G
Forums
Creative Forums
User Fiction
Rapping my way to divinity in this crapsack galaxy (Skyrim/Warhammer 40K/Some D20 Elements, Semi-SI)
Thread starterGrimmatt
Start dateAug 2, 2022
Tagscrossover dragon dragon si elder scrolls: skyrim warhammer 40k
Rapping my way to divinity in this crapsack galaxy (Skyrim/Warhammer 40K/Some D20 Elements, Semi-SI) RSS
Created atAug 2, 2022Index progressOngoingWatchers199Recent readers177Threadmarks67
A Skyrim dragon with more memories of a human than dragon somehow finds himself in Warhammer 40K. There are things that need doing, and if possible will try and rap his way to a big boy chair.
Threadmarks Sidestory Apocrypha Informational
Statistics (30 threadmarks, 44k words)
ThreadmarksReader mode RSS
Humble Beginnings
Words 1.2k
Aug 2, 2022
Tunnels, Masks and Crystals
Words 1.1k
Aug 2, 2022
New
Valor of Verdun; Faith, Steel and Guns
Words 1.8k
Sunday at 7:51 AM
New
Valor of Verdun; Liberation and The Ridge Falls
Words 1.8k
Tuesday at 7:37 AM
New
Valor of Verdun; Bloody Fields of Verdun
Words 1.4k
Today at 6:10 AM
1 of 3Next Last
Jump to newIgnoreWatch
Thread Tools
Threadmarks
Sidestory
Apocrypha
Informational
View content
Threadmarks Humble Beginnings
View content
G
Grimmatt
Aug 2, 2022
Add bookmark
#1
You know, there are problems with that old saying. You know the one. 'Be anything you want. Unless you can be a dragon. Then be a dragon.' The first and foremost of these is that you would not have always been a dragon and were once a human, and so the instincts clash just a little bit. Except, that as a shard of time in the form of a dragon, you have always been a dragon, no matter what mask you may have worn at the time. With the possibility that your human self had been an incarnation of yourself as your bones lay in the earth and your soul was bored doing nothing.
For as things hailed from the realms of Nirn and Aetherius knew, or should know at the very least, dragons were not mere beasts or creatures of wild and untamed energies, but fragments of their fathers thoughts, of Akatosh and his own musings on the nature of time and his own nature. As such, divinity was in the heart of a dragon, raising what was already majestic and mighty to grand heights that mere mortals, bound to the earth and their own mediocrity could never really fathom, their physical, mental and spiritual weakness chaining them more thoroughly than any cunning wrought device.
Which was to say, as a head slammed into a pillar of scrap and half rotted wood, an odd way to regard the memories of the greater part of ones existence. For what was existence save for the continuity of consciousness and the fact that ones soul remained? Granted, there likely were better times to ponder ones existence and the nature of the mind and soul, claws grinding on stone and scales pressing against crudely lashed together bits of metal. Such as when the miserable little green creatures stop their hollering and infernal screeching, running around and waving their tiny guns that did not even sting.
Which honestly, would take some getting used to really. And yet, there were the formalities to go through. "Yol Toor Shul!" Because as the words formed and primitive looking buildings made of scrap and ill fitting wood were set ablaze, dozens of the screeching creatures now running around on fire... Well, the first bit was said, now for the firmer communication. "Silence mortals!" Give the voice some of the rumbling echo, that pulse to let them know just how strong you are... and most of them, save for the particularly stupid ones fell silent and stared.
Yet, as burning eyes looked over them, well, it would be natural to just bend them to a greater will, as from the structures... they obviously were not doing anything with themselves that could be said to be meaningful. Then again, as a claw pointed at one, entirely random to be honest, they could just be brain damaged runts hiding in a sewer. Either or really. "You there, what is this place called?" Well, there was also the fact that the languages might not connect up fully (even as he pondered the words to take care of THAT little problem). And yet, the creature was able to respond, thank Akatosh!
Not with good news really, but still, bad news acknowledged is better than no news at all, when a reedy, piping and grating voice proclaims this to be an underhive of some... 'humie' world? Now, that brought up memories of the human life, of some stories and tales... and well, leaning forward, snout nearly touching the small green creature, there was in fact, a very important question to ask. "And you are a gretchin." To which there were many nods of agreement and shouts of green is best. And one that was still somehow on fire ran into a pole and knocked itself out.
However, there was but one rational response for one that found themselves, no matter their draconic upgrades, in the literal hellscape that was Warhammer 40k. Well, other than crawling into a corner to curl into a ball and cry really while keeping one eye open for terrible memes that would want to eat your soul (if you were lucky) or fey creatures that would have you subject to unspeakable torments to make sure they would not stub a toe later and be offended when one of the lesser races did not agree with their track record.
No, as things stood, there was but a single overriding factor of things to do. Look down at the gretchin and give the creature THE offer.
Two hours and a dozen kegs of fungus beer later, there was a nice and warm buzz to ones senses, the sense of paranoia and approaching doom somewhat at bay by the generous quantities of alcohol that could substitute for rocket fuel. To be sure, it was not the smartest thing to be doing, attempting to get drunk while surrounded by vicious and cowardly goblins, and yet, it was not like he could attempt this with another faction depending on the state of affairs. Still, a few small things and he had enough beer for a buzz.
It was probable he would have to slaughter them all later, there was no getting around that. And yet, a dragon had to have some degree of standards even in a hole like this, separated from the sky and the freedom of wind under ones wings... Something to look forward to really. But yes, beer and buzz acquired, it was time to leave this place behind, to move through the dark of the underhive and locate some... mildly more competent protentional minions as one made their way through the knowledge lodged inside of their head. Particularly the basics of how to use magicka, and if that plebeian and mortal art would even be safe to practice here.
Mostly due to the warp, and the creatures inside of it. To be fair however.... he had been expecting some of its misbegotten predators to have at least attempted something by now. That they had not to the best of his knowledge? Either he was being stalked like prey (which was frustrating in the extreme), or mayhap his nature as a fragment of time repelled them? He would need to experiment to find out really, if he could but get his claws on them....
Granted, as his bulk shifted through the tunnels, it might be better to not be as... overt right off the bat, as he relearned things in a world that was not Nirn... and was far, FAR away from Aludin and the Dovahkiin. Which really, was more than a bit of a relief... balanced out of course by deamons instead of deadra and the uncertainty if his studies into the arts of men and mer would prove to be lethal or corruptive here. Not to mention the need to make some soul gems, or if the damned warp would interfere with that as well.
Ah well, a part of him looked forward to debating the issue with all and sundry.
Reply
Report

