- Location
- California
It would be better for diplomacy, but only short term and worse in every other way. Even if we disagree with them, the loss of such a powerful Dwarf force would be worse in the long term.
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.
Mopman43
Mountain-Hermit of Nitpeak
- Location
- Vermont
It's not the end of the world if we 'only' have the standard Burning Shadows powerlevel for a hypothetical Karag Yar tower.mmm with sufficient favour expenditure the wizard side should be fairly replicable, but it's the dwarf side that worries me.
Kragg likely won't make a second rune of Ghazul (rule of pride and all), but mmm.
I'm certain that Kragg can think of something new (there were 5 more options on that list) or we can ask Thorek if he wants a chance to try and one up his rival.
And of course there's the ever so helpful, old casual certainly a long beard comes over to recommend something revolutionary
I am reminded of the pushback I got from my initial post.
A demand that we evacuate Kragg.
- Pronouns
- It/They
Hilariously enough, This means that clan mors have been more helpful to K8P than Thorgrim has been.
We should mention that in the reply letter, that skaven were more useful than thorgrim has been.
So yeah, we should give Mors a diorama or something.
If nothing else badass deeds deserve some sort of chronicling, and this is a pretty epic last stand.
DocMatoi
Theoretical Lover of Girls
- Location
- within 2 hours of the White House
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Thorgrim comes down to personally murder all of us
Better in a sort of way that tornado breaking your parent's house is better than them not inviting you for Thanksgiving for personal reasons.
Pempelune
Fanfiction Deep State
Against an entire army of Orcs? He's going to get overwhelmed and destroyed very fast. He'll reform and come back, but they can just destroy him again: he won't be able to hold the mountain on his own. He can prevent the orcs from living there, because having an indestructible enemy that can attack you at any time make Mhonar a rather inhospitable place, but he won't prevent the orcs from passing through en masse to Kvynn-Wyr.
- Location
- Detroit, Michigan
Mat: <hands note to Belegar> "Message from the High King."
Bel: <takes note and reads> "...it just says 'Dear Belegar', and it's a picture of a butt."
Hm. Even with the "Caldera" option, Kazador may get something close to his wish: stick his Throng up Karagril (or Mhonar)
above the entrances, and just rain crossbow bolts down on the orcs trying to dig them out. Either they climb into the teeth of almost 10k crossbows, or they just have a very bad day and take it.
Also, I very much want to see if Bok will take commands from Belegar, since he's now wearing the complete Crown. Would very much help with keeping orcs out of Mhonar.
above the entrances, and just rain crossbow bolts down on the orcs trying to dig them out. Either they climb into the teeth of almost 10k crossbows, or they just have a very bad day and take it.
Also, I very much want to see if Bok will take commands from Belegar, since he's now wearing the complete Crown. Would very much help with keeping orcs out of Mhonar.
deathofrats0808
Don’t think of it as dying; just as leaving early
- Location
- Earth
I thought the objective was to avoid a Dwarven civil war, not start one.
Clan Mors is not really a good comparison. We had to trick them into helping. The better parallel is with the Emperor Dragon. It too suggested we 'die well'... after wiping out a Skaven faction on its own and aiding in the destruction of two others.
I repeat Emperor Dragon for High King.
An excerpt from the journals of Soizic d'Karak, a Questing Knight 13
- Location
- Chicago
- Pronouns
- She/They
An excerpt from the journals of Soizic d'Karak, a Questing Knight-
Dear diary, I return to you! Such long and arduous treks upon the dance floor, such superhuman feats of consumption amidst the ale barrels! Allow me now to store in your pages the memory of the foregoing night that was for this knight.
When last chance allowed me the fancy of ink, twas only hours since Francesco, standing for the Undumgi, was gifted a sword of gromil in front of the world assembled. Now, I sit once again on my watchtower perch watching over the pass, watching as the dust of those many guests settles slowly back to the road, satisfied in mood for once rather than melancholy.
But let me begin again from where I left off.
