NeonLights
Formerly Reliable_2IC
- Location
- In shambles
Those rolls were hidden.
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
We don't know.
- Location
- New Brunswick, NJ
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
There were no public rolls. Here are relevant QM comments:
NSMS
Probably evil, unfortunately.
- Location
- A rapidly widening tear in the fabric of reality
Though given that our audience lost apprentices and gained Magisters/Lord Magisters with each successive lecture, and that we were praised by Algard afterwards as having done 'very fine work', it's a reasonable conclusion that we got a good delivery roll and a moderate or poor understandability one.
- Location
- Singapore
My suspicion was that we had a very bad understandability roll with and then a very good recovery roll. It means that we rolled badly in keeping our audience, but rolled very well in attracting new audiences in compensation, and BoneyM chose to interpret it that the lecture material was too advanced for apprentices, but was compelling enough that Magisters/Lord Magisters could appreciate it's significance and considered it well delivered, credible and important.
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- Location
- Aotearoa
Methinks I recall a long-ago comment (possibly even in an update) from Boney to the effect that when we wrote to them we did a very poor job of keeping the gloating tone out of our letters at being a Journeymanling Spymaster to an Elector Count, while enquiring how their Apprentice drudge work and chores were going.
Mathildes excellent diplomacy and ability to observe social niceties in action, presumably.
Despite that, our College Contacts has seemingly been in action for us throughout.
I can only assume from this Mathilde was a bit of a teachers pet and a swot, thus popular with the faculty, rather than the most popular apprentice among the other apprentices.
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- Location
- New Brunswick, NJ
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Yep. Very first turn's results.
I think it was as a result of this set of rolls that College Contacts took shape pretty much just as Regimand, since the results implied a close relationship with our Master and a distant one with our classmates.
Also Mathilde is a little ahead of her age group. She's insufferably smug about it
chocolote12
A Penguin Flailing Against The Keyboard Of Life.
Yeah, isn't Panoramia only a year or two younger than us, or something? She's still technically a journeywoman, until her tests get done. And she was advanced enough that she heard about the reclamation of Eight Peaks, an expedition into the heart of a fallen hold filled with four different flavors of bad, and thought that that sounded like good fun; I expect that she's pretty far ahead of her peers as well.
Meanwhile, the only reason we're not a Magister Lord yet is because we're waiting to see if they give it to us without us having to spend our great deed, by my understanding.
- Location
- The Middle of the Howling Wilderness
As is our right!
Panoramia is talented, but Mathilde's talent awakened at a young age and then her greater talent with magic and the generally older peer group...swelled head a bitty
chocolote12
A Penguin Flailing Against The Keyboard Of Life.
Is her head really swelled if she's right about it? Being smug isn't the same as being wrong, much as some might wish.
- Pronouns
- They/It
All the accomplishments and accolades at a young age resting across her shoulders, it's no wonder Mathilde is so short.
- Location
- The Surface Of A Hostile Planet
The Grey Order is noted for recruiting young in general, so while Mathilde's accomplishments are indeed excellent, I doubt her progression rate is unprecedented.
IIRC the Bursar was described as having accomplished ~5 Great Deeds we know about and again that many that are too classified to share, so probably around 10 Total. If we call the reclamation of K8P roughly equal to 2 Great Deeds, then we're at 1 GD per decade, which is just about on track to eventually match someone like the Bursar.
So while we're doing a great job, I think it's still pretty much within the bounds of what's "expected" for a Magister Lord candidate... which is, of course, a rare title not awarded to everyone.
IIRC the Bursar was described as having accomplished ~5 Great Deeds we know about and again that many that are too classified to share, so probably around 10 Total. If we call the reclamation of K8P roughly equal to 2 Great Deeds, then we're at 1 GD per decade, which is just about on track to eventually match someone like the Bursar.
So while we're doing a great job, I think it's still pretty much within the bounds of what's "expected" for a Magister Lord candidate... which is, of course, a rare title not awarded to everyone.
