tied and under very heavy guard until this campaign is over and you have the attention to spare.

    What is your next step?
    [ ] Nothing has changed. We have cannon, we have dragon. Castle Drakenhof falls.
    [ ] We are no longer the force we were. We cannot risk attacking the Castle, not with our forces so devastated and our magical support gone and the element of surprise lost. The campaign is done, we return home.


    - The Barazul are my own invention and owe nothing to existing Dwarf lore, except that it strikes me as the sort of thing Thorgrim might try to implement to try to slow the decline of the Dwarves. I also want to point out that 'Barazul' translates as both 'Understanding of Oaths' and 'Gateway to Steadfast Dwarves', because I'm pretty proud of that double meaning.
    - Yep. Another nat 1. Though considering your concerns about the man, perhaps     his nat 1 may not be considered entirely a bad thing for you.
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • That bit with the Barazul was pretty good.

    [X] Nothing has changed. We have cannon, we have dragon. Castle Drakenhof falls.

    Let's finish this. Raze Castle Drakenhof to the ground with dragonfire and guns.
     
    BoneyM said:
    The Greatswords appear to have been wiped out to a man,
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    Not quite to a man. Mathilde still stands.

    [X] Nothing has changed. We have cannon, we have dragon. Castle Drakenhof falls.
    Nothing has changed. We can't keep Drakenhof City as long as Drakenhof Castle stands, and we shall level that bloody thing.

    [X] Leave a garrison; it is now de facto Stirland, not just de jure.
    -[X] Medium Garrison - 6k men, 20 cannon.
    I honestly think a Light Garrison would be better (as every man is premium now), but I want there to be at least some cannons left behind. Probably the sort of thing that calls for a write-in, but eh. And we need to leave some garrison, otherwise taking it by means other than dragonfire was meaningless.

    [ ] Execute him publicly, in the traditional way. Burn him at the stake. (+morale)
    [X] Spare some attention from matters of command to wake and interrogate him. (-your leadership, ???)
    -[X] Focusing on the 'Elector Countess'
    Definitely one of these two. Burning at the stake is better because we already suffer a -10 from poor morale that will only drop (and remember, the difference between bein proficient and a beginner is +3), but on the other hand I really, really want a second vampire skull for our desk by the time this is over.

    [X] Nothing has changed. We have cannon, we have dragon. Castle Drakenhof falls.

    And a repeated vote just to hammer things in. That bloody castle is going down, and no accusations of sunk-cost fallacy can convince me otherwise.
     
    This is turning into an utter mess I suggest we try to finish this as fast as we can and try to get something out of it. Provisionally this is my play:

    [X] Plan Finishing it

    [X] Leave a garrison; it is now de facto Stirland, not just de jure.
    -[X] Medium Garrison - 6k men, 20 cannon.

    [X] Execute him publicly, in the traditional way. Burn him at the stake. (+morale)

    [X] Nothing has changed. We have cannon, we have dragon. Castle Drakenhof falls.

    Time to let Asarnil of the leash and let the dwarven artillery have some fun.
     
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