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.
Ericwinter
Definitely not a Skaven Infiltrator
- Location
- America
Analysing the book? As I've pointed out before, there is no analysing going on, especially since it's a library, not a book. We can, and most definitely should, give him credit, maybe even have him present when we present the lot to Algard, but if he wants to continue helping sort it all out it should be on his own time. Mathilde has no reason nor ability to influence the actual usage of engineering secrets beyond obtaining them in the first place. Delegation will be key when it comes to this stuff.This was literaly Johann's job.I'm not just saying we should bring him in on analysising this book for more scenes with him you know.
- Location
- Mexico
Has he ever answered this kind of question?
- Location
- New Brunswick, NJ
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Our character sheet updated. I think all that changed was this:
Strategy - Dwarf (1/3)
Paging @Abby Normal.
Strategy - Dwarf (1/3)
Paging @Abby Normal.
He has, actually.
TaliesinSkye
Occasional Editor
- Location
- Northeast Ohio, United States
On the topic of favor for translating Queekish, in addition to College favor it wouldn't surprise me if it got us recognition or favor from Imperial intelligence and any elements in the Empire that are particularly concerned with the Skaven.
Chimeraguard
We do deserve to exist.
Just a quick omake of Kazrik's time in Under-Nuln:
You love your father as the greatest gift the world has ever given you. For all his unsubtle suggestions may be an endless cause of embarrassment, that same demeanor of his is what has left your entire life filled with good cheer, loving siblings, and no small amount of entertainment. Even the Longbeards of Karak Azul will temporarily halt their grumbling and say that his presence has left the Karak a happier and safer place than before his time, before promptly returning to grumbling with a new topic about how everyone else in the Karaz Ankor who speak of the constant threat of the Grobi must be doing it wrong.
Still, you must consider, as you find yourself fighting in the tunnels underneath Nuln instead of in the Imperial Gunnery School's hall negotiating on cannon and mortar purchases in favor of Eight Peaks over Middenland or Nordland like your King assigned you, that you may just be too much your father's son.
"Hold! Hold! Remember your oaths and not a step backwards!" The champion of the Elector Count's Hammerers (or maybe Sworders? They're not using hammers after all) roars out as another wave of Stormvermin advances over the corpses of the preceding Skavenslaves and Clanrats. A bolt in the eye drops one, a bullet fromKing Count (Why Count? What are they supposed to be counting anyway?) von Liebwitz's pistol kills another, but the rest hurl themselves forward against the manling bodyguards, pitting halberds against good full plate (you can see the proper Dawi craft on it) and the massive blades the manling bodyguards wield in place of hammers. Three more of the constantly dwindling manlings die to crude Thagorakki metal, but the Stormvermin fare far worse, losing a dozen of their number.
But it's not enough, seeing how most of the manlings are either dead further down the tunnel, and the 'line' has enough holes that you're shooting past it, and the damn rats are scurrying through it to get at you, the Elector Count with a jezzail bullet through his leg and half a hand missing courtesy of a lucky Stormvermin, and a couple of priestesses to some Manling Ancestor Goddess (Shallya, you think they said?) are facing the task of both treating his injuries, and making sure he's good enough to move every time there's a break in the attacks.
The crack of a rifle shot, a flash of green light, a spurt of blood, and another manling guard toppling to the ground dead is enough to confirm that the Skaven have brought up another jezzail. You track the shot from the distinctive green smoke and put a bolt past the shieldbearer and through the killer's head. From the squeal and clatter of dropped equipment, it seems the rat's partner decided to instead of wait for another riflerat. He's quickly followed by the last few Stormvermin, who, with eight from every ten of their number dead, decide to engage on the standard Skaven tactic of running away.
Another minute or so of pulling back at last brings you close enough to the rest of the Manling army to receive reinforcements. A company of 'Nuln Ironsides' you think, who seem to be the only other manling soldiers, and certainly the only ranged soldiers who wear anything close to a sensible amount of armor. A pair rush to their Count's side while the rest reinforce the few surviving not-Hammerers, a volley from their handguns convincing what was about to be the next wave of advancing Skaven to think better of it.
For his part, Konstantin is too busy cursing and being dragged to somewhere safe to hold much of a conversation, but he does meet your eyes and give both a nod and a mouthed 'thank you' beforehand.