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An excerpt from the journals of Soizic d'Karak, a Questing Knight 16
- Location
- Chicago
- Pronouns
- She/They
An excerpt from the journal of Soizic d'Karak, a Questing Knight-
Dear diary, my apologies for the nervous scrawl which today the quill in my hand produces, for I write to fill time afore a battle. I sit now on the ramp up from the caldera to the Citadel, perhaps halfway down, my legs dangling of a the edge of a switchback and my command perched above me. We are arrayed to allow other bands to pass while closing quickly at need- first to advance and last to follow, as the armies deployed to assault cross the caldera. It is a good view, and a clear morning, though still chill as we sit in the shade.
Oh Lady, grant me the fortitude to someday, if not this day, to endure these waits, with faith and poise aplenty lest my men lose theirs. Though perhaps my restlessness is mistaken for eagerness- my lieutenants chide me laughingly for 'excessive bravery' and beg me theatricly leave some enemies for the rest of them. I smile; what good to correct them?
The winter wolves pass behind us now. Cavalry into the caldera, first and most mobile should a response be mounted afore our attack should begin.
It is pleasant to hear jests and laughter, even facing battle as we are now. Such had become far more common of late, though none disrespectful, and I believe I know the cause; he ranges now under Karagril with Dame Mathilde. Journeyman Hubert, for though he has claim to a knight's title through his family he uses only his earned rank, has made himself more a part of my routine than I would have ever guessed some months ago when first we danced amidst nobility, under the stars.
(He insists that we met earlier, for all that I have to laughingly deny him; tis not a proper meeting if the maiden knows not the presence of her would-be suitor! Rather the first scene in a romance upon the stage, the lead actor stepping forward to declaim his feelings for one only fleetingly glimpsed. He arrived in the entourage of the Emperor's emissary, and spins such tales of the event that I can scarce tell I was even there myself!)
Needless to say dear diary, he has indeed taken up on my invitation, and availed himself of the company of the undumgi over these last months. At first a formal register: he requested, as a journeyman magister resident in the peaks, the assistance of the Undumgi in polishing the skills of his sword arm. Full robes on, letter of request in one hand, the other pressed to his chest as he bowed, as if negotiating between kingdoms rather than one neighbor to another. After the pomp and circumstance such that had passed through most recently, it was adorable; the boy wizard following clumsily the examples of those he saw most recently amidst the peaks here, obviously taught of the forms of the Northern Empire but disdaining them for novelty and higher examples, unknowing that such were of use when representing a superior rather than oneself. He was like a wolf who forgot he was not a puppy.
And as I write, the last of the winter wolves pass our ranks, and the first of the clans of Izor begin their trek.
Such formality did not last long. Perhaps as long as the first set of robes he wore- we naturally took him up immediately upon his request, and scarcely had he straightened from his bow than a ring of men had formed about him, and a waster pressed into his hands. For hazing is a tradition old as soldiers, and it fell upon me as commander to set limits on the form it would there take. I chose to not let him be pressed most sorely, and after two of the newer recruits tried him in vain for their own cocksure pride, I stepped in. Ah! I could not help but the grin that formed upon my face at that moment.
Doest thou recall, dearest diary, the scent of madelines?
When last I entered a circle such as this I was the coltish new knight, spurs so fresh the rivets still squeaked, and my opponent the master at arms of Le Chateau de Trois Soeurs. It was a courtyard in spring, the last snows just past and the soil dry for the first time of the year, warm patches of sunlight dappled over grey walls by passing clouds. I, too, had just given my introductions to that company, and I, too, was bid prove my skill with a blade er the time and attentions of my betters be granted me. I was sore from riding, nervous near to nausea, without ally or face of a friend in the crowd, my hopes for both pinned upon not embarrassing myself in the exchanges to follow.