67

4

1

Grimmatt
Aug 2, 2022
Add bookmark
View discussion
Threadmarks Tunnels, Masks and Crystals
View content
G
Grimmatt
Aug 2, 2022
Add bookmark
#4
There was a simple truth about the world that all the grumbling and pride would not change. Firstly, that dov just were not suited for tunnels and being underground. Dragons are creatures of the open skies, to soar with grace and power, roosting on great peaks were we can observe the world below us. That, and there was the simple fact that as a dragon, even one that was not of the grand bulk and size of some of the others, was not the most well suited for tight and narrow corridors, scales scrapping against stone. Thankfully, he was a dragon and could yell at reality. "Jul Fiik Slen!"
If Alduin had known that he had created that shout, as his voice echoed and scales shifted and split, cracking and melting, compressing down into a much more manageable size for the navigation of these tunnels, the bastard would have eaten him. After all, what need would a dragon have for a shout that allowed them to take on the form of men, to shift their scales into armor and be bound for a time to the ground? Well, he was already underground and the corridors connecting the caverns were sized for men and gretchins, and he would not let pride make of him a prisoner.
So, to all watching eyes it would not be a dragon that moved through the twisting corridors, but a human wearing armor fashioned from the scales of some great beast, a gnarled staff in one hand with a dragons head at the tip in his hand, poking and prodding as he moved silently and swiftly through the dark. To be sure, the form was confining, it itched as much as the grime and filth around him, at the decay of mortal hands and the slow dripping of water imbued with heavy minerals, radioactive isotopes and from what he could tell....
Really, it was no wonder just why the bloated avatar of decay and despair was so powerful, with the stench of generations lost to misery and the dark, being buried alive as a world spanning tower was built atop their restless bones. Frankly, it was enough to make him shudder, as while mortals are frail, weak minded things, that was no excuse to just treat the population of your cites as some sort of farming ground for despair that the hordes of pestilence could drink deep of the broth of misery... or swill it like cheap beer.
Really, despite all the gold (up in the higher levels), from what he could remember the nobles gave the token of worship to their God-Emperor while kneeling down to suck at the balls and taint of the great gender fluid/confused whore of excess and depravity. He paused a moment, eyes narrowing as the realization came to him. It was not so much depressing as annoying, even if... well, he had things to do, as he focused his will and extended his senses. After all, he required a lair, and there were more than a few possible ones down here.
Now, to be sure, the cavern, which was likely not one some centuries ago, had been occupied when he arrived. And yet, what was a nest of spiders against the might of a dovh unleashed and unbound? That they had been somewhat fire resistant and could leap while chittering (which made a sound like a thousand rusty chainsaws and demented laughter), which had been surprising, as had been the acidic spit. But, a few small tests later and the most important things about them were discovered.
First and most importantly, they were delicious with surprisingly soft insides that only burned a little once one peeled back the shells, and in a way that was more somewhat overly spiced then actually acidic. Secondly, the spiders had incorporated metals into their biology, mostly some interesting iron alloys, which once more proved that warhammer physics were violated with metaphysical dicks on a regular basis. Lastly, that one could not simply tear away their mandibles and use an electric current to make a crude chainsword.
Yet, some applications of fire, some plans to clean later and it was time to begin the other important experiments, to weigh and examine some of his tools. Because while he could shout at reality to make his problems go away, and that seemed to work just fine, he would admit that he would rather not have the local managers come down to see what was going on if he was a little too loud. That, and from his hunt for arcane secrets, he had earned his name. To have them lost, or worse than lost? To have them become seeds of self-destruction and ruin? To the dragon known as Ahkroonikaan (Hunter-Sorcerer-Wisdom) that would be a fate worse than many.
Now, from what he could tell, as he explored his senses, as he felt the weave of lah, of magicka, it did not seem to be a confused and snarled mess of things, of clashing and conflicting concepts. To be fair, it was weak, anemic and barely present at all, but it was there. He could manipulate it, shape it, call on it and explore it... and with hope and luck, expand it. Which really, was something he could test at the moment. It would of course need some additional materials to really test the expansion, to see if he could form a great stone again (and a part of him sighed, as it was likely that his old attempts would be looted in his absence).
Yet, as scaled lips moved into a smile, he selected the edge of the cavern, of the ruined material and he began his song. "Gol Meyz Rath!" The words washed over the stone, over the earth, and at his command, it began to liquify, to shape and move, to be malleable as he sculpted it with telekinesis, humming all the while, shaping and expanding the material. "Prahk Gol Brii!" And from ferrocrete shaped like clay, the material changed, as the flames of his breath washed over them, sinking in and washing away the impurities, burning and shimmering, leaving a wall of crystal in its place.
Yet, as yellow eyes burned with eagerness, as he sang the last words of the song, as they came roaring up from him with eagerness and excitement (for he could feel no corruption, no taint in the crystal, no sign of darkness or madness), those flames inside of the crystal grew, flickering and dancing, born into glorious shapes. "Gol Krein Agosend!"
And with that final thundering word light bloomed in the dark of the hive, as crystals of magical hue grew roots and bloomed in the rotten depths of a hive.
Spoiler: Custom Shouts
Reply
Report

55

2

Grimmatt
Aug 2, 2022
Add bookmark
View discussion
Threadmarks Testing and Rumors
View content
G
Grimmatt
Aug 3, 2022
Add bookmark
#8
Alas, he could not just spend all his time contemplating the crystals that made up the wall of his new lair danced and pulsed with a range of energies. To be sure, he would not admit it out loud, but he was pondering the best way forward, the best use of the crystal formation. To be sure, his course was mostly set because the stone lacked any meteoric elements at all and one could not simply shout or transmute those vital aspects into being. And without that core, of meteoric iron and glass, he could not begin the process of cutting and singing a Great Welkynd Stone into being.
Which, to be entirely honest, was likely to be quite the ordeal, if for no other reason than a lack of access to starlight in the depths of the hive. Because from his attempts, from his research as he crooned over the cuts and layered the enchantments deep, the stone required starlight to stabilize itself, to form a portal in its lattices to Aetherius and in doing so allow the essence of creation into the world. To be sure, he had only succeeded twice before, but he had gained insights through those successes... and those failures.
So really, as he gathered himself, it was time to complete the song, to finalize the crystal formation, how they would grow and would form the basis of his power in the times to come in many ways. "Brii Gol Rii Horvutah!" The four words rumbled and gathered in the world, bending and twisting into the crystals, the Brii Gol, altering it once more into its desirable form, as the lattices shifted and moved, the patterns there for one who knew how to look, even if extracting them was less a miners art and more a jewellers, as crystal primed to magic became something much more useful, much more valuable.
He brushed a claw over the growth of soul gems, or what would be soul gems when prised free of the growing crystal, and there was a wide smile on his scaled face. Even if he needed to set up an enchanting altar, something for staves... because most of his plans for potential minions, once they were washed at least, involved a generous helping of magical items. Because at the end of the day, as all the games could tell you, while clothes don't make the man, enchanted items are the greatest difference between a hero and pitiful NPC.
Hacker Jeff
Hacker was a simple man born into the tribes of the below. Sure, he was not the smartest man, but at the same time... a part of him wondered, as he looked at the stranger, dressed in his fine scales and with that metal, just how the fucker managed to live long enough that he was not part of someone's stew pot. Or just plain eaten by something really. There were plenty of things in the deep that could eat a lone traveler alive, and so despite appearances, the man was likely dangerous.
Offering some weird and crazy shit too. "So. You want me to pick up this magical axe and kill beasts with it. While having a sack of these stones on me." Which pretty much said it all. This was either some kind of demon or sorcerer (granted, the red robed metal ones were not too bad if you stayed out of their way) and this was some crazy plan that might end up with him dead or damned. Then again... "So, whats the catch?" Because them fancy upper hivers always had some scheme. Its why they bothered to venture into the dark after all.
So, the grin on the mans face? Creepy, but at the same time, could be worse. "Simple enough. Its a test. The better you do, the better the rewards for you and your tribe. I have plans you see, but I need... muscle, boots on the ground to do things in places I cannot go as easily. As it is..." The stranger reached for one of the slabs of iron on the wall and plucked it like it was no more than a mushroom, hands moving as eyes were locked on his, metal groaning as it was bent.
"Strength I have, lore I have. So, Hacker Jeff of the Paleglow Tunnel Snakes, would you like to see your tribe dominate all others?" Well, when the stranger puts it like that....
Hive Rumors
Tales were told, drifting up from the lawless dark and into the hive proper of a growing power below their feet. Tales of dread warriors carrying power weapons one and all, with strange devices of techno-sorcery that allowed them to send forth lightning and fire, shields that deflected their rivals blows and even tales of madmen riding warped and twisted Grind Spiders to war, of harnessed and leashed Rotrats pulling chariots of laughing barbarians as they raced in the tunnels.
Tales spoke of other tribes being forced under a serpent banner and flaming axe, of strongholds in the deep that had lasted for generations being broken open by some great force as the raiders rushed inside. Tales were told of butchery and carnage, of cannibalism and madness run rampant... and how the hordes were inching closer and closer to the lowest levels of the hive. Some spoke of gang emissaries sent into the depths, of redeemers that rushed forward to put down the mutants going missing.
They spoke, when they though the gazes of the aquila were not on them, of miracles of healing and health, of how it seemed that even the least of the tribe under the glowing serpent banner seemed to have access to medical care that rivaled anything in the spires among the nobility. The source of this was of course, fiercely debated as much as anything was debated and gossiped about in the lower levels of the hives. The source ranged from the Emperors intervention, to demonic influence, to foul sorcery and of course, of a cache of ancient technology discovered and exploited by a cunning warlord.
The last was mentioned in passing through many hands, through many places, until at long last, a creature (once human, but they left the weakness of flesh behind long ago), heard the report and wondered. She assembled the data, weighed the risks and resources allocated to her, and made the most cost effective and logical choice.
The very next day, it was known that the Adeptus Mechanicus offering a bounty for verifiable and reliable information on these Paleglow Tunnel Snakes. A reward of no less than a weeks rations and simple medical supplies! Treasures for those poor and desperate souls, some of which began to venture forth, to look and explore, to brave what they can and return with dreams of glory.
Spoiler: Custom Shout
Last edited: Aug 6, 2022
Reply
Report