Francesco's ascension to Viceroy of Karag Nar solidified the authority we had been husbanding, and whilst I busied myself with the officers and drill sergeants he picked up his quill and began codifying such unspoken law as we had lived under, recruiting petty magistrates and tax collectors and most anyone with a head for numbers- the dwarves did not tolerate sloppiness in matters of law and coin, and by agreement unspoken the Undumgi will not be found lacking. I find myself speaking to his secretary, a pleasant young man named Michael, more often than Francesco these days, and Michael confesses to me how the change from 'boss' to 'Viceroy' has ground upon him: from plans and decisions made quickly in a scramble like a juggler on uneven cobbles, to long meetings where naught is needed but his title to give proper respect to the participants. Dear diary I must confess, this pleases me, for until proper leader was had many of these had demanded the ranking officer of the guard. As if I had needed selfish reason to stay ranged amongst the patrols!
He seems to thrive though, and though there was always fire to him when we spoke now I can taste iron. I know more of him and better than most, I think, and his rise is something I applaud most heartily. Half a decade ago a sellsword nursing a broken dream, he has grabbed hold of this dream we live in and made it his own more strongly than I dare- he IS become Karag Nar, tall and broad-shouldered, one eye carefully on the tunnels and chambers and the other on the chronicles of history, the bitter whimsical face he once guarded with submerged under the new stern Lord. For myself, I think he grabs his role as strong as he can for the memory of the loss and wreckage of his last dream, and the dread of failing again when the stakes have become so much greater. Not riches and the petty bragging of a merchant adventurer with some dozens of lives in his hands, but thousands of lives in his newly-founded city atop the richest trade route in the world.
I find him reading more, when I do find him. Legends and histories of the founding of Tilea's jewels, but he reads with his pen to hand and scribbles in the margins as he frowns at them. He reaches for the stories that drive him as a boy, I think, but reads then now with the thought that he is their peer, and must find their mistakes to avoid as well as their triumphs to emulate.
As you may guess, dear diary, this was a period of settling for us all. The East Imperial Company has followed their first caravan with several others aimed not at trade but at settlement, and the Karag has begun to sprout all sorts of places at which one might spend one's coin.
Have I written before of the Karag itself? My hand flips back your pages and I see only the mention of the Magister sketching broad strokes of what would become our home, but little of the city itself...
The heart of the Karag Nar is the grand stair, a passage wide enough for ten abreast to ride and tall enough that they might stand on their saddles as they do. (And in the center a clever thing which looks like a ramp with a stair for mice up the middle, which I am assured allows carts to be cranked up the stair with little effort.) At the top, the Dame Mathilde's chambers occupy the peak. At the bottom, a vast mustering chamber once used by the dwarves, now the true home of the undumgi. It's gate opens to the East Valley, and a tunnel under the great stair may be followed through to the underway, from which a traveler might make their way to the fabled Karak Azul. In between, along the stair, hallways great and small open off, leading to rooms and lesser tunnels of all sorts.
Most of the bottom levels may be reached from the mustering hall, and are reserved for the things which no one would wish to carry or drag up more of a mountain than they have to- food and drink, water for washing and storage of grain. Here too is the armory, where my responsibilities most often intersect with Oswald's, as weapons and armor are drawn and maintained.
The first turn to the left before you enter up the main stair has become known by the men as Kettle Hall (for we name streets as halls within our mountain) by way of the vats of oatmeal and gruel it held those first few months- and now besides the Undumgi mess, there are four other kitchens hawking stewed vegetables with grilled meats and a baker with more enthusiasm than skill. (I suspect sawdust in the biscuits, dear diary.) Here may also be found the small grocers and one ambitious soul with two guards and small table full of spices.
To the right of the stair are the Low Taverns, those establishments that patrols may stumble to without suffering stairs. Accordingly, they are large, loud, crass, and crude. Lady preserve me from my shadow ever darkening that hall, much as that rascal Paedrig from the fourth company implores me.