And now I stepped in from the other side of the ring. The courtyard was similar- the gates of Und-Uzgar closing grey walls behind us as the clouds spent their time dappling the stone with sun. The figures were similar, a new arrival hiding desperation to prove themselves against the campaigning veteran, and perhaps nothing has driven home to me how full a circle I have come as that deja vue of worried but silent boasting done via guard stances. I was in command; I could chose, unlike those who had commanded me, to be kind.
Thrice into the dirt I threw him, his skill notable, though my experience of those who wield words and winds with their steel has been skewed by the Dame Mathilde. He was not her equal. He was not my equal, though the gap was far less than I had been expecting, and it was upon his third loss that I offered him a hand up and a place among us for a time, should he wish it- I would train with him. Dear diary I can almost remember my focus and thoughts of rank and audience draining away as he grasped my hand and rising smiled back at me, agreeing. A wolf, who had forgotten he was a wolf and believed himself a puppy, honest eyes and bright teeth. I smiled back.
He has walked at my right hand a dozen patrols from the east gates to the underway. We have sparred in the dawn's light, and talked of gods and goddesses over campfires in the evening. I tell him of the magic in the damseltales I knew as a girl, how I loved it and how I would wonder at what it would be like to be a damsel; he tells me stories of magister lords and crooked emperors, the Night of a Thousand Duels and the air of determined thoughtfulness that flows through the towers where those wielding the winds of prophecy strive to see and prevent disasters from befalling us all. That, and how he wonders what life would have held for him without the siren of magic, as just a knight.
I have not yet spoken to him of my brother.
And still we must wait! Perhaps the best way to fritter away minuted now is to write of the other thoughts of the last months? Some topics to occupy me (without blushes confessing the subject to those around me!) whilst deployments continue. Behind me the old clans of Izor have moved through, and now the Throng of Karak Azul marches.
The rumors of the day in large part swirl, as they do often do, around our Dame Wizard. Three pieces of note late, though any who would really know the truth in full are as tight-lipped as always. First, those spiders that so shocked me, and of which I had tried very hard to forget the existence of- there the rumors are true, and on them I can speak first-hand!
Twas only three weeks ago I was taken into the tunnels under Karag Lhune by the rangers, in truth to look over some of the approaches they had considered and provide some voice as a commander of the human vanguard, but that soon was overshadowed by the figures that bulked around us in the dimness. Spiders, at least four of them, all twice as large as I or better. Dear diary I shuddered when 'cross the valley in broad daylight, here I could scarce make my mouth work 'round words.
The dwarves were unafraid, the rangers apparently familiar with the monstrous arachnids, as they gave cheery greetings while the spiders responded with scrawled chalk reikspeil, and a bundle of web. Reassured that no poor captive rested within, and with one ranger peeling off to take the web back above ground, I recieved an impromptu lecture on the We, their cooperation with the dwarves, and the efforts of some poor beekeeper to teach them about the world.
I know not what to think, dear diary. The rangers seemed almost protective of the beasts, and they vouch for them as honest and useful allies. But, spiders!
Other thoughts.
There is, secondly, much talk of the dragon skull she returned from Sylvania with. I fear I must write skeptically of the wilder rumors, which would have us believe in an entire town run by a college of necromancers(!) with an ancient vampire sorcerer at their head, but she did slay at least one vampire while she was gone to that haunted fief; I spotted her wandering into Karak Lhune with its skull tucked under her arm. With luck the Countess Roswita will be safe anon, for she spoke to me on her journey back North and I found her most pleasant.
Last amoung the rumors are ones not of our wizard, but rather of my homeland. The elves of Athel Loren have given cause for anger to the knights of the south baronies, and we Brettonians mutter darkly to each other over wine.
Lord Gavin's eldest son Pinabel, whom I in fact knew from our days serving as squires, was taking sport in the forests near the boundary markers, when he harried and brought down a hart. The elves took offense to the arrows sent in the direction of their kingdom, and returned them doubled- for the single shot that passed the boundary marker they killed one of Sir Pinabel's huntsmen. The knight himself was wounded.