54

3

Grimmatt
Aug 3, 2022
Add bookmark
View discussion
Threadmarks Water and Snarls
View content
G
Grimmatt
Aug 4, 2022
Add bookmark
#20
The experiments, as far as the dragon could determine, were successful as far as simple mark and recall point to point teleportation were concerned. What remained was creating the effects to form into a propylon chamber, to link multiple into a full circle. Perhaps, if he could get the arcane programing right, an actual index that would allow for travel between any point in the network to the others. To be entirely honest, he was going to settle for doing the first with full range transport second for a very simple reason. It was simple and it would be proof of concept.
Frankly, it was better to do the simpler one first, work the kinks out and then work on somehow adding in the mystical programing later. When he had more time that was not occupied with trying to make it so that his minions would not die horribly. And of course, so that he would be able to leverage them for greater power later. Which was another thing it seemed people forgot about proper minion care and management. The more competent your minions and the more able they were able to think for ten seconds without your direct input, the more useful they would be.
After all, if you just wanted dumb muscle that needed constant supervision there were zombies. And if you just wanted mortals to who you could loom over, make a few threats and devour a few before laughing to demonstrate your natural superiority... there was a mortal question that applied. Or at least, there would be the appearance of overcompensation. No, while your average mortal needed to know they were well roasted chaff in the wind compared to their draconic overlords, they also needed to know that said overlord would not randomly burn their houses down and eat their children because the futile tears of their parents amused them.
That was the sort of thing that ended with you needing to put down constant rebellions from a population that was well aware they had little to no chance, but would rather just get it over with quickly. Which then diverted effort from other matters one would rather be doing instead of putting down populations of revolting mortals. It was at times annoying how often his fellow dov had seemed to not even get that and then proceeded to play 'keep the child in the air' with their tails.
Yet, as Ahkroonikaan poked the silver wires that held a collection of three soul gems, nudging the last elements into place, it was the little things that would yield the greatest amount of loyalty in return. Because while dragons were immune to the petty dangers of poison and disease and did not strictly need to drink (or eat for that matter), the same was very much not true for mortals. They were often deeply and terribly injured by these petty annoyances, and that meant that they would be less effective servants. And so, he fashioned the basin.
Yes, it was not overly impressive in many respects, a simple tripod that held a bowl at the top, though one that was easily ten feet tall. The important thing really, was he hummed a word, was that it began to produce visibly clean water, rushing from the top in a fountain display. There of course remained the simple question of how to present his gift, and just how showy he wished to be about it. After all, a public gift suitably delivered... that would likely be a step in the right direction. Now... options and just how much of a scene would he require....
Tunnel Snakes
Several hours later, in the middle of the Tunnel Snake fortress, there was a flare of soothing silver light, similar in color to that of Greenie's new staff, blooming as from the ground came a great crystal tree, shattering and breaking to reveal a tripod. And from that tripod came a transparent liquid, odorless and of a kind that none of them had ever seen before. It was not one of the chemicals that leaked down from above, nor the strange substances of below. And it was far too transparent to be water, to be some kind of freely flowing crystal. Water, all could agree, was a gel with yellows, browns and greens throughout.
And then, there were the wings that unfolded, made of the same light that touched their souls and sang that there was indeed a better tomorrow, that the suffering would end and they could rise. It was reptilian, even as it spoke, voice full of compassion that drove them to their knees, a power in it deep and rich as eyes wept. "Greetings children of Terra. I come to you, as one among your number has served my loyal servant well. My servant has already promised rewards for this service, but..."
The ghostly creature looked around, seemingly full of sorrow. "I too wish to make a gift. It is a small one, but take it, and drink of water pure and clean, free of poison and filth. Drink freely and share with your fellows, for so long as you hold the good of your fellows, the good of family, in your hearts then ever shall the fountain flow." And with that, the spirit began to break apart into motes of light, wind wrapping around it even as it vanished, leaving only this fountain.
The elders and wise men and women approached and tested it. And with tears in their eyes, they proclaimed it good. And so it came to pass, that in the deep places of the hive there flowed fresh clean water, free of poison or disease. And in that darkness, was the seed of hope.
Amdor
Amdor was not a very old seer, but he was trusted and considered... odd but respectable. Already he had prevented several incursions of the great enemy, prevented a dozen imperial attacks on his homes holdings and foiled at least two WAAAGH's before they could properly launch. Granted, at least one of the reasons for the second was also one of the reasons why his fellow Eldar considered him strange and just a little of a pervert. Granted, it was not like he was having sex with the human, but by Isha just try explaining that to his disappointed mother!
To be honest, as he took a sip of Solenne Gérin's wine (all while looking perfectly human), he wondered at times if it was disappointment for having an assumed sexual affair with a human... or that he was not. Still, as he discussed matters with the noblewoman, mostly of the boring 'nothing major that I can see' variety, he would have one little matter for her. To be honest, from what he could tell the enemy had nothing to do with this one and so he was largely content to leave it be. Still, there was the matter of the deal with the humans (look, he could see what their numbers were like and the armies they could bring to bear. Primitive in many respects? Yes. Able to overrun the craftworlds despite taking staggering losses among the armies doing so unless they being in the geneforged colossi? Also yes), that he would honor. After all, broken trust was hard to repair.
"My dear Baroness, have you heard the whispers from below?" And that he only heard of them via his knives reports were... troubling. Somewhat less so after necking for Necron and Tyranid presences. Yet, as a fan fluttered and an eyebrow rose, he adopted a casually amused smirk. "Why, there have been tales of a fountain of fresh water in the underhive. Perhaps the honorable Mechanius would know more than a simple fellow such as myself, but I am curious as to how they would be able to acquire it."
Reply
Report