Just above the ground level (first floor?) as one climbs are several halls claimed for living quarters. These are by far the most extensive of the occupied spaces, though of little interest save to the residents, and whole suites of rooms may open off of one of the grand doors. Here live the men who dream of large families, and founding their own lines in this place.
Above a ways and again to the left is a long hall with many chambers tall and wide; this has become the Shrine Hall. Of the many shrines here to gods great and small there is one to the Lady, and for that I have given thanks, though it is a small thing and odd to see her symbols buried deep under stone. The shrine itself is a grotto; a natural cave intersected by dwarf-tunnel and left raw, filled mostly with a pool and a small statue of Her on the far side of the waters. The lay-priest, Dominic, brings fresh cuttings of green and candles each week, and I've begun to attend as he sweeps out the old and lights the new. Perhaps a dozen others join us from time to time, as we wash our swords within Her waters.
My Lady, I pray you preserve and protect us, nurture our city to glory and let the worth of deeds done in its service guide my lips to your Grail at long last.
Across from Shrine Hall is the Craft Hall, filled with tailors, bootwrights, carpenters and carvers, launderies, soap makers, tinkers, and a dozen others. There is also the beginning of a large general store, the EIC blazon prominent. Further still on the main stair are the High Taverns and the rooms commandeered as the offices of the Viceroy, where most of the civil administration is based, as well as lodgings for the higher class of visitors such may grace Karag Nar with their presence.
Beyond that there are only those few dwellers who prize quiet and isolation, then the wizard.
Dear diary, I learned too late that Dame Webber had weeks ago come to the Undumgi seeking sparing partners, and I regret bitterly the circumstances that compelled me from the Karak that day. William, Mason, and Gregor could not stop talking of it for days, and though I pressed them sorely were able to reproduce only a few of her tricks in sparring after. It was near this time that work began on the ampitheater, and had I paid more attention I might have guessed what was coming.
Instead, I gave not a second thought to the matter, brushing it aside and taking a large detachment through the underway to relieve detachment left after a visit from the dwarf prince and princess, and to reinforce the bonds between the Undumgi and the Ulrikadrin with shared exercises, for word had come that a campaign was being planned for Karagil in the next year.
It has become the very picture of a frontier city, the wood used in the buildings so fresh the bark is still on in places, and crowds of laden porters carrying goods between steamships and wagons. It is visible in how the warehouses and cabins sprawl that the docks and the road upward were prior to any settlement; and the mounds of sawdust that pile in drifts like snow near the lumbermill are still bright.
The docks are fully repaired, as only one who had seen them before might attest. Fresh-carved stone filled out straight lines into the river, and though they did not yet appear to be empty, chains of buckets over wooden gearwheels slowly dredged the large underground warehouses. The cranes on the end of the docks looked to be already in their third generation, for I saw the first repurposed to load wagons and what may have been the second handling logs at the Mill.
In all, a new, optimistic, bright sort of a camp-turned-town, wherein all the citizens felt faintly of relief as though they had finally reached their goal.
The ale there though. It is far, far worse than the least of the swill at the Karak. Dear diary, do the dwarves not sell their brews to humans in the normal case of life? What does it mean that the high tavens in Nar serve it? Should I lay in my own supply, perhaps, should I journey on?
It still pains me to see wolfriders. I wonder what might have been, and how close the dice must have fallen, that killed him and left me alive.
But! Not even a week after my arrival, a steamship ties off and drops its gangplank, and who should step off but a full squadron of imperial greatswords and a noble all covered in Imperial Livery!
Dear diary, this moment was one of shock fading to worry for me, as I know that the departure of the middenlanders and Ulricans from the empire was one of hard feelings- Sir Oskar's comrades had said a much when we had met up earlier that week. (And it was a minor key bachannal, dear diary, drinking bad ale with wolf knights in cheerful rough taverns. I found that I had mourned Sir Oskar and the boasting stories and endearing adventures they told me of sharing with him were a balm rather than an acid.)
