considering that we have a 100+ rep from every hold but one?
probably.
Warhammer Fantasy: Divided Loyalties - an Advisor's Quest
- Thread starter Boney
- Start date
- Fantasy Users' Choice!
-
- 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.
probably.
- Location
- Australia
That kind of info would come with the Rumour Mill, which we have decided not to get access to yet.
- Location
- The Surface Of A Hostile Planet
Huh. We could even double dip on the symbolism, with our gift to Shallya simultaneously being the final divine transference of power towards Ranald to complete the set.
(Deceiver being the first, as Ranald lied to Shallya; Gambler being the second, as Ranald took a chance with Gork's power,; Night Prowler being the hypothetical third, as he steals the Wealth from Hashut; and Protector being the last, as the Skaven rise up against their oppressor.)
- Location
- New Brunswick, NJ
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Six social actions.
1 Duckling Club.
2 Someone Reaches Out
3 Belegar T Posing On Thorgrim
4 Beleger Private Talk
I think those we can rely on.
I'd like the last two to include at least one K8P person we haven't interacted with much; Soizic, Oswald, or possibly Ruprecht Wulfhart are all good options. Indifferent on sixth slot.
1 Duckling Club.
2 Someone Reaches Out
3 Belegar T Posing On Thorgrim
4 Beleger Private Talk
I think those we can rely on.
I'd like the last two to include at least one K8P person we haven't interacted with much; Soizic, Oswald, or possibly Ruprecht Wulfhart are all good options. Indifferent on sixth slot.
Ganurath
Literal Enthusiast
- Location
- A Valid Location
- Pronouns
- He/Him
We could make horrible things happen to Clan Pestilens and/or servants of Nurgle. It'd be a long term thing, but if Tamurkhan tries to come through the Border Principalities...
considering that with the victory at K8Ps, knowing what's happening around us just went up the list of 'shit we need' a good bit.
we might get it next turn.
BungieONI
Seven gremlins in a trench coat
- Location
- Lickwidget
- Pronouns
- She/Her
They are also vastly escalating in scale, which amuses a part of me immensely lol.
Shovern
Extravagant Shitposter
Should be a slow version in a spoiler box in the post now.
- Location
- Australia
Gotta talk to Johann after all that happened.
Mopman43
Mountain-Hermit of Nitpeak
- Location
- Vermont
I'm right above you and my first post was after the hiatus ended. If you've got a problem, I've got a complex.
- Location
- Edmonton
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Honestly the only way it could be higher is if you saved Thorgrim or returned a real powerful ancient weapon to em. Something of real cultural significance.
chocolote12
A Penguin Flailing Against The Keyboard Of Life.
And kill Nurglites, don't forget. Murder is absolutely an option, just not against other people. Warhammer gods are nifty like that.
Thank you.
- Location
- New Brunswick, NJ
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
*looks at Who Replied*
... not counting Boney, i'm in fourth place. My first post in this thread was in early October. I said I didn't think I'd be participating much.
God help me.
- Location
- Singapore
Ah, basically be Count Fredrick.
Maybe this is what we will end up doing at Karak Drak.
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chocolote12
A Penguin Flailing Against The Keyboard Of Life.
Reply Rankings vary pretty wildly based on whether or not you're interested in something, or debating somebody (in which case both of your reply rates tend to increase pretty dramatically); they're not really good for anything, by most metrics, except for the occasional joke.
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Well, prevention is better than cure. If you had Nurglites at all you got bigger problems.
Y'all hadn't checked who had the most posts, period, across the whole forum have ya?
chocolote12
A Penguin Flailing Against The Keyboard Of Life.
Well, the issue is that you've always got those somewhere, that's why they're such a... plague, on the world.
If we don't talk to the leader of the wolf knights to get his side after agreeing to meet with the Ar-Ulfric who probably wants to talk about him, then we're kinda dumb.
Mopman43
Mountain-Hermit of Nitpeak
- Location
- Vermont
You're in every quest, of course you have an absurd amount.
chocolote12
A Penguin Flailing Against The Keyboard Of Life.
I'm not really sure what people are expecting to see in this scene.
"Welp, guess we know why that was a bad idea."
"Was it, though? The loot was pretty good, and it all turned out well."
"Guess you're right."
Like, beyond a line or two of belated 'whoops', what is there to talk about?