52

3

Grimmatt
Aug 4, 2022
Add bookmark
View discussion
Threadmarks Hunters in the Deep
View content
G
Grimmatt
Aug 3, 2022
Add bookmark
#14
One thing that many forgot, or had just overlooked really, was that the races of men were, at their core, still mortal animals and largely governed by the same instincts and drives. Granted, there was a greater degree of sophistication, of complexity to them, and yet at the end of the day the general desires of the species could be summed up fairly easily. They desired security, of food and water, of health, of shelter. They wished to carve out a place for themselves in an uncaring world and endure, bringing children into it that they can persist, if not in a personal manner, then in a general matter, a chain of blood and flesh that stretches the ages.
An alien mode of thought to a dov really. And yet, part of that mad scramble resonated so deeply, even if the reasons were hardly the same. Mankind scrambled for security of all it required to live and so sought out control for this purpose. For a dov, control was the purpose in and of itself. Control was ones mastery and domination of the world and those inside of it, as they lacked the mortal weaknesses that drove so many. And yet, that combination of strength and superiority was what attracted mortals to dragons in the first place.
And not always, though occasionally, sexually as some would think. No, it was the fact that mortals were weak but clever, limited and aware of the limitations of their own personal strength and far too often too terrified of responsibility and the scope of the cosmos to fully embrace individual agency, the sheer responsibility that came with maturity and freedom. Far easier, far more comfortable, to slip into the familiar modes of childhood and to place ones faith in an external protector and ruler, an often distant and silent parent whose signs of approval were so much more cherished for their rarity.
This was the mistake at the heart of the Imperial Truth, long forgotten and abandoned for the Imperial Creed and the deluded ramblings of Logar and his loyalist successors. It was a noble ideal, he was prepared to admit that, and yet one had to admit that he on the golden throne had not managed to make mankind, burned and terrified by a cosmos gone mad and fallen from power and grace retreated into childhood once more, grow up again. And frankly, Ahkroonikaan had no intentions of denying his divine nature, or robbing mortals of an adopted father and tossing them into the cold, into the dark woods with predators circling outside of the guttering flames.
To be fair, he was not also going to be a micromanaging bastard, because while he may be immortal he refused to do everything for the mortals. Teach them, start them on the path, provide wisdom and advice? That, along with roasting and devouring their foes, he planned to do. Be the source of everything and having his removal mean that everything collapsed? Where if he was not paying attention or was distracted things would slide into ruins? That seemed like a bad idea.
And so it was that he passed some days observing the Paleglow Tunnel Snakes, ethereal and invisible. And having made the rather delightful realization that he was not drifting into the warp when he used that particular shout, well... it made for an interesting tool as far as scouting his potential cultists were concerned. More reliable than attempting to use the higher levels of conjuration to attempt to mentally spy on them anyway. He had never actually been able to get that trick working back on Nirn, and given how many powers were mentally focused here....
It would likely be a skill he would have to learn by the necessity of it. Better however, to practice on those that were not his future minions. Best to avoid all of those particular misunderstandings until he could just claim some 'students' that would become priests and advisors (as in, powers behind the throne) and have the practice as part of a study into how to do it. Because while he could just show up, demand their servitude and eat those that refused... this would yield better long term results and not have them potentially call in Inquisitors with exotic weapons before he was able to deal with them.
However, there were two large projects to take care of first. Well, one of them was more of a two part project and required some additional parts and infrastructure. The first part however, was ready for testing. Hopefully. It had been a while since he had actually cast it. Mark and Recall, two potent spells that were in theory, simple and in practice? The reason he was laying as many defensive spells as he could onto his scales. Because it was a teleportation effect and if he wanted to make a teleportation network (if the Dunmer could make an automated one, and the mages guild offer guided teleports, he could damn well figure it out!) was if magical teleportation would interact with the warp.
If it did, then there would be... issues and he would need to return to the drawing wall as he pondered more deamon countermeasures. Yet, at the end of things, he would need to try. The first set of experiments were simple, placing marks close by and then using recall, as the white rush of starlight and timeless song of Aetherius washed over him, with no sign of less desirable elements, no corrupt and mad realms intruding on his transport, even as he moved and reappeared. In many ways, it felt as if he had simply stepped into a place were space was a suggestion and shouted himself to his destination, landing with his voice.
A relief in several ways... even if he was panting as he landed each time, the results of the winds of magic being rather... lacking really. This world was not bathed in an endless stream of power, and so... well, that introduced new variables to experiment with!
Hacker Jeff
He had been hunting for several days in the dark, seeking out beasts after testing out the effectiveness of the axe... and nearly dropping it when flames had erupted from its edge as it was buried in the flesh of one of his targets. Frankly, the sorcerous nature of that, of how the flames wrapped and seared the critter without seeming to actually degrade and damage the valuable bits? He had turned a wary and respectful eye onto the weapon... and wondered if the stranger would be able to provide more.
Because with weapons like these, they could crush the Night Skulkers, The Bat-Wraiths, The Daughters of Melga and maybe even striking to seal The Black Gate, preventing the horrors from the underworld from rising to wash them away. And yet, even if that could be accomplished, if they could grind their enemies down here under their heel... would the upper gangs fall on them when they were no longer divided? It was strange, thinking of things far off, not in reach of the almost now, and yet... that was what the axe really granted him, as the blade sunk into the head of slug, avoiding the razor teeth and drooling acid.
It was a promise of a better tomorrow, that in the dark, they could rise. When he returned to the meeting place on the morrow, he would need to ask the stranger, maybe with the axe to the man's throat. Because witch or not, he could bleed, he could die and he would make these weapons that would make sure that his tribe would never need to fear again...
Well, the witch did not kill him, but seemed to be amused with his demands. Which was good... even if he dismissed the offer to come back to the stronghold. Because it was not yet time or some shit like that. Yet, he was given another bag of stones, after one was taken from the old bag, the witch looking into each and humming, eyes focused on something only he could see, before needing to see the axe. The axe that was the key to the tribes future.
It was only the fact that it did not need to leave his hand, as the witch pressed a gem to it, as a pulse of light passed from the gem to the axe, that made him comply. "What was that for?" Because really, why did the witch have him kill things with the axe, only to press a stone that would crumble to dust and motes of light to it afterwards? Was this were the trick was? Was his dream going to shatter already?
Yet the witch waved. "I was recharging the axe. You see, the axe harvests the energy creatures give off at death, and the stones hold that energy." Which sounded suspiciously like souls, which made the likely mind reading bastard snort. "And before you ask, no, these are not souls, no more than the heat your body gives off means that you are on fire. Rather, as the soul leaves the body, there is a release of power, of energy. With the proper tools, that can be harnessed."
There was a twinkle in the bastards eyes, even as he took out another metal rod, this one having vines carved on it. "And here is your first reward, as that spider was impressive. Now, this staff is a bit different from the axe. It cannot be used to kill things. However..." The witch cut his hand open, pressing the head of the staff into the wound, a soft glow emerging from it... and the injury healing, mending itself as if it never was. This... this was potent and powerful sorcery! "Place the head on the one you wish to heal and focus on a feeling of warmth. Imagine it flowing into the one it touches. You should only need a few moments for the effect to begin, though severe injuries may require multiple applications."
The rest of his words, as the witch slipped away, were hazy, almost indistinct. For with this? With the power to heal the wounded? His mind ached and reveled at the possibilities, as hunger rose inside of him. What more could the stranger provide... and what would he need to hunt for more of these rewards? Indeed, what would he need for the stranger to let more of them hunt?
Reply
Report