An imperial envoy coming here, to them now, would force a very difficult set of choices in how to interact upon them all, fraught with consequence. Was Ulrikadrin still an Imperial town, or was it independent but merely run by those who had seen loyalty to the empire? Did they want to acknowledge those oaths, in fear of the empire calling them back or chancing the sending of a sigmarite governer? Where did the envoy stand, apart from his role as official eyes and ears?
So! I jumped forwards. My dearest diary I was not clad in armor, or the livery of my office, for I was not at the docks on the business of the Karak. Instead it was a personal day, and I had tarried by the river before shopping for necessities, as fascinated by the rushing water now as I ever have been.
It reminds me of my brother sometimes, may the Lady keep him.
In a dress of blue and white, mine own coat of arms sewn upon the breast, hair in loose braids and my sword slung across my shoulder as the Dame Mathilde does, an empty bag hanging beside it. I curtseyed. (Very well, I believe! I've been practicing.)
"Greetings my lord, I am Sir Soizic, General of the Undumgi of Eightpeaks. May I assume your business is with the dwarves?"
It was a blatant attempt, a body thrown in front of a lance to shield a friend, trying desperately to convince him to agree to just politely ignore the awkwardness of the ex-imperial citizens all about him. I was blushing at the clumsiness as I rose, then blushes threatened again at the gazes of the other passengers at the rail. (Thinking back after last night, I do remember a tall hat with a star...)
However, sucess! The envoy blinked owlishly at me for a moment or two then consented, the great swords relaxing as other nearby Undumgi came and went at my frantic gestures and low whispers, a squadron forming up around us as we reached hastily cleared wagons on the outskirts.
Dear diary I hustled that man through death pass as quick as I could, handing him off to Francesco to deal with almost before I got his name. (Lord Henrey, of one of the cadet branches of the imperial family in Altdorf.)
And then I returned to Ulrikadrin. To find, in my absence, a... Countess? had arrived! Elder Hisme Stoutheart, the ruler of the Moot, here to see their first colony! Thankfully the tensions between the humans of the empire did not extend to the halflings, so no harm was done. But scarcely had I introduced myself to her and made arrangements for her and her escorts to the Karak than the flood continued.
Dear diary, I ended up (by spoken accord with the leaders of the town, after the scare of the Imperial envoy) meeting and greeting Lords and envoys from Reikland, Ostland, Tabecland, Averland, Eissenland, and Stirland! And that was just the humans! Thankfully I was more prepared than that first day...
(A/N: breaking here because phone is about to die, still thinking how exactly to translate 'if she wanted a horse, she'd have one' into what she is actually feeling about horses. Any feedback is welcome!)
Dear diary, I return to you! Such long and arduous treks upon the dance floor, such superhuman feats of consumption amidst the ale barrels! Allow me now to store in your pages the memory of the foregoing night that was for this knight.
When last chance allowed me the fancy of ink, twas only hours since Francesco, standing for the Undumgi, was gifted a sword of gromil in front of the world assembled. Now, I sit once again on my watchtower perch watching over the pass, watching as the dust of those many guests settles slowly back to the road, satisfied in mood for once rather than melancholy.
But let me begin again from where I left off.
Francesco's ascension to Viceroy of Karag Nar solidified the authority we had been husbanding, and whilst I busied myself with the officers and drill sergeants he picked up his quill and began codifying such unspoken law as we had lived under, recruiting petty magistrates and tax collectors and most anyone with a head for numbers- the dwarves did not tolerate sloppiness in matters of law and coin, and by agreement unspoken the Undumgi will not be found lacking. I find myself speaking to his secretary, a pleasant young man named Michael, more often than Francesco these days, and Michael confesses to me how the change from 'boss' to 'Viceroy' has ground upon him: from plans and decisions made quickly in a scramble like a juggler on uneven cobbles, to long meetings where naught is needed but his title to give proper respect to the participants. Dear diary I must confess, this pleases me, for until proper leader was had many of these had demanded the ranking officer of the guard. As if I had needed selfish reason to stay ranged amongst the patrols!