What arrogance those bark-weavers have! How could proper chevaliers be thought to take such insults without response, once they be known? I know my people's grudge is with a different realm of elves than that of the dwarves, but I understand well the sentiment!
War is, perhaps, unlikely. But such will be remembered...
We watch the caldera now as our armies prepare to assault the gates of Karagril. Surely some amoungst the innumerable foes looking down from their peaks shall come forth, and we will be called to battle once more, lest the dwarves be struck from behind.
- --- - --- -
Dear diary. Nothing. Not the slightest sniff of a poor odor from the rats, not a single growl from the greenskins, and Lady only knows what else may be lurking in yonder peaks, turning up its nose at our offer of battle. I do believe I am somewhat frustrated. Hark though! King Belegar calls.
- --- - --- -
Ah, my diary! There was glory to be found this day, for though the dwarves and the soldiers of fortune had taken the Karag, the beastman rattlings below had bestired themselves to interfere. We hit them hard, forced them back upon themselves, and taught them a lesson they won't soon forget. Now we rest behind chokepoints in the tunnels, where the occult calculations of the dwarves in these endless labyrinths tells us that Karagril gives way to Under Karagril. As if the tunnels above us, 'neath yet thousands more of feet of rock, were not also under Karagril.
The battle is won, the rangers tell us, though our pikes barely sipped of foe's blood. It reminds me of the battles at my now favorite tower, and the east gates, when first we came to this place. I believe I shall take it as a sign of growth that my heart feels relief, and shameful gratitude that no more of mine needed fall today, rather than frustration and glory-thirst.
But, happier thoughts now dear diary! Tonight promises to be a celebration! I am told the wizardlings made good showing of themselves, so again I look forward to sharing stories and dancing under the stars. Wish me luck!
A/N - ok so I completely forgot this was the chapter where Hubert becomes a thing, and had to go back and add a bunch. I hope it flows alright. Terribly embarrassing given a good portion of the reason I was writing this to begin with was for the cuteness those two offered... C'est la vie! I hope everyone enjoys.
Dear diary, my apologies for the nervous scrawl which today the quill in my hand produces, for I write to fill time afore a battle. I sit now on the ramp up from the caldera to the Citadel, perhaps halfway down, my legs dangling of a the edge of a switchback and my command perched above me. We are arrayed to allow other bands to pass while closing quickly at need- first to advance and last to follow, as the armies deployed to assault cross the caldera. It is a good view, and a clear morning, though still chill as we sit in the shade.
Oh Lady, grant me the fortitude to someday, if not this day, to endure these waits, with faith and poise aplenty lest my men lose theirs. Though perhaps my restlessness is mistaken for eagerness- my lieutenants chide me laughingly for 'excessive bravery' and beg me theatricly leave some enemies for the rest of them. I smile; what good to correct them?
The winter wolves pass behind us now. Cavalry into the caldera, first and most mobile should a response be mounted afore our attack should begin.
It is pleasant to hear jests and laughter, even facing battle as we are now. Such had become far more common of late, though none disrespectful, and I believe I know the cause; he ranges now under Karagril with Dame Mathilde. Journeyman Hubert, for though he has claim to a knight's title through his family he uses only his earned rank, has made himself more a part of my routine than I would have ever guessed some months ago when first we danced amidst nobility, under the stars.
(He insists that we met earlier, for all that I have to laughingly deny him; tis not a proper meeting if the maiden knows not the presence of her would-be suitor! Rather the first scene in a romance upon the stage, the lead actor stepping forward to declaim his feelings for one only fleetingly glimpsed. He arrived in the entourage of the Emperor's emissary, and spins such tales of the event that I can scarce tell I was even there myself!)