Still, two days later, when a paper bearing the Elector Count's personal seal allowing you the first purchase of damn near every spare cannon and mortar Nuln expects to forge in the next few months is gifted to you, and another paper bearing the seals of both the Emperor and Konstantin announcing the creation of a branch of the Imperial Gunnery School in Eight Peaks arrives a month later, you ponder whether it might be best not to explain to King Belegar exactly how you got the Elector Count of Wissenland to be so generous.
You love your father as the greatest gift the world has ever given you. For all his unsubtle suggestions may be an endless cause of embarrassment, that same demeanor of his is what has left your entire life filled with good cheer, loving siblings, and no small amount of entertainment. Even the Longbeards of Karak Azul will temporarily halt their grumbling and say that his presence has left the Karak a happier and safer place than before his time, before promptly returning to grumbling with a new topic about how everyone else in the Karaz Ankor who speak of the constant threat of the Grobi must be doing it wrong.
Still, you must consider, as you find yourself fighting in the tunnels underneath Nuln instead of in the Imperial Gunnery School's hall negotiating on cannon and mortar purchases in favor of Eight Peaks over Middenland or Nordland like your King assigned you, that you may just be too much your father's son.
"Hold! Hold! Remember your oaths and not a step backwards!" The champion of the Elector Count's Hammerers (or maybe Sworders? They're not using hammers after all) roars out as another wave of Stormvermin advances over the corpses of the preceding Skavenslaves and Clanrats. A bolt in the eye drops one, a bullet from
But it's not enough, seeing how most of the manlings are either dead further down the tunnel, and the 'line' has enough holes that you're shooting past it, and the damn rats are scurrying through it to get at you, the Elector Count with a jezzail bullet through his leg and half a hand missing courtesy of a lucky Stormvermin, and a couple of priestesses to some Manling Ancestor Goddess (Shallya, you think they said?) are facing the task of both treating his injuries, and making sure he's good enough to move every time there's a break in the attacks.
The crack of a rifle shot, a flash of green light, a spurt of blood, and another manling guard toppling to the ground dead is enough to confirm that the Skaven have brought up another jezzail. You track the shot from the distinctive green smoke and put a bolt past the shieldbearer and through the killer's head. From the squeal and clatter of dropped equipment, it seems the rat's partner decided to instead of wait for another riflerat. He's quickly followed by the last few Stormvermin, who, with eight from every ten of their number dead, decide to engage on the standard Skaven tactic of running away.
Another minute or so of pulling back at last brings you close enough to the rest of the Manling army to receive reinforcements. A company of 'Nuln Ironsides' you think, who seem to be the only other manling soldiers, and certainly the only ranged soldiers who wear anything close to a sensible amount of armor. A pair rush to their Count's side while the rest reinforce the few surviving not-Hammerers, a volley from their handguns convincing what was about to be the next wave of advancing Skaven to think better of it.
For his part, Konstantin is too busy cursing and being dragged to somewhere safe to hold much of a conversation, but he does meet your eyes and give both a nod and a mouthed 'thank you' beforehand.
Still, two days later, when a paper bearing the Elector Count's personal seal allowing you the first purchase of damn near every spare cannon and mortar Nuln expects to forge in the next few months is gifted to you, and another paper bearing the seals of both the Emperor and Konstantin announcing the creation of a branch of the Imperial Gunnery School in Eight Peaks arrives a month later, you ponder whether it might be best not to explain to King Belegar exactly how you got the Elector Count of Wissenland to be so generous.
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- Location
- Spain
Yes, quite a few times
- Location
- USA
It was there last update iirc.
Just As Planned
- Location
- Berkeley
So, got to thinking of what this would look like to a certain prisoner of ours if things end up in a near-perfect scenario for us. I rather doubt that he'll think we just got that lucky...
Just As Planned
It was cozy in his nest. Not the most largest or warmest he had had, nor made with the finest cloths, but he still rated it highly. For all that he was at the mercy of the terrifying wizard-warlord, it actually felt safe. No subordinates seeking to rise through the ranks by the elimination of those above them, no competitors hoping to advance their own interests at the cost of his, and the superior he had promised to serve in his moment of desperation seemed loathe to take out her frustrations upon him and actually listened to his counsel, unlike the rotbrain-idiot from before.
Sure, she was far scarier than any Skaven he had served before, but he was of Clan Moulder, famed for their warbeasts. All who rose in its ranks internalized the simple truth for dealing with the beings far more potent than themselves—the best way to avoid getting gored and eaten was to make sure it didn't want to. So long as he cooperated she had signaled no interest in going after him, and her very potency simply ensured that any that were after him would need to get through her first.