I do feel that you, me, @picklepikkl, @Quest, and @SuperSonicSound are the most aggressive debaters at the moment tho..
or at least that's the group I get into it with the most...
edit: @veekie don't count, they are actually a questing A.I
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You're a Loose Cannon Snuggles, But Damn It, You Get Results 2
NuclearConsensus
Herald of the Thorned One
- Location
- the Philippines
Battle of the Caldera
4:44 PM, Karag Yar
It was in a nondescript cavern, deep beneath the Eshin-held mountain, that Sleek Sharpwit witnessed the last death of Clan Mors.
Here in this cavern he and his guard had decided to rest and to devour the flesh of the fallen, when from the shadows they had been attacked. Not by Eshin, nor by Dwarf or man-thing. Something else. Something with claws and fangs sharper than any Sleek had seen before. He had watched the creature rend armor and tear through flesh and bone like they were made of wet paper. In no time at all, where there had been a battalion of Stormvermin, there were now only the dead and the dying. The air, once thick with the Musk of Battle, now held only wisps of the Musk of Fear, choked out by the charnel scent of blood and viscera.
Sleek himself had not escaped unscathed. His tail had been reduced to half its length, and his chest was covered in shallow scratches, his thick armor only having saved him barely. His left arm, still attached to his mangled shield, was dislocated and broken in two places. The greatest injury of all, however, was the Black Hunger gnawing away at him, leaving him only able to keep standing with great effort. Fighting was out of the question.
His opponent, whatever it was, was much luckier, having escaped any injury whatsoever that Sleek could see. Even now, he could sense it, stalking around him. It sensed his weakness, and was looking for a chance to pounce.
Sleek would not give it that chance.
He wrenched his left arm back into place with his right, then tightened the straps of his shield to act as a makeshift splint, gritting his teeth against the pain. Once done, he reached into a pouch at his belt, withdrawing a fistful of warpstone dust. For a moment, he considered the green powder in his palm, the last store of warpstone in Clan Mors' possession, before he inhaled it.
Instantly Sleek could feel the pangs of the Black Hunger fade and renewed strength flowing through his wounded body. Bending down, he grasped a blade in each hand before standing tall once more. Death might be coming soon for him, but at the very least he would drag his enemy with him. One last thing for Mors to steal from the Dwarfs. Sleek felt himself grin at the thought.
In response, his opponent walked closer, into view, revealing a cat, with claws and muzzle drenched with blood. He watched as his feline foe looked at him, considering. Slowly, the cat stood on two paws, seeming to grow larger in Sleek's eyes. It reached behind itself with one paw, before drawing a blade from nowhere, one Sleek recognized as made from World's Edge metal. Dwarf work.
The two foes stood, opposite one another, waiting.
In the distance, a drop of water fell from the cave ceiling.
They charged.
5 PM, Kvinn-Wyr
"I still can't believe you lost my Gromril sword, Oswald!" Francesco Caravello, Thane of Karag Nar, says exasperation in his voice. Around them, the handful or so Undumgi manning the command post their company had established in Kvinn-Wyr looked towards their leader, before returning to their tasks at the stern gaze the Tilean sent their way. In front of him, his good friend, Chief Bombardier of the Undumgi and the current target of his ire, Oswald Oswaldson sighed a sigh of long suffering.
"And as I keep telling you, my friend, I did not lose it," the Imperial replied. "I was holding on to it as you asked, when Corporal Snuggles asked to borrow it for a special mission." Oswald then waved all around him, as if to emphasize not only the presence of men in the previously troll-held mountain, but the movements throughout the larger Karak as well. "Considering the results of her last one, I agreed to her request."
Helpless to respond to what Francesco considered as a small bout of insanity in his friend, he looked over to his other boon companion, the Errant Knight Soizic, for help, only to find her looking in his direction rather surprised. Slowly, she raised her arm to point behind him. Francesco turned to look, only to find the oddest sight before him. Oswald's cat, the so-called Corporal Snuggles, was sat on the ground, slowly licking blood off of Francesco's Dwarf-given sword. The man tried to speak, but found the words stuck in his throat. His Imperial friend, however, was not affected, instead rushing over to pet the cat.
"There you are, Corporal! Whatever have you been up to?" Oswald said, settling down on the ground next to his pet, who paused in her licking to meow in response. "Oh? Classified? Well, I do hope you turn in a report later, once we're in secure premises," replied Oswald, taking out a rag from his pocket to assist in cleaning the gore-caked blade. "We're all quite curious what you needed this blade for."