43

2

1

Grimmatt
Aug 3, 2022
Add bookmark
View discussion
Threadmarks Tunnel Snakes Rule!
View content
G
Grimmatt
Aug 4, 2022
Add bookmark
#21
Tunnel Snakes
Few things were as great a blessing as the font. In many ways the burning axe and healing staff were less impressive. Useful in their own rights to be sure, but compared to providing water so clean none of those there could recognize it as such, save in the myths and legends handed down, as distorted and warped as those were? This drew attention and a call as the tunnel snake leaders gathered. They had a chieftain, and while in the end it would indeed be Butch DeLoria's decision, only a foolish chief (who never lasted all that long) made a decision without being aware of the feel of the tribe.
And so it came to be that a discussion was held, as a possible course was measured. Those who leapt to trying to capture the draconic spirit, or its 'loyal servant', the mysterious sorcerer Hacker Jeff spoke of, were shouted down with well reasoned arguments. Firstly, how to find them. Secondly, how did they know that attempting this would not cause it to withdraw the gifts, leaving them shorn of these mighty blessings? That, and the spirit was not Hacker to do anything objectionable. And the truth was, while Hacker had been a decent warrior, he now held greater promise.
The talk raged back and forth, as the tunnel snakes debated, as they spoke and pondered what they could offer in return for more gifts, for greater security for their people. Voices went back and forth, merits argued and one could say that there was the basics of a council of war held there, or rather, a great hunting expedition. Much of the motives were pure at heart and aimed at helping those of their tribe, to give them a better and more secure tomorrow. And yet, it would be a lie to say that there was no greed in the hearts of men, of leaders that looked on Hacker's axe with envy.
It should have been them that had the axe, had the power. To be sure, those same greedy souls allowed Hacker to keep it because they were unsure. Tales from the Black Gate spoke of weapons with unnatural powers, weapons imbued with unclean spirits that would enslave and twist the wielder. And so, they allowed the younger, less influential man to take the axe, to see if it would spell his doom. And now? Now their palms itched towards its shaft.
And yet, given how the spirit had its eye on them, they could not steal it, and the creature could likely read their minds, so arranging for his death was also unwise. Still, they, along with all the other leaders, merely hoped that they would soon be in a position to bargain, to have power placed into their hands, to have fire itself contained and released with each mighty strike of their hands. And for them to be earning the favor of this power, to have the rewards, which Hacker had given already to form the basis of his own power base, showered on them instead.
The Night Skulkers
Normally, fings were not all 'dat bad, see'n how dey were grots an' all. Sure, dey were small an' runty, but 'da best fing about gobtown? 'der were no orks runn'n around 'da place. So dey was free ta jus sneak out an' do some right propa lootin, nick'n whateva dey kould find. Sure, da boss took da biggest slice uv da loot, but dat was a boss for ya. Sides, 'e made sure ta give out lots uv grog, so 'e was not all 'dat bad. 'e even tricked a big scaly fing inta go'n away wit' jus a few kegs uv da bad stuff.
Which made it all kinds uv supris'n when 'da glowy snake Boyz decided dat it was time for a scrap. Had been a while since dey nicked anyth'n off im, had not even really stabbed any uv im or done anyth'n all 'dat funny like lur'n im into a dead end tunnel an' lett'n 'da squigs loose afta pour'n 'da smelly sauce on im. No, dis was a raid outta nowhere, an took 'da boss by surprise! mostly 'cos dey was gunna be hitt'n 'da bat Boyz for some uv 'da giggle shrooms soon. Dis was not 'da plan!
No, as 'da 'umiez struck at 'da edges uv 'da kamp, 'der was only wun logical an reasonable kourse uv action! wun dar'n an kunnin' tactic 'dat dey kould unleash against 'da 'umiez armed wit' nets an ropes, aim'n ta kapture (which was all kinds uv boring) instead uv jus stomp'n' im. Which was jus plain rude uv im when ya took a moment ta fink about it. An' yet, wit' da bellow uv authority da chains were pulled, levaz yanked an' prods spanked da balls uv squeal'n teeth an' klaws. "unleash 'da squigs uv WAAAGH!!"
Tunnel Snakes
The green pests were vicious and possessed of a certain low cunning, yet one could not say they were all that smart. At least, not a camp away from the main encampment, prodded and drawn out. Yes, it had been important to make it look as if they were not being backed into a corner, even as they advanced and broke some of the defences, shields ready in the second line. For when the squigs were unleashed, when the horrors of claws and fangs were unleashed... this was the prize they sought.
Some of the green vermin might make suitable sacrifices for the gems, offerings to the spirit. But most likely they would gain the better results, filling larger gems with the essence of squigs. And so it was that the squigs were funneled down shield walls, wrapped in nets and beaten unconscious in short order, a few wounds given from the teeth, one hand nearly bitten off, a throat torn out... all mended before death could claim them with that stave of miraculous healing. A gift to stave off death itself, so long as they were swift.
Yet, they soon 'retreated' from the battlefield, prizes in tow. They did not go far. There, one at a time Hacker Jeff hacked off heads, sank the blade deep into skulls and organs, fires roasting them from the inside. Several gems shaking and vibrating, and so, as the tribe nodded to each other and smiled, they considered this to be a good haul, a good raid.
Ahkroonikaan
It had only been the fact that he had watched their conclave, invisible, silent and on the ceiling above them that had let him prepare in the last three days. As it stood... he needed to prepare a few things, had to seek out and hunt down some critters (which allowed him to practice his spellcraft really), and allowed him to gain a hopefully mildly clearer understanding of some of the dangers close at hand. Likely not as much as he would assume, but what else could one expect in this crapsack galaxy?
Yet, he had the time, and just barely, the materials to make one hundred blades, all of which appeared floating around him as he appeared in his crazy wanderer guise. One hundred blades, one hundred leaders... and all save one merely enchanted with Fiery Soul Trap. Because really, he was giving them tools that would serve him in the end. Also, fire worked on a lot of things and when in doubt, cleanse it with fire. Which, as his staff gestured into the air, a sphere of flame growing, he would need to take care of after this.
"Well done warriors! United, you have surpassed my masters expectations! These gifts, to strike down your foes with the cleansing power of fire, and to draw off their essence, are yours!" And as spoken, ninty nine blades move to hover in front of them, as awed faces take them up, hands gripping them with eagerness and excitement. Cheap iron and cheap enchantment, but impressive enough to those who would not know any better. Yet, I had not given something to the chief, as arms spread out, and the blade moved.
It had a few decorations, what appeared to be serpents fangs on the hilt, a snake along the center of the blade, as pillars of flame reached down, expanding and erupting, washes of flame burning away spores. "To you I gift the Serpents Fang, empowered to do the same, and to restore your health by consuming that of your foes!" Which really, he could not make too strong, but it was, for this galaxy, a princely gift, worth the hive around them, even as the chief, eyes wide, took the sword in hand, and inclined his head.
Still, eyes moved to Hacker. "And once more, a staff for you, and one to commemorate this. A staff that can pacify beasts and render them easy to tame. Use it well in service." Because, as pillars of flame fell, scouring away the chance of greenskins reappearing, here at least, the bags of soul gems were swapped, and each one who had gained a blade received an assortment of gems in a pouch at his feet.
Yet, even as the dragon in human guise slinked off, there was a question. How to best bolster the strength of the tunnel snakes next? As he considered things, as he pondered the mysteries of mushrooms, the idea came to him.
Reply
Report