It was a loud roar that interrupted his dozing. While he had never before hear the roar of a dragon, he was fairly certain this was one. It seemed today would be an interesting day for the other inhabitants of Eight Peaks—he had hoped that his captor-boss would move against Clan Skyre to provoke a vulnerability that would finally end Traitor-Clan Mors soon, but this was beyond even his hopes.
The next day or so had been both interesting and worrying, long quiet interspersed with the sound of far away battle. He had no illusions about what would have become of him if he had not taken the risk to gain his current position, but being so incapable of affecting his own fate was galling, as was that the only he could do to strike at the hated Traitor-Clans was to assist his captor. Fortunately he still had a yet-unread book whose author's insights had been fascinating in the previous one he had read, and the companionship of Skufit while huddled in the nest when the anxiety grew too great.
Ultimately, though, the sounds of battle had died down for good, replaced once more with the faint noises of daily life continuing as usual in the mountain-city. As sure a sign as any that whatever the result of the fighting had been, if his captor-warden's people had not won, they had at least avoided losing. Breathing a small breath of relief, he allowed himself to relax and enter deep sleep once more when his mid-term safety was once more assured.
It was difficult for him to tell exactly when it was when he awoke, the light from outside blocked from his vision by the form of his captor. Brain leaping into motion, instincts long-honed in interacting with his superiors in the life in rising up the ranks to become a Chieftain of Clan Moulder and recently adapted to dealing with the frighteningly foreign yet oddly familiar current captor-boss quickly assessed her state. Proud, content, tired but not exhausted. Still marked with evidence of fighting, but most of it cleaned up. Smug. It looked like things had gone well for her, which boded quite well for him.
She seated herself rather casually while waving for him to get over. Which he did, and quickly too. Sure, she had yet to try to injure him in a fit of pique or otherwise lord her power over him, but he was not foolish-stupid enough to test her patience for no reason. Eyeing him over, she finally spoke.
"Well, you'll be glad to hear that your help has lead to the defeat and destruction of at least one of the Traitor-Clans, presuming Traitor-Clan Mors doesn't have another bolthole prepared," she stated, satisfaction and smugness all but radiating from her voice.
A stream of Queekish exited his mouth before he caught himself, so great was his shock. Eyeing her warily, he decided she was likely being serious. "How? Last I saw in the reports, the Traitor-Clan still held the entire under-Caldera, several under-peaks, and had at least a hundred thousand Clan-Rats. How did you end them," he inquired eagerly.
"It's a long story, but I'm feeling talkative right now so why not."
Eyes focusing in directly on her he sat forward, not one iota of his attention pointed elsewhere, unwilling to miss a single detail.
"It all started about a week ago, when I picked up the big haul of Skyre documents. For some reason, about that time they decided to try and use poison gas against that dragon that was sleeping above them," she said, rolling her eyes. "Idiots."
"Anyway, in a highly predictable turn of events, the dragon woke up, and was quite angry. It decided to take out that anger on Skyre, and promptly entered the mountain after voicing its disapproval."
"Naturally, every Ork in earshot decides that it wanted to get in on this. Being Orks, they did so in quite possibly the stupidest manner imaginable, either running around with neither cover nor siege weapons and getting shot at whenever they tried to enter a fortified hold or marching the long way around to get into Eight Peaks."
"Mors was desperate and immediately grabbed the chance to deal with one of the clans besieging it while the other was distracted and moved on Clan Eshin, desperate enough of confident enough that the dwarves were going to stay put to leave their back side virtually undefended."
"Unfortunately for them, and totally coincidentally, the king and both military advisors were out of Eight Peaks and I was forced to take over for them. Long story short, we hit them hard in the back while they and Eshin were throwing everything they had at each other. By the time they figured out they were fighting on two fronts they couldn't disengage and were trapped outside of any fortifications. It took some time to finish them off, but the result was inevitable at that point."
"Of course, by then the Orks had finally made it into the caldera, and it was easy enough to push enough of them at Eshin to wipe them out too by the simple expedient of killing all of the ones that didn't start running there with magic. Nor were there many Orks left after they finished Eshin, so we got to mop up there, and the dragon was pretty thorough on dealing with Skyre. At this point the only organized resistance to the Dwarves owning Eight Peaks is a peak of Orks and goblins fighting each other that have suffered heavy attrition, a Dragon that has gone back to sleep, and a few holdouts to mop up. It turns out that there's a pretty good argument for eight being chaos, a fact that should surprise no one."