Needless to say dear diary, he has indeed taken up on my invitation, and availed himself of the company of the undumgi over these last months. At first a formal register: he requested, as a journeyman magister resident in the peaks, the assistance of the Undumgi in polishing the skills of his sword arm. Full robes on, letter of request in one hand, the other pressed to his chest as he bowed, as if negotiating between kingdoms rather than one neighbor to another. After the pomp and circumstance such that had passed through most recently, it was adorable; the boy wizard following clumsily the examples of those he saw most recently amidst the peaks here, obviously taught of the forms of the Northern Empire but disdaining them for novelty and higher examples, unknowing that such were of use when representing a superior rather than oneself. He was like a wolf who forgot he was not a puppy.
And as I write, the last of the winter wolves pass our ranks, and the first of the clans of Izor begin their trek.
Such formality did not last long. Perhaps as long as the first set of robes he wore- we naturally took him up immediately upon his request, and scarcely had he straightened from his bow than a ring of men had formed about him, and a waster pressed into his hands. For hazing is a tradition old as soldiers, and it fell upon me as commander to set limits on the form it would there take. I chose to not let him be pressed most sorely, and after two of the newer recruits tried him in vain for their own cocksure pride, I stepped in. Ah! I could not help but the grin that formed upon my face at that moment.
Doest thou recall, dearest diary, the scent of madelines?
When last I entered a circle such as this I was the coltish new knight, spurs so fresh the rivets still squeaked, and my opponent the master at arms of Le Chateau de Trois Soeurs. It was a courtyard in spring, the last snows just past and the soil dry for the first time of the year, warm patches of sunlight dappled over grey walls by passing clouds. I, too, had just given my introductions to that company, and I, too, was bid prove my skill with a blade er the time and attentions of my betters be granted me. I was sore from riding, nervous near to nausea, without ally or face of a friend in the crowd, my hopes for both pinned upon not embarrassing myself in the exchanges to follow.
And now I stepped in from the other side of the ring. The courtyard was similar- the gates of Und-Uzgar closing grey walls behind us as the clouds spent their time dappling the stone with sun. The figures were similar, a new arrival hiding desperation to prove themselves against the campaigning veteran, and perhaps nothing has driven home to me how full a circle I have come as that deja vue of worried but silent boasting done via guard stances. I was in command; I could chose, unlike those who had commanded me, to be kind.
Thrice into the dirt I threw him, his skill notable, though my experience of those who wield words and winds with their steel has been skewed by the Dame Mathilde. He was not her equal. He was not my equal, though the gap was far less than I had been expecting, and it was upon his third loss that I offered him a hand up and a place among us for a time, should he wish it- I would train with him. Dear diary I can almost remember my focus and thoughts of rank and audience draining away as he grasped my hand and rising smiled back at me, agreeing. A wolf, who had forgotten he was a wolf and believed himself a puppy, honest eyes and bright teeth. I smiled back.
He has walked at my right hand a dozen patrols from the east gates to the underway. We have sparred in the dawn's light, and talked of gods and goddesses over campfires in the evening. I tell him of the magic in the damseltales I knew as a girl, how I loved it and how I would wonder at what it would be like to be a damsel; he tells me stories of magister lords and crooked emperors, the Night of a Thousand Duels and the air of determined thoughtfulness that flows through the towers where those wielding the winds of prophecy strive to see and prevent disasters from befalling us all. That, and how he wonders what life would have held for him without the siren of magic, as just a knight.
I have not yet spoken to him of my brother.
And still we must wait! Perhaps the best way to fritter away minuted now is to write of the other thoughts of the last months? Some topics to occupy me (without blushes confessing the subject to those around me!) whilst deployments continue. Behind me the old clans of Izor have moved through, and now the Throng of Karak Azul marches.
The rumors of the day in large part swirl, as they do often do, around our Dame Wizard. Three pieces of note late, though any who would really know the truth in full are as tight-lipped as always. First, those spiders that so shocked me, and of which I had tried very hard to forget the existence of- there the rumors are true, and on them I can speak first-hand!