49

3

Grimmatt
Aug 4, 2022
Add bookmark
View discussion
Threadmarks First Song New
View content
G
Grimmatt
Aug 5, 2022
Add bookmark
#41
Many thought, even his mortal incarnation had enjoyed the jokes, that the UIltramarines primarch was more or less the same as them, a holier than thou bureaucrat in power armor and with weapons able to tear a tank apart. One who preferred paperwork and logistics over crushing his foes and breaking them utterly, reveling in exerting his superhuman strength to wreck carnage amid the pitiful mortals that infested the cosmos. One who would rather fight from behind a desk and with pen and ink then on the muddy fields and with bolter and blade. Weakness and arrogance some proclaimed, proof that he was no warrior, merely an upsized clerk whose glory came from the fact that his geneseed was stable and compatible with a wide portion of the population.
Frankly, those people, his past incarnation included, could be very foolish at times if not downright ignorant. Potentially even stupid at times. Because yes, the arts of bureaucracy were dark and foul enough to actually create wards that worked to supress the warp (he still needed to actually test that or see if that was just a strange author) to a small degree. The logistics of things were not glamourous or sexy and would not really help rake in the women of loose legs and looser sense. They were not often recorded in the history books, the tales that would allow those who shaped events longevity beyond their mortal years.
And yet, how did a society work without logistics? Without the ability to gather, refine and distribute the resources it needed for each of its many endeavours? Where did the resources come from, how were they extracted, what was needed to extract them down to all the way to building the tools to build the tools to accomplish the tasks needed to build the tools. All the way down to the necessities of life in the form of food, water, shelter and protection.
Everything boiled down to those four things. Everything else was a luxury for when you had your most basic supply chains and logistics worked out. As it stood, he had managed to provide one of the foundations of civilization to the Tunnel Snakes. For without clean water, mortals could not live. More was done in search of clean water or food then almost all other mortal activity, surpassing (even if it came as a brief surprise at first) the pursuit of sex. And the chief reason for this line of pondering?
The two hardest things to acquire in a hive, let alone in the underhive, would be water and food. Yet, with the font they had the water. Which left searching for some mushrooms, for a song to be sung and for the tunnel snakes to have the seeds to truly expand. And yet, at the same time, they could not strike out at their rivals right away due to the simple fact that... well, skirmishes were different then actual assaults. Granted, as the dragon had never actually been a military commander before. He could admit, in the privacy of his own mind to being an armchair general at best and not familiar with war in the underhive at that.
Yet, as he moved through the tunnels, aiming to sniff out just were those goblins grew their mushrooms, he might as well just acquire some samples to work with, before he prepared a location close to the Tunnel Snakes. After all, installing a mushroom farm, after shouting the concrete to flow, would not exactly be a subtle task. Best to be sure it would work first, then risk discovery and embarrassment later.
All in all, the quest for the mushrooms was somewhat anti-climactic. Nothing unusual or interested attempted to ambush him, there were no hosts of squigs or gretchin... but there had been, as he examined the area used as a combination latrine and mushroom farm by the greenskins (a reminder if nothing else that they were disgusting little beasts), one particularly oddity and opportunity. An ork, recently emerged from a cocoon..,. and with at least one snotling having run off to notify others.
And yet, the choice of what to do, as the dragon dropped into visibility and raised his fists, mortal guise in place as he grinned. "Do you think your hard enough?" Well, one could say that it had been an epic battle, a flashing of manly fists that slammed into each other as they struggled and danced among the mushrooms, grunting and roaring as blows were struck on each of them in turn. That however, would be something of a lie and exaggeration.
The ork was newly born and Ahkroonikaan was a dragon, no matter what he looked like, with all a dragons primal strength and vigor, made to dominate far more powerful than this overgrown fungus. It was not exactly a contest, as the ork was driven to his knees, as he collapsed from the brutal beating, looking up with blazing red eyes full of hate. It was then, at the ork's lowest moment, that the dragon struck the finishing blow.
Back ramrod straight, arms to the side in a perfect T-pose, all this seemed to do as fungi were plucked behind the larger one with telekinesis was confuse it. "What the zog is you doin humie?" There was confusion rooted inside of the creatures tone, as if it was not sure what exactly was going on, as the dragon sighed, shaking his head. He did not bother to answer, he already had what he came for, turning away as the ork hollered and bellowed, trying to scramble to his feet to keep fighting.
By the time the dragon reached a few feet into the tunnels, there had been the sound of gunfire, roars of pain cut off, and the cheering of gretchin with no ork to boss them around.
Some distance away, the sorcerer-wyrm was ready to begin one of his... well, a test run of a greater work in some time, as eyes looked over the cavern (close to his lair, to allow for test planting if this was successful), over the long collapsed stone and the detritus of life long past, out of the warm glow of the sun or regard of the stars.
And so, he shifted back into his real self, unfolding as his voice hummed and echoed, building as he sang. "Vul Gol Ahrk Dilon Golz Wahl Naal Haal Se-Jul. Sizaan Wah Joor Koraav, Fiem Nol Moro, Nol Laas. Dahmaan Laas. Alak Wah Fahlu, Aan Vokrii Kenlik Se Kos. Krah Golz, Hon Dii Thu'um. Kaan Hon Dovah Ahrk Qalos Daar Gol. Dilion Golz, Meyz Faal Yuvon Graag Denek!"
As he sang, as he raised his voice in prayer and spell, there was a wind, a green and howling wind that wrapped around him and the earth like warm showers and bright laughter, of love and growth, of the soil that makes up the world and the wild. And the rock, as the wind and the rain lashed and howled, as it remembered life, longed for life, and would live once more, bones and flesh being fed to it as the bounty of its own was fed to the flesh that walked it. The stone in this dark corridor, rich and moist, was soil now, untouched and fertile, ready to receive the seeds of life in its depths.
And so it was that the dragon bowed his head, panting and out of breath, sore in several respects. For this is land that would be good for farming, good for a society to plant the seeds of long term success. Something that would serve as a test bed for the mushrooms, and a springboard towards a surplus of food. Which really, was the main thing that allowed a civilization to do more than hold on, but to thrive.
Spoiler: Power Song
Last edited: Aug 5, 2022
Reply
Report

47

5

1

Grimmatt
Aug 5, 2022
New
Add bookmark
View discussion
Threadmarks Secrets of the Mushroom and Melga Rituals New
View content
G
Grimmatt
Aug 7, 2022
Add bookmark
#52
As the dragon looked over his stolen mushrooms some time later, he had been forced to come to an annoying conclusion. Well, more like was reminded of a simple fact. While he had some skill in the art of fleshcrafting and shaping (honestly, he had mostly picked it up because it had seemed to be an interesting combination of Alteration, Alchemy, Restoration and Enchanting and multi-discipline arts that extensive were rare), he was a single practitioner whose experience was for the most part, singular and limited to his own personal experimentation in mostly calm academic settings. And so, compared to the Old Ones, he lacked a few advantages that raw power was meaningless to overcome.
For one, he lacked a community whose specialization was biological warpcraft. On who had a long history of experimentation and refining their results and collaborating to further the collection base of knowledge and reach of their projects. That, and there had been a war, conflicts to spark creativity and explore alternative options that would generally not be considered worth it. And at times, the results could be surprisingly, deceptively even, complex and potent. To say nothing at all of hard to manipulate. Granted, there were reasons for that.
The first, so far as he was able to determine, was that the physical part of the mushrooms were the least impressive and complicated part that he could perceive. And the damn things were less actual fungus and more nested fractal information storage and anchors from what he could puzzle out. Oh, and also every single part of the ork ecosystem all at once, at least in potential. This was important, because the mushroom was not a mushroom. It was an ork. He could not remove the ork, make the ork fade, separate the ork from it or in any other way change the portion of it that was ork.
By targeting the ork, the mushroom would fade, rot, explode, shred itself, be sliced into neat piles, duplicate itself, turn into random orkoid creatures, and in general prove to not be suitable for his purposes. And so, he would need to go back to the drawing wall, to look at some of the alternatives, as flames danced around in purifying sweeps, scorching and melting the remaining spores away. After all, one must be careful to avoid unfortunate infestations in ones alchemy garden. And orks were a touch worse than that.
Of the potential options for how to create the seeds, simply shouting them into being was almost imminently discarded for several reasons. First and foremost was that even just calling the seeds into being would be exhausting in the extreme, as was all creation of relatively mundane matter. While he was a demigod, a shard of Akatosh... he was not his father, and while he was far above mortals and blessed with powers to shame them, he was wise enough to admit that creating viable independent life out of nothing save his own authority was a touch beyond him.
And so, he began shaping crystal into a flat plane, whispering words as he began his enchantments of the object. The origin of the crystal sphere as a tool for scrying and divination were something he had not been surprised to see that his mortal peers would have lost. Mostly because like the art of fleshcrafting, it was a multi school discipline that was far less useful without the other components. Yes, one could use the dream method easily enough, he would not deny that, and yet he had always wondered just why they retained the single illusion part of it while discarding the others.
In essence, the crystal ball itself was actually meant as an interface, as one conjured what amounted to be a floating ball of energy that was naturally invisible and close to ethereal. Using a mental link, filtered through the orb, the conjured sensor would move about, the combination of mental link and the balls odd senses that worked more closely to conceptual sensing then strict visual information, it would begin to move at great speed towards the desired location. This could take some time, but properly done the sensor was almost as swift as thought itself.
That, and far less annoying then opening ones mind to the cosmos, sending out a pulse of energy linked with a request and using the return data to construct a visual cue that would point you in the correct destination. Safer as well really, given the local dangers. Yet, as the sensor swiftly moved, this should soon find the closest source of non-orkoid mushrooms. Because while creating them from nothing save possibility was far too tiresome, altering them was much simpler. Of course, he did direct them away from the plots that the tunnel snakes used, better to gather the materials somewhat further afield.
So it was that his eye came across the fields for the Daughters of Melga, or what counted as fields in the underhive, were these sorceresses grew mushrooms and more exotic materials for their warpcraft and alchemy (and he wanted to examine them, to see what properties they possessed), and what seemed to be the pens in which they kept the mutant thralls and serfs they commanded, some clearly being raised and treated as livestock... or if his guess was correct, as six were selected from the pens by a young woman, sorcerous materials. Something to keep an eye on...
Vjera Melga
The time had come. In some ways, she had been afraid of this, in others she had been awaiting this moment with eagerness in her heart. It was the only way to save her little brothers life after all. A gift, given to her by their mother, that she could shape him into a proper servant and announce her place among the family as a heiress to their line, even if they had little chance of unseating the matriarch from the tip of her tower. And yet, there were preparations to be made, for this to be successful.
Six thralls were selected from the pens, or rather, she had selected them six cycles ago and with each while still in their pen she marked them once each day in a different way. Each had been taken from a different pen. Each had been fed a different hallucinogen each day with their meals. And now, they were herded into the ritual chamber, to be staked down, for them to be become donors, their lives sacrificed so that her brother might live in service. For he was a male, and men must serve.
Two of her assistants began to beat the drums, the beats counting to six, like the pulses of a great heart, as another lit the balls of incense, heady and clashing, walking around the ritual room in silence, swaying back and forth to the beat of the drums, clouds of rich dark smoke wafting about. It was relaxing, as she breathed deeply, as she focused on the last assistant, as they stood by the tools of the rite, ready to pass her the mediae tools needed to reshape her brother, all using the donors that surrounded him, a circle of six.
She breathed deeply, and began the work, began the rite of fleshmoulding, so that her brother would not be discarded, not be sacrificed on the altar of power. No, her brother would be her shield and guardian. It was the least she could do for her twin, as he screamed and thrashed, flesh and blood and bone cut open and drained, filling him with more, tainted and shaped by the powers of sorcery. For he would be made strong, as she was made into a vessel for the arcane arts. Such was the way of the daughters of Melga.
The Matriarch made sure none dared dream of escape after all.
Ahkroonikaan
Well, it seems that any plans for dealing with the Daughters just gained a greater priority, because if their thralls and slaves were fleshwrought, if they did it to themselves as well? That could prove to be troublesome to deal with, and there was of course, another important question. The rite of Fleshmoulding, as filtered through memories of RPG books and the abundant drugs and usage of the number six, was a slaneeshi rite. And if they had rituals that advanced, what else might they have access to?
Something to look into, and a place to steer his minions once he finished a few projects. And well, once he stole some mushrooms to properly alter and transform of course. That was the first project to do, ransacking the library of matriarchal sorceresses later. Focus. Focus was good and one could keep their lore lust in check for the moment. Just a few samples, as he looked over the position of the guards, keen eyes looking for the living ones and any traps... even if he had ways around those. Yet, soon, as he watched for several hours, a cycle or three mayhaps (more than a few shifts of guards), and he was confident.
And so, once more, he went on a raid for fungi. Unlike the last one, this one went off without a hitch or incident.
Reply
Report