He seems to thrive though, and though there was always fire to him when we spoke now I can taste iron. I know more of him and better than most, I think, and his rise is something I applaud most heartily. Half a decade ago a sellsword nursing a broken dream, he has grabbed hold of this dream we live in and made it his own more strongly than I dare- he IS become Karag Nar, tall and broad-shouldered, one eye carefully on the tunnels and chambers and the other on the chronicles of history, the bitter whimsical face he once guarded with submerged under the new stern Lord. For myself, I think he grabs his role as strong as he can for the memory of the loss and wreckage of his last dream, and the dread of failing again when the stakes have become so much greater. Not riches and the petty bragging of a merchant adventurer with some dozens of lives in his hands, but thousands of lives in his newly-founded city atop the richest trade route in the world.
I find him reading more, when I do find him. Legends and histories of the founding of Tilea's jewels, but he reads with his pen to hand and scribbles in the margins as he frowns at them. He reaches for the stories that drive him as a boy, I think, but reads then now with the thought that he is their peer, and must find their mistakes to avoid as well as their triumphs to emulate.
As you may guess, dear diary, this was a period of settling for us all. The East Imperial Company has followed their first caravan with several others aimed not at trade but at settlement, and the Karag has begun to sprout all sorts of places at which one might spend one's coin.
Have I written before of the Karag itself? My hand flips back your pages and I see only the mention of the Magister sketching broad strokes of what would become our home, but little of the city itself...
The heart of the Karag Nar is the grand stair, a passage wide enough for ten abreast to ride and tall enough that they might stand on their saddles as they do. (And in the center a clever thing which looks like a ramp with a stair for mice up the middle, which I am assured allows carts to be cranked up the stair with little effort.) At the top, the Dame Mathilde's chambers occupy the peak. At the bottom, a vast mustering chamber once used by the dwarves, now the true home of the undumgi. It's gate opens to the East Valley, and a tunnel under the great stair may be followed through to the underway, from which a traveler might make their way to the fabled Karak Azul. In between, along the stair, hallways great and small open off, leading to rooms and lesser tunnels of all sorts.
Most of the bottom levels may be reached from the mustering hall, and are reserved for the things which no one would wish to carry or drag up more of a mountain than they have to- food and drink, water for washing and storage of grain. Here too is the armory, where my responsibilities most often intersect with Oswald's, as weapons and armor are drawn and maintained.
The first turn to the left before you enter up the main stair has become known by the men as Kettle Hall (for we name streets as halls within our mountain) by way of the vats of oatmeal and gruel it held those first few months- and now besides the Undumgi mess, there are four other kitchens hawking stewed vegetables with grilled meats and a baker with more enthusiasm than skill. (I suspect sawdust in the biscuits, dear diary.) Here may also be found the small grocers and one ambitious soul with two guards and small table full of spices.
To the right of the stair are the Low Taverns, those establishments that patrols may stumble to without suffering stairs. Accordingly, they are large, loud, crass, and crude. Lady preserve me from my shadow ever darkening that hall, much as that rascal Paedrig from the fourth company implores me.
Just above the ground level (first floor?) as one climbs are several halls claimed for living quarters. These are by far the most extensive of the occupied spaces, though of little interest save to the residents, and whole suites of rooms may open off of one of the grand doors. Here live the men who dream of large families, and founding their own lines in this place.
Above a ways and again to the left is a long hall with many chambers tall and wide; this has become the Shrine Hall. Of the many shrines here to gods great and small there is one to the Lady, and for that I have given thanks, though it is a small thing and odd to see her symbols buried deep under stone. The shrine itself is a grotto; a natural cave intersected by dwarf-tunnel and left raw, filled mostly with a pool and a small statue of Her on the far side of the waters. The lay-priest, Dominic, brings fresh cuttings of green and candles each week, and I've begun to attend as he sweeps out the old and lights the new. Perhaps a dozen others join us from time to time, as we wash our swords within Her waters.
My Lady, I pray you preserve and protect us, nurture our city to glory and let the worth of deeds done in its service guide my lips to your Grail at long last.