Twas only three weeks ago I was taken into the tunnels under Karag Lhune by the rangers, in truth to look over some of the approaches they had considered and provide some voice as a commander of the human vanguard, but that soon was overshadowed by the figures that bulked around us in the dimness. Spiders, at least four of them, all twice as large as I or better. Dear diary I shuddered when 'cross the valley in broad daylight, here I could scarce make my mouth work 'round words.
The dwarves were unafraid, the rangers apparently familiar with the monstrous arachnids, as they gave cheery greetings while the spiders responded with scrawled chalk reikspeil, and a bundle of web. Reassured that no poor captive rested within, and with one ranger peeling off to take the web back above ground, I recieved an impromptu lecture on the We, their cooperation with the dwarves, and the efforts of some poor beekeeper to teach them about the world.
I know not what to think, dear diary. The rangers seemed almost protective of the beasts, and they vouch for them as honest and useful allies. But, spiders!
Other thoughts.
There is, secondly, much talk of the dragon skull she returned from Sylvania with. I fear I must write skeptically of the wilder rumors, which would have us believe in an entire town run by a college of necromancers(!) with an ancient vampire sorcerer at their head, but she did slay at least one vampire while she was gone to that haunted fief; I spotted her wandering into Karak Lhune with its skull tucked under her arm. With luck the Countess Roswita will be safe anon, for she spoke to me on her journey back North and I found her most pleasant.
Last amoung the rumors are ones not of our wizard, but rather of my homeland. The elves of Athel Loren have given cause for anger to the knights of the south baronies, and we Brettonians mutter darkly to each other over wine.
Lord Gavin's eldest son Pinabel, whom I in fact knew from our days serving as squires, was taking sport in the forests near the boundary markers, when he harried and brought down a hart. The elves took offense to the arrows sent in the direction of their kingdom, and returned them doubled- for the single shot that passed the boundary marker they killed one of Sir Pinabel's huntsmen. The knight himself was wounded.
What arrogance those bark-weavers have! How could proper chevaliers be thought to take such insults without response, once they be known? I know my people's grudge is with a different realm of elves than that of the dwarves, but I understand well the sentiment!
War is, perhaps, unlikely. But such will be remembered...
We watch the caldera now as our armies prepare to assault the gates of Karagril. Surely some amoungst the innumerable foes looking down from their peaks shall come forth, and we will be called to battle once more, lest the dwarves be struck from behind.
- --- - --- -
Dear diary. Nothing. Not the slightest sniff of a poor odor from the rats, not a single growl from the greenskins, and Lady only knows what else may be lurking in yonder peaks, turning up its nose at our offer of battle. I do believe I am somewhat frustrated. Hark though! King Belegar calls.
- --- - --- -
Ah, my diary! There was glory to be found this day, for though the dwarves and the soldiers of fortune had taken the Karag, the beastman rattlings below had bestired themselves to interfere. We hit them hard, forced them back upon themselves, and taught them a lesson they won't soon forget. Now we rest behind chokepoints in the tunnels, where the occult calculations of the dwarves in these endless labyrinths tells us that Karagril gives way to Under Karagril. As if the tunnels above us, 'neath yet thousands more of feet of rock, were not also under Karagril.
The battle is won, the rangers tell us, though our pikes barely sipped of foe's blood. It reminds me of the battles at my now favorite tower, and the east gates, when first we came to this place. I believe I shall take it as a sign of growth that my heart feels relief, and shameful gratitude that no more of mine needed fall today, rather than frustration and glory-thirst.
But, happier thoughts now dear diary! Tonight promises to be a celebration! I am told the wizardlings made good showing of themselves, so again I look forward to sharing stories and dancing under the stars. Wish me luck!
A/N - ok so I completely forgot this was the chapter where Hubert becomes a thing, and had to go back and add a bunch. I hope it flows alright. Terribly embarrassing given a good portion of the reason I was writing this to begin with was for the cuteness those two offered... C'est la vie! I hope everyone enjoys.