41

1

Grimmatt
Aug 7, 2022
New
Add bookmark
View discussion
Threadmarks Recalling Intervention.... and what the Jolly Men are up to New
View content
G
Grimmatt
Aug 8, 2022
Add bookmark
#55
He had been working, for the last two weeks as the mushrooms were beginning to grow. As it was, it would take three months or so for the mushrooms to go from seeds to sprouts to actual shrooms. In many ways, it was best not to change the mushrooms too much, at least when it came to the most basic aspects of them, how they were as fungi and their lifecycles. Because those were some of the useful parts really. And this was another point that many failed to think of, when looking to do various uplifting projects. Things took time.
Yes, they now had a hundred blazing swords to throw back the darkness and smite their foes, that much was true. They now had a source of fresh, clean water that would be free of disease and poisons. A staff that would allow them to heal terrible injuries so long as it was charged... and a staff that would allow them to subdue and tame beasts with far greater ease. All of this inside of a narrow time frame, all of this creating changes that rippled and moved... and could very well contribute to a collapse if things were pushed too far, too fast.
Well, that and the next phases of things tended to need some tweaking, the mushrooms needed testing (the initially changed ones were as expected, now it was time to see how the spores would fare) both to see if they would grow and inherit the properties or if they would mutate, and of course he was also busy with the next phase of the teleportation network. In a sense, he was looking into the four teleportation spells he was aware of, besides of course the additional effects of conjuration. Mark, Recall, Almsivi Intervention and Divine Intervention.
Of this collection, the later two needed the most analysis, and a part of him bemoaned the fact that he had never actually done that much research into the effects till now, if only because if he just had the rest of the guild... then again, he was able to puzzle out a few things. Firstly, was that while Mark primed the Recall spell with a unique, personal beacon, a marker amid the flows of the world, what the intervention series of did seemed to lack that at first. Until one recognized a key aspect and looked into the matrixes of the spells.
At their core, the interventions were a variation on the recall spell, with the targeting component being an enchanted and consecrated object that would be a part of the major temples and cult centers. Each of these marks were in turn an 'open' mark, broadcasting for all that needed to use the effect to travel there, where the transport spell looked just for the nearest such beacon. Which really, was all he needed to make the breakthroughs, though he would need to actually make the variations of mark and recall, perhaps for each particular platform in the network.
Which honestly, might have been what the morrowind guild guides had been doing, acting as managers of the network, communing with each other tom prevent accidents and casting touch or target based versions of differently calibrated transport spells. It was, as it ever was, an interesting phase to that experiment and something he would be working to try and expand as much as possible if he could, to have a real and hard to detect centralized transport method for when he looked to expand beyond the hive... or even just the underhive really. And yet, the most important thing, for a civilization, was not this.
No, as he monitored the mushroom growths, the real future he would offer the Tunnel Snakes would come from the mushrooms they would grow, all having the alchemical effect of curing disease (sick minions were not only unproductive minions, but potential Nurgle cultists), but they also were all of good nutritional content. To be sure, some of the caps might be better served ground and made into a bread, others were fine roasted and all would be good in a stew. All in all, combined with the fact that the stalks of the yellowcap were long and fibrous, that should be a sort to make a cloth from?
These would be the foundation of a culture able to feed itself, and in doing so, rise beyond techno-barbarism as they dwelled inside the ruins of older and more glorious days and into a bright new future of their own making.
Chairman Klaus
Chairman Klaus, of the Peoples Committee for Prosperous Progress and Spiritual Enlightenment under the Glorious Guidance of Grandfather Nurgle, though most just called them the Jolly Cooperators instead, as they were but the humble proletariat, little more than poor wretches, humans beaten into being little more than dumb and wretched beasts by the tyranny of the Imperial Regime and their socio-economic privilege that arose due to the colonization of Hive Bordeaux, was a busy man.
To be sure, as he wallowed in the bath of fine filth, attended by the most beautiful of the serving girls (the sores and cancers on her body, the bloating and green-yellow pallor was exquisite! To say nothing of that delightful smell of rotting flesh!), he partook in some manner of luxuries more than those of the common foot solider, but then, as the chairman of the party, that was his right. His loyal followers gave him gifts, such as this melon coated in a lovely layer of slime, that he could focus on the weighty and laborious leadership tasks, directing their lesser efforts to the greater communal glory of grandfather Nurgle and himself of course.
And yet, this was a most delightful of days, for he had found the cache of delights, and the key to the treasure in the sump! And wonder of wonders, truly a blessing from the overflowing cauldron of his lord, master and saviour, they had managed to finally brew a delight for his bath. Gurgling from folds of rotting fat, form half melted and decayed as he burbled happily, the attendants poured the green and glowing ooze on his form, a shower of delights as he opened his mouth and drank deep.
He was mildly aware some of the other members of the party would be bathing in their own pools of rancid sludge and muck, now enhanced with the potent gift of the Festering Shroud. How grand they would look to the unenlighted, how wonderous their bulk as they moved to crush and instruct those who swore to rather more fickle and unloving gods. Why, they would need to capture and chain a few of them, bathing them with loving hands to rot the truth into their eyes.
And yet, with a pleased sigh, the massive man emerged from the pool. Why, this long cycle would be the one to bathe the Black Gate in radiation, to crack open the gates and allow the delightful cousins from below up to play. They would, after so long in the dark, be so very hungry after all, and as the leader of the downtrodden and disentranced, foot nearly breaking a counter revolutionary's spine (after all, if you had to have a party officer bathing hall, why not have those who would try and betray the party do something useful?) as he ambled slowly to the smoking lounge.
There, as the other officers emerged from their baths, they would look over the war plans once more, have a light third lunch (could not ruin ones appetite for first supper after all), drink some beer mixed with scab and see if any of the girls have new venereal diseases to share. Then he can look through reports, see which of his followers have betrayed the party and decide how they would make an example of them to raise morale.
Ah, it was good to be the boss.
Reply
Report