Across from Shrine Hall is the Craft Hall, filled with tailors, bootwrights, carpenters and carvers, launderies, soap makers, tinkers, and a dozen others. There is also the beginning of a large general store, the EIC blazon prominent. Further still on the main stair are the High Taverns and the rooms commandeered as the offices of the Viceroy, where most of the civil administration is based, as well as lodgings for the higher class of visitors such may grace Karag Nar with their presence.
Beyond that there are only those few dwellers who prize quiet and isolation, then the wizard.
Dear diary, I learned too late that Dame Webber had weeks ago come to the Undumgi seeking sparing partners, and I regret bitterly the circumstances that compelled me from the Karak that day. William, Mason, and Gregor could not stop talking of it for days, and though I pressed them sorely were able to reproduce only a few of her tricks in sparring after. It was near this time that work began on the ampitheater, and had I paid more attention I might have guessed what was coming.
Instead, I gave not a second thought to the matter, brushing it aside and taking a large detachment through the underway to relieve detachment left after a visit from the dwarf prince and princess, and to reinforce the bonds between the Undumgi and the Ulrikadrin with shared exercises, for word had come that a campaign was being planned for Karagil in the next year.
It has become the very picture of a frontier city, the wood used in the buildings so fresh the bark is still on in places, and crowds of laden porters carrying goods between steamships and wagons. It is visible in how the warehouses and cabins sprawl that the docks and the road upward were prior to any settlement; and the mounds of sawdust that pile in drifts like snow near the lumbermill are still bright.
The docks are fully repaired, as only one who had seen them before might attest. Fresh-carved stone filled out straight lines into the river, and though they did not yet appear to be empty, chains of buckets over wooden gearwheels slowly dredged the large underground warehouses. The cranes on the end of the docks looked to be already in their third generation, for I saw the first repurposed to load wagons and what may have been the second handling logs at the Mill.
In all, a new, optimistic, bright sort of a camp-turned-town, wherein all the citizens felt faintly of relief as though they had finally reached their goal.
The ale there though. It is far, far worse than the least of the swill at the Karak. Dear diary, do the dwarves not sell their brews to humans in the normal case of life? What does it mean that the high tavens in Nar serve it? Should I lay in my own supply, perhaps, should I journey on?
It still pains me to see wolfriders. I wonder what might have been, and how close the dice must have fallen, that killed him and left me alive.
But! Not even a week after my arrival, a steamship ties off and drops its gangplank, and who should step off but a full squadron of imperial greatswords and a noble all covered in Imperial Livery!
Dear diary, this moment was one of shock fading to worry for me, as I know that the departure of the middenlanders and Ulricans from the empire was one of hard feelings- Sir Oskar's comrades had said a much when we had met up earlier that week. (And it was a minor key bachannal, dear diary, drinking bad ale with wolf knights in cheerful rough taverns. I found that I had mourned Sir Oskar and the boasting stories and endearing adventures they told me of sharing with him were a balm rather than an acid.)
An imperial envoy coming here, to them now, would force a very difficult set of choices in how to interact upon them all, fraught with consequence. Was Ulrikadrin still an Imperial town, or was it independent but merely run by those who had seen loyalty to the empire? Did they want to acknowledge those oaths, in fear of the empire calling them back or chancing the sending of a sigmarite governer? Where did the envoy stand, apart from his role as official eyes and ears?
So! I jumped forwards. My dearest diary I was not clad in armor, or the livery of my office, for I was not at the docks on the business of the Karak. Instead it was a personal day, and I had tarried by the river before shopping for necessities, as fascinated by the rushing water now as I ever have been.
It reminds me of my brother sometimes, may the Lady keep him.
In a dress of blue and white, mine own coat of arms sewn upon the breast, hair in loose braids and my sword slung across my shoulder as the Dame Mathilde does, an empty bag hanging beside it. I curtseyed. (Very well, I believe! I've been practicing.)
"Greetings my lord, I am Sir Soizic, General of the Undumgi of Eightpeaks. May I assume your business is with the dwarves?"