Qrech was speechless. He knew dwarves, he knew the military situation of Eight Peaks, and he knew how impossible what she had just pulled off was. But he also knew she wasn't lying, for what would be the point, and dismissing it as nothing but chance or even mostly luck was even less likely,
He was almost glad that he'd been assigned to that rotbrain-idiot and then imprisoned when he'd said how bad of an idea his attack was, for the simple reason that if he hadn't, he'd be stuck being her enemy rather than her prisoner-subordinate. And it seemed that she was very, very good at arranging it so that her enemies came down with bad cases of death with no warning whatsoever.
Just As Planned
It was cozy in his nest. Not the most largest or warmest he had had, nor made with the finest cloths, but he still rated it highly. For all that he was at the mercy of the terrifying wizard-warlord, it actually felt safe. No subordinates seeking to rise through the ranks by the elimination of those above them, no competitors hoping to advance their own interests at the cost of his, and the superior he had promised to serve in his moment of desperation seemed loathe to take out her frustrations upon him and actually listened to his counsel, unlike the rotbrain-idiot from before.
Sure, she was far scarier than any Skaven he had served before, but he was of Clan Moulder, famed for their warbeasts. All who rose in its ranks internalized the simple truth for dealing with the beings far more potent than themselves—the best way to avoid getting gored and eaten was to make sure it didn't want to. So long as he cooperated she had signaled no interest in going after him, and her very potency simply ensured that any that were after him would need to get through her first.
It was a loud roar that interrupted his dozing. While he had never before hear the roar of a dragon, he was fairly certain this was one. It seemed today would be an interesting day for the other inhabitants of Eight Peaks—he had hoped that his captor-boss would move against Clan Skyre to provoke a vulnerability that would finally end Traitor-Clan Mors soon, but this was beyond even his hopes.
The next day or so had been both interesting and worrying, long quiet interspersed with the sound of far away battle. He had no illusions about what would have become of him if he had not taken the risk to gain his current position, but being so incapable of affecting his own fate was galling, as was that the only he could do to strike at the hated Traitor-Clans was to assist his captor. Fortunately he still had a yet-unread book whose author's insights had been fascinating in the previous one he had read, and the companionship of Skufit while huddled in the nest when the anxiety grew too great.
Ultimately, though, the sounds of battle had died down for good, replaced once more with the faint noises of daily life continuing as usual in the mountain-city. As sure a sign as any that whatever the result of the fighting had been, if his captor-warden's people had not won, they had at least avoided losing. Breathing a small breath of relief, he allowed himself to relax and enter deep sleep once more when his mid-term safety was once more assured.
It was difficult for him to tell exactly when it was when he awoke, the light from outside blocked from his vision by the form of his captor. Brain leaping into motion, instincts long-honed in interacting with his superiors in the life in rising up the ranks to become a Chieftain of Clan Moulder and recently adapted to dealing with the frighteningly foreign yet oddly familiar current captor-boss quickly assessed her state. Proud, content, tired but not exhausted. Still marked with evidence of fighting, but most of it cleaned up. Smug. It looked like things had gone well for her, which boded quite well for him.
She seated herself rather casually while waving for him to get over. Which he did, and quickly too. Sure, she had yet to try to injure him in a fit of pique or otherwise lord her power over him, but he was not foolish-stupid enough to test her patience for no reason. Eyeing him over, she finally spoke.
"Well, you'll be glad to hear that your help has lead to the defeat and destruction of at least one of the Traitor-Clans, presuming Traitor-Clan Mors doesn't have another bolthole prepared," she stated, satisfaction and smugness all but radiating from her voice.
A stream of Queekish exited his mouth before he caught himself, so great was his shock. Eyeing her warily, he decided she was likely being serious. "How? Last I saw in the reports, the Traitor-Clan still held the entire under-Caldera, several under-peaks, and had at least a hundred thousand Clan-Rats. How did you end them," he inquired eagerly.
"It's a long story, but I'm feeling talkative right now so why not."
Eyes focusing in directly on her he sat forward, not one iota of his attention pointed elsewhere, unwilling to miss a single detail.
"It all started about a week ago, when I picked up the big haul of Skyre documents. For some reason, about that time they decided to try and use poison gas against that dragon that was sleeping above them," she said, rolling her eyes. "Idiots."
"Anyway, in a highly predictable turn of events, the dragon woke up, and was quite angry. It decided to take out that anger on Skyre, and promptly entered the mountain after voicing its disapproval."