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chocolote12
A Penguin Flailing Against The Keyboard Of Life.
It was three, and twice again as many that were classified, I think, so it comes out to mostly the same, but we just know less about her.
However, she was around when Dieter disbanded the colleges, if I recall correctly (she stole Ghal Maraz as extortion, I think it was said), so that's an awfully long time to be operating.
- Location
- The Surface Of A Hostile Planet
Hm. Dieter disbanding the Colleges happened 67 years ago, so let's say she'd already been active as a wizard for 23 years at that point, and that she started when she was 10, same as us.
That would put her at 9 Great Deeds at ~100 years old, where we're at 3 Great Deeds at ~30 years old.
So yeah, by that metric I'd say we're about on-pace with her, if we just keep up our current standard of excellence for another 70 years.
SuperSonicSound
Shadowmancer of the Shadow Cabal
Something to consider with Qrech, boneym did confirm that transfering him to the colleges burns qrech as an asset and that they would get nothing from him.
Strange9
hdellaverson@gmail.com
- Location
- Los Angeles, CA
Can I get a cite on that? Sending Qrech off to the colleges for favor was an option when we nabbed him, so that would be very surprising to me.
I remember Boney clarified Mathilde was probably the most qualified to interrogate him, and that sending him off would burn up the rapport Mathilde has built up, but nothing else.
Qrech's cooperation is entirely down to the literal year of Stockholm and understanding with Mathilde. Theres no reason for him to trust anyone after we move him from here.
And torture is very poor for doing anything
The Many Titles of Qrech
- Location
- Earth
Qrech had held numerous titles throughout his life, many but not all earned in the fractious forging process otherwise known as Skaven politicking. Some had been intrinsic, as much a part of his character as the putrid pale pelt of an Albino Stormtrooper or the cowardly weakness required of an Eshin Assassin. Some had been granted, in recognition of skill and battle. Chieftain was a good one, and he was proud to be named Anuvongeni. Some, he had chosen for himself, his careful development of Khazalid and Dwarven tactics marking his nature as a scholar.
A soundless wave thrummed through the air, not entirely dissimilar to the crackling emissions of warpstone when skirmishing against Clan Skryre.
Dwarf Prisoner rankled a bit, he had to admit. Though, he considered, it still beat out Skaven Meal.
"Oof!" he grunted. As if driven by his thoughts, he felt a small bundle of fluff impact his stomach.
"Shh..." he soothed, rubbing a claw against Skufit's quivering form. What a smart puppy! It knew danger approached, and the upcoming trial would be great indeed. Unfortunately, his Eshinzhufi warden had quite the convincing arsenal, and to match that he had only his quickwits, sleeksqueaks, and a cautious rapport built over Greatswording Gambits - though he preferred to think of their sessions as Traitor-Clan Tactics. (It made more sense! Barely any units even used greatswords, while there were at least three betrayals in every game! Besides, one of the recurring factions was clearly modeled after Traitor-Clan Mors.)
Ah well. The skaven, or peculiar manling sorceress, in this scenario, with the power dictated how things were defined, and the rest could only scheme and dream in the background. Such was the way of things. Qrech had held many titles, but he did not intend for fool to be one of them. (Even so, he would still call it Traitor-Clan Tactics privately.)
The Eastern Dwarves had been canny foes, superior to their western cousins in the sorcerous arts and rather more developed in their use of disposable auxiliaries. And yet the Dawi Zharr had never deployed a weapon that he could feel even in the middle of a mountain. The Gray Wizard, for who else could it have been, had clearly succeeded at whatever she set out to do if he could feel it inside his den, and just as obviously faced some new threat that necessitated the unveiling of that weapon. Inevitably, that victory meant more analysis. Analysis meant more Traitor-Clan Tactics sessions. Traitor-Clan Tactics meant more carvings.