It was a blatant attempt, a body thrown in front of a lance to shield a friend, trying desperately to convince him to agree to just politely ignore the awkwardness of the ex-imperial citizens all about him. I was blushing at the clumsiness as I rose, then blushes threatened again at the gazes of the other passengers at the rail. (Thinking back after last night, I do remember a tall hat with a star...)
However, sucess! The envoy blinked owlishly at me for a moment or two then consented, the great swords relaxing as other nearby Undumgi came and went at my frantic gestures and low whispers, a squadron forming up around us as we reached hastily cleared wagons on the outskirts.
Dear diary I hustled that man through death pass as quick as I could, handing him off to Francesco to deal with almost before I got his name. (Lord Henrey, of one of the cadet branches of the imperial family in Altdorf.)
And then I returned to Ulrikadrin. To find, in my absence, a... Countess? had arrived! Elder Hisme Stoutheart, the ruler of the Moot, here to see their first colony! Thankfully the tensions between the humans of the empire did not extend to the halflings, so no harm was done. But scarcely had I introduced myself to her and made arrangements for her and her escorts to the Karak than the flood continued.
Dear diary, I ended up (by spoken accord with the leaders of the town, after the scare of the Imperial envoy) meeting and greeting Lords and envoys from Reikland, Ostland, Tabecland, Averland, Eissenland, and Stirland! And that was just the humans! Thankfully I was more prepared than that first day...
(A/N: breaking here because phone is about to die, still thinking how exactly to translate 'if she wanted a horse, she'd have one' into what she is actually feeling about horses. Any feedback is welcome!)
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- Pronouns
- It/They
Giant Dad shakes his head in disgust.
EFW3
This is Walter Wireless signing off!
- Location
- Charleston
Do do dodo~
Also it's gonna be fun showing the Hippity Hoppity Get Off My Property plan to the Orcs
Yes.
The Orcs did well and the miners did badly. Sudden, mostly unexpected and shockingly unbreakable death-or-glory charge down the entrance at maximum speed when the ones holding it had prepared for the day thinking the greatest foe they would face would be an unusually stubborn rock between them and a nice silver vein, and the Orcs pushed Dwarven lines back past their fortifications and artillery and turned into a meat grinder before the Orcs eventually broke.
To my mind, it's a microcosm of the trappings of knighthood versus what it means to be a Knight. She lives in a mountain and walks shoulder to shoulder with her troops rather than towering above them on horseback, so getting a horse would be a surrender to conventionality and appearance. She can be a Knight without a horse, just as she can be a Knight as a woman, and on the far side of the continent from Bretonnia.
HanEmpire
Delicious
@BoneyM what happens to these Grudges (if they exist) once Belegar signs the treaty of co-existence with the Dragon? Will knowing about grudges hamper the treaty process any? Will Belegar and K8P's reputation take a substantial hit if it gets out that they made peace with a Dwarf-killer?
Actually did Karaz-a-Karak ever get back to us on this matter?
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All that currently exists is a spoken and unofficial ceasefire agreement made on a battlefield, and it will remain that way until Belegar has all the information on any Grudges that may be levelled,
That's pretty cool. Sounds like she's working on distilling Knighthood down to the essence, with the trappings discarded as non-essential, if they get in the way. And, of course, with a certain Dwarfish perspective added, all unawares.
I like the prospects for her as the Undumgi field general.
Sinsystems
Patron Librarian
It's worth noting that knighthood is fundamentally a formalization of the rules by which armored horsemen can extract protection money from the peasants and ride down any who do not want to pay. Also there is a watery tart involved.
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Setting up the entire hostile population of Karak with their own agendas and having the thread understand that, treat the enemies as enemy players rather than static terrain, and use that to build up this chain of dominoes has been really rewarding, and I'm glad it's paid off in a way that has rewritten the story of Eight Peaks.
- Location
- some computer lab
I am pretty impressed by how what some might consider an internal Karag Ziflin matter snowballed into retaking all 8 peaks.