4:44 PM, Karag Yar
It was in a nondescript cavern, deep beneath the Eshin-held mountain, that Sleek Sharpwit witnessed the last death of Clan Mors.
Here in this cavern he and his guard had decided to rest and to devour the flesh of the fallen, when from the shadows they had been attacked. Not by Eshin, nor by Dwarf or man-thing. Something else. Something with claws and fangs sharper than any Sleek had seen before. He had watched the creature rend armor and tear through flesh and bone like they were made of wet paper. In no time at all, where there had been a battalion of Stormvermin, there were now only the dead and the dying. The air, once thick with the Musk of Battle, now held only wisps of the Musk of Fear, choked out by the charnel scent of blood and viscera.
Sleek himself had not escaped unscathed. His tail had been reduced to half its length, and his chest was covered in shallow scratches, his thick armor only having saved him barely. His left arm, still attached to his mangled shield, was dislocated and broken in two places. The greatest injury of all, however, was the Black Hunger gnawing away at him, leaving him only able to keep standing with great effort. Fighting was out of the question.
His opponent, whatever it was, was much luckier, having escaped any injury whatsoever that Sleek could see. Even now, he could sense it, stalking around him. It sensed his weakness, and was looking for a chance to pounce.
Sleek would not give it that chance.
He wrenched his left arm back into place with his right, then tightened the straps of his shield to act as a makeshift splint, gritting his teeth against the pain. Once done, he reached into a pouch at his belt, withdrawing a fistful of warpstone dust. For a moment, he considered the green powder in his palm, the last store of warpstone in Clan Mors' possession, before he inhaled it.
Instantly Sleek could feel the pangs of the Black Hunger fade and renewed strength flowing through his wounded body. Bending down, he grasped a blade in each hand before standing tall once more. Death might be coming soon for him, but at the very least he would drag his enemy with him. One last thing for Mors to steal from the Dwarfs. Sleek felt himself grin at the thought.
In response, his opponent walked closer, into view, revealing a cat, with claws and muzzle drenched with blood. He watched as his feline foe looked at him, considering. Slowly, the cat stood on two paws, seeming to grow larger in Sleek's eyes. It reached behind itself with one paw, before drawing a blade from nowhere, one Sleek recognized as made from World's Edge metal. Dwarf work.
The two foes stood, opposite one another, waiting.
In the distance, a drop of water fell from the cave ceiling.
They charged.
5 PM, Kvinn-Wyr
"I still can't believe you lost my Gromril sword, Oswald!" Francesco Caravello, Thane of Karag Nar, says exasperation in his voice. Around them, the handful or so Undumgi manning the command post their company had established in Kvinn-Wyr looked towards their leader, before returning to their tasks at the stern gaze the Tilean sent their way. In front of him, his good friend, Chief Bombardier of the Undumgi and the current target of his ire, Oswald Oswaldson sighed a sigh of long suffering.
"And as I keep telling you, my friend, I did not lose it," the Imperial replied. "I was holding on to it as you asked, when Corporal Snuggles asked to borrow it for a special mission." Oswald then waved all around him, as if to emphasize not only the presence of men in the previously troll-held mountain, but the movements throughout the larger Karak as well. "Considering the results of her last one, I agreed to her request."
Helpless to respond to what Francesco considered as a small bout of insanity in his friend, he looked over to his other boon companion, the Errant Knight Soizic, for help, only to find her looking in his direction rather surprised. Slowly, she raised her arm to point behind him. Francesco turned to look, only to find the oddest sight before him. Oswald's cat, the so-called Corporal Snuggles, was sat on the ground, slowly licking blood off of Francesco's Dwarf-given sword. The man tried to speak, but found the words stuck in his throat. His Imperial friend, however, was not affected, instead rushing over to pet the cat.
"There you are, Corporal! Whatever have you been up to?" Oswald said, settling down on the ground next to his pet, who paused in her licking to meow in response. "Oh? Classified? Well, I do hope you turn in a report later, once we're in secure premises," replied Oswald, taking out a rag from his pocket to assist in cleaning the gore-caked blade. "We're all quite curious what you needed this blade for."
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chocolote12
A Penguin Flailing Against The Keyboard Of Life.
We're fast, but I hope I'm not seen as particularly aggressive. For me, it's mostly just that I'm interested in what enough people have to say in the thread that by the time I've posted somebody's raised another point I'd like to talk about (case in point, by the time I finished this post an omake popped up).
I meant more aggressive as in 'fast, and about a lot of things' rather than 'bad'.