For a Dwarven title, his warden's Loremaster had a pleasant ring to it; but that role wasn't his to claim. Artisan, however, seemed more and more fitting.
Block of wood in jaw, Qrech began setting up at the table. Mathilde would fill in the details later. He just hoped he wouldn't have to gnaw another dragon-thing.
A soundless wave thrummed through the air, not entirely dissimilar to the crackling emissions of warpstone when skirmishing against Clan Skryre.
Dwarf Prisoner rankled a bit, he had to admit. Though, he considered, it still beat out Skaven Meal.
"Oof!" he grunted. As if driven by his thoughts, he felt a small bundle of fluff impact his stomach.
"Shh..." he soothed, rubbing a claw against Skufit's quivering form. What a smart puppy! It knew danger approached, and the upcoming trial would be great indeed. Unfortunately, his Eshinzhufi warden had quite the convincing arsenal, and to match that he had only his quickwits, sleeksqueaks, and a cautious rapport built over Greatswording Gambits - though he preferred to think of their sessions as Traitor-Clan Tactics. (It made more sense! Barely any units even used greatswords, while there were at least three betrayals in every game! Besides, one of the recurring factions was clearly modeled after Traitor-Clan Mors.)
Ah well. The skaven, or peculiar manling sorceress, in this scenario, with the power dictated how things were defined, and the rest could only scheme and dream in the background. Such was the way of things. Qrech had held many titles, but he did not intend for fool to be one of them. (Even so, he would still call it Traitor-Clan Tactics privately.)
The Eastern Dwarves had been canny foes, superior to their western cousins in the sorcerous arts and rather more developed in their use of disposable auxiliaries. And yet the Dawi Zharr had never deployed a weapon that he could feel even in the middle of a mountain. The Gray Wizard, for who else could it have been, had clearly succeeded at whatever she set out to do if he could feel it inside his den, and just as obviously faced some new threat that necessitated the unveiling of that weapon. Inevitably, that victory meant more analysis. Analysis meant more Traitor-Clan Tactics sessions. Traitor-Clan Tactics meant more carvings.
For a Dwarven title, his warden's Loremaster had a pleasant ring to it; but that role wasn't his to claim. Artisan, however, seemed more and more fitting.
Block of wood in jaw, Qrech began setting up at the table. Mathilde would fill in the details later. He just hoped he wouldn't have to gnaw another dragon-thing.
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SuperSonicSound
Shadowmancer of the Shadow Cabal
On a mobile so finding a quote isnt easy, its because of the method we chose to work Qrech, he thinks we are mutually cooperating to destroy his enemies and theres a degree of stockholm syndrome as well also keep in mind hes been bamboozled by deceiver boosted lies to think hes providing nothing unique merely expeditious so he doesnt ghink hes betraying the skaven empire just fucking over his clan rivals and enemies, burst that fiction and he will suicide or sabotage.
SaltyWaffles
I am dissapoint, son
- Pronouns
- He/Him
...I'm imagining that in the stories/songs told about this battle/pair of battles this whole exchange will be mentioned in the most hilarious and dwarf-like manner possible. Something like:
"On the first day, when Mathilde and Johann raided a Skaven plague production plant, they inadvertently set in motion the awakening and rampage of an Emperor Dragon throughout the Karags held by the enemy. Never one to squander a golden opportunity, she promptly decided to mobilize the entire Karak's forces to retake not just one Karag as had been planned, but all of them, and by the day's end the few remaining foes left in Eight Peaks were desperately trying to escape. And when scouts detected a Waaagh of over one million greenskins marching for Karak Eight Peaks just a day away, Mathilde merely shrugged and said that it was tomorrow's problem. She was not wrong--on the second day, the Waaagh was promptly obliterated. On the third day, Mathilde flew to Altdorf to give a lecture about countering greenskin magic, because she wasn't about to let something trivial like retaking six mountains and killing a million greenskins delay her schedule."
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- Location
- Russia