"Naturally, every Ork in earshot decides that it wanted to get in on this. Being Orks, they did so in quite possibly the stupidest manner imaginable, either running around with neither cover nor siege weapons and getting shot at whenever they tried to enter a fortified hold or marching the long way around to get into Eight Peaks."
"Mors was desperate and immediately grabbed the chance to deal with one of the clans besieging it while the other was distracted and moved on Clan Eshin, desperate enough of confident enough that the dwarves were going to stay put to leave their back side virtually undefended."
"Unfortunately for them, and totally coincidentally, the king and both military advisors were out of Eight Peaks and I was forced to take over for them. Long story short, we hit them hard in the back while they and Eshin were throwing everything they had at each other. By the time they figured out they were fighting on two fronts they couldn't disengage and were trapped outside of any fortifications. It took some time to finish them off, but the result was inevitable at that point."
"Of course, by then the Orks had finally made it into the caldera, and it was easy enough to push enough of them at Eshin to wipe them out too by the simple expedient of killing all of the ones that didn't start running there with magic. Nor were there many Orks left after they finished Eshin, so we got to mop up there, and the dragon was pretty thorough on dealing with Skyre. At this point the only organized resistance to the Dwarves owning Eight Peaks is a peak of Orks and goblins fighting each other that have suffered heavy attrition, a Dragon that has gone back to sleep, and a few holdouts to mop up. It turns out that there's a pretty good argument for eight being chaos, a fact that should surprise no one."
Qrech was speechless. He knew dwarves, he knew the military situation of Eight Peaks, and he knew how impossible what she had just pulled off was. But he also knew she wasn't lying, for what would be the point, and dismissing it as nothing but chance or even mostly luck was even less likely,
He was almost glad that he'd been assigned to that rotbrain-idiot and then imprisoned when he'd said how bad of an idea his attack was, for the simple reason that if he hadn't, he'd be stuck being her enemy rather than her prisoner-subordinate. And it seemed that she was very, very good at arranging it so that her enemies came down with bad cases of death with no warning whatsoever.
- Location
- Spain
That or Snek Juice...
BungieONI
Seven gremlins in a trench coat
- Location
- Lickwidget
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I think what changed was these:
Chimeraguard
We do deserve to exist.
"Warp Lightning Cannon (misfired, probably broken)". Gotta love that Skaven reliability.
Hopefully it broke on the first shot though. Guess we should have put some artillery on our forces heading into the Under-Caldera as well.
Hopefully it broke on the first shot though. Guess we should have put some artillery on our forces heading into the Under-Caldera as well.
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TaliesinSkye
Occasional Editor
- Location
- Northeast Ohio, United States
Perhaps battle magic requires lots of wind because the nature-changing process isn't very efficient?
But no, that still sort of echoes the conservation of energy paradigm. To get away from it completely there would need to be some sort of alternate justification entirely for why lots of wind was required if not for more power for a larger effect.
- Location
- The Star Kingdom of Manticore
Misfire. Thank goodness. That way it at least didn't get as many shots off as it could.
TaliesinSkye
Occasional Editor
- Location
- Northeast Ohio, United States
Why do things like this keep getting spoilered?
Warpstone is dhar. I am unsure the colleges would want to use that stuff even if they could somehow justify it.
Chimeraguard
We do deserve to exist.
Because it's talking about things that are in the upcoming update, but the update itself hasn't been posted yet.
TaliesinSkye
Occasional Editor
- Location
- Northeast Ohio, United States
Ahhh, thank you.
- Location
- Australia
Because Boney updates the various character sheets as he's writing the update. So if you see a recent change after he says he's writing the update? It's probably a spoiler until the actual update itself drops. So to be courteous to readers who don't want to be spoiled and like the surprises in the updates the posters blur out/spoil the changes they find.
Quest
The Great One
- Location
- Everywhere
I think you're over-complicating things. You just need two statements:
1) More powerful effects require greater concentration of winds.
2)What counts as a more powerful effect is dependent on the particular wind.
- Location
- United States of America, Michigan
Personally I don't think spoken Queekish is really that important in the grand scheme of things at least not worth delaying written the written Queekish books over since those are really important to get out while Eshin still has no idea we already know it.
TaliesinSkye
Occasional Editor
- Location
- Northeast Ohio, United States
But if the wind isn't needed for energy then why does the larger quantity correlated with more powerful effects?
Maybe the more wind the more you can conceptually affect with it? But that feels like a restatement of the energy paradigm.
Chimeraguard
We do deserve to exist.
...Huh. Well then, that's certainly different.