37

3

2

Grimmatt
Aug 8, 2022
New
Add bookmark
View discussion
Threadmarks Chaos at the Gate New
View content
G
Grimmatt
Aug 9, 2022
Add bookmark
#61
Acting Warden-Commander Zarko Krall
His face was grim, as he looked over the battle reports, of the skirmishes that had already begun to flare up again. The simple truth of it was that they were near constantly under light attack. Usually just heretics probing at the outer defenses, profaned dead or twisted beasts from the depths and the occasional Brass Fang champion that decided that charging the walls was a brilliant tactic, because they were harder and more deadly than the last dozen that tried. Sometimes they had whatever foul sorcery the Weeping Oracles cooked up (the rain of screaming frogs was difficult to forget). But the worst?
Various poxers were on the march, driven forward to test the defences in the name of jolly cooperation. Because the blighted ones never attacked without thinking they had found an edge, something that would allow them to tip the scales in their favor. As often as not this was something to do with sabotage to the food or water supplies, which always boded ill. Yet this time? This time, as he looked over the pict-records of his scouts, this was something more direct then they usually got up to, as they overran forward post Papa-14.
Or breached rather, with three breaching drills that allowed a pack of five Bane Wolves and three Sentinel Walkers entry. All seemed to be rusted and corroded, all had potent chem weapons... and from what it sounded like, one of the walkers was armed with Rad missiles and another was actually a damned deamon engine. The acting commander gave no thought to the fact that most commanders who began to see this sort of enemy ploy not in horror, but resigned disgust, were routinely purged in the Imperium. For having the knowledge alone. All that mattered to him however, were the steps needed to combat this.
It was also a reminder that they had gotten complacent, given how the Black Knives seemed to target problematic warlords more often then not, assassinating them before they caused too much trouble. Granted, they had never been able to kill Klaus, even if they had managed to remove several 'high ranking party officials', the offal lizards were soon replaced. It might be too much to hope that killing that one would make them splinter, better several infighting warbands than single large and well organized one. Granted, the last might be overly generous and cautious.
And yet, he needed to give the orders. "Send a runner and attempt to raise the defense headquarters on the Vox, that there is a major enemy incursion, confirmed plague, chem and rad weapons in the hands of the attackers. Current projected target is the Black Gate and the Great Elevator." Both of which his command defended. Both of which they had entrenched and built up generations of fortifications around. Because they had a duty to hold the line. And yet, even as he gave the required orders, well, it was not like they were ever sent reinforcements from higher in the hive.
And so, he nodded. "Also, try and raise the Red Gaze and Black Knives. Given the enemy forces moving in..." Well, the first would have some tech knowledge and hopefully be able to contact the red priests to lend support to deal with the corrupted machines. Because the tunnelers would be the hardest part, given how they were short on explosives and anti-armor weapons. For some reason, they never saw the need to supply the local planetary defense garrison that sat on a secondary hives gateway into the dark more than once a decade, and with the bare basics.
Still, his troops would make do, as they always had. They may not be the Imperial Guard, their own weakness of flesh and faith closing off that path to service. They were Svek instead of Fersi and thus, to rot with the hives old regime and people according to their new (it had only been hundred years since they took over the spire and upper hive city after all) overlords. It was entirely possible that if the nobles even decided to muster their forces that the Wardens of the Black Gate would be purged as well.
And yet... they had a duty, and they would perform it.
It had taken three days for the enemy to arrive at the main line of defences, their diseased hosts showing one of their main weaknesses. And yet, there was a simple fact, that the hordes outnumbered the defenders almost one hundred and fifty-six to one. Some would see those as terrible odds, as a sign they would die horribly. To the Gate Wardens, this was simply a time to fight and for the enemy to die. And if the enemies of mankind would be so kind as to emerge in numbers for the culling?
As the limited numbers of shells they possessed for their three basilisks began to fire, blooms of fire among the teeming horde, tearing great rents into their numbers. And yet, as the wretches were driven forward, into the minefield, it was not enough, not really. More and more kept pouring into kill zones were they did not have enough working basilisks to scourge them all. And as the front ranks of survivors either triggered the mines or tangled themselves in hard to spot razor wire only allowed for the others behind them to crawl over corpses, grinding them onto the crete.
All of this just to clear the chaff, to delay them before rank after rank of PDF forces opened fire, lasguns burning in the dark in a wave of light, burning away the rotten tide, sections breaking as they cried and turned, trying to flee back into the dark. Their 'comrades' were not having it, pushing the unfortunates back into the fray... even as there was the screaming echoing bellows. Rot-Rats, there were always Rot-Rats. Granted, calling the bloated horrors simple rats would be doing both them and normal rats a grave disservice.
Picture for a moment, a rat the size of a draft horse, six feet tall at the shoulder and all things were proportionate. There were scabs, puss filled abeyances pitted onto its flesh, some of which had pale tendrils (that seemed to be almost like maggots) emerging from them. In all cases, there was hate, hunger and pain as they squealed and chittered, rushing forward to claw and bite at any human sized target that was not able to get out of the way, devouring slow cultists as they screamed, the rats crashing into hidden prepared stakes, others crawling up to scream and bite.
All of this snarling the front lines, all of this drawing the eye. Why, it was so busy one could overlook a morbidly obese chairman and his personal guard sneaking by some hidden passages. After all, let the chaff die and rot to further the fermentation and new growth to come. After all, there was a corpse in the depths to wake, to lead the joyful and hungry host to break the walls in seven days. After all, when The Black Boar marched to war once more, the gate would crumble under the knights bile and death would feast.
Reply
Report

38

Grimmatt
Aug 9, 2022
New
Add bookmark
View discussion
1 of 3Next Last
Jump to new
Threadmarks
Sidestory
Apocrypha
Informational
View content
20 more messages…
BoldItalicMore options…
Insert linkInsert imageSmilies
Insert
Advanced bb-codes
UndoMore options…
Preview
UnderlineStrike-throughText colorFont size
Font family
Paragraph format
List
Alignment
Align left
Align center
Align right
Justify text
RedoRemove formattingToggle BB codeFullscreenDrafts
Write your reply...
Empty Post
Post reply More options
Using editor Useful BBCode
Similar threads

In which a Dragon dies at the end (Elder Scrolls Skyrim)
SneakyWalrus
Words: 22k
elder scrolls: skyrim
Replies 4
Feb 16, 2015

Dragonborn Falling (Elder Scrolls / Skyrim)
Laughtrack
Words: 4.1k
elder scrolls: skyrim
Replies 8
Aug 6, 2014

Transmigrated to Elder Scrolls (Skyrim Si)
crowgaming
Words: 1.6k
alternate history self insert skyrim
Replies 2
Jun 14, 2021

The Book of the Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls/Skyrim)
FractiousDay
Words: 89k
1 2
Novel Fantasy elder scrolls elder scrolls: skyrim morrowind
Replies 32
Jul 27, 2020

The Dragonborn Comes and Goes (Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim SI)
Lazurman
Words: 14k
1 2 3 4
self insert skyrim
Replies 93
Aug 1, 2020
Forums
Creative Forums
User Fiction
Industrial
Contact us
Terms and rules
Privacy policy
Help
RSS
Community platform by XenForo® © 2010-2021 XenForo Ltd.
Sufficient Velocity would like your permission to enable push notifications.