The Daemon King (Inactive)

Game Master Yuugasa


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In the extreme far north of the world is a tear in the fabric of reality, a hole into that unknowable realm men, in their ignorance, call The Realm of Chaos.

If the Realm of Chaos can be compared to something from the real world it would be an ocean, a vast ocean of magical energy formed from the thoughts, feelings, Souls, and imaginations of mortals.

All things exist in its swirling depths, every last idle dream man has ever had, for in this realm thoughts and feelings are as tangible as steel and stone is in the real world. When a person dies, their souls migrate into this realm of living dreams, where they encounter the Gods and Daemons of the mortal mind in strange realms formed from imagination, faith and emotion.

Though the Gods and Daemons of this realm are formed from the emotions and imaginations of mortals they are no idle reflections, they are real, and sentient and oh so potent in their terrible power, and they hunger, they hunger for more emotions, more power, more souls. Even the most benevolent amongst them draw strength and energy from the mortal races subconscious mind.

In ancient days a terrible event opened the door to this realm in the far north, and its energy has spilled forth ever since, raw magic, the raw power of change, sweeping the far north into shadow and mutating both the lands and the denizens beneath the pall.


King Hrothagar is a mighty Norscan chief, standing over seven feet tall and rippling with muscle. Though he is old now with his bright blonde hair turned to silver and his beard nearly down to his waist his fighting prowess is still almost unmatched and only a very foolish warrior would stand against him alone.

Seeing death from old age approaching, not a glorious end, Hrothagar has decided to seek out the Tomb of the Daemon King, seeking its power to grant him immortality and if he fails, at least he will die a glorious death in the attempt.

To that end he has gather all five thousand of the warriors of his tribe and innumerable mercenaries, whom he pays very well, to help him in the attempt.

At the current moment this army stands on a blasted plane in the far north beneath a sun obscured by the Umbra of magical pollution from the northern gate, seeing a massive horde of greenskins, Orcs, face them from across the way.

The lantern jawed brutes are roaring and snarling as their hunched muscular frames tear a path towards the army of the Norscans, butchery their only purpose. They come in waves, their brutal Warbosses standing a head taller than them and leading the charges for maximum slaughter.

To start with a narrative opening feel free to introduce your character, what they look like, and how the tear apart the brutal Orc attackers. This battle is purely narrative and consumes no resources, use it as an opportunity to make your character look cool.


Male Human
Boosts:
Heroism(4h):+2 Saves, Skills, Attacks. Darkvision(12h): 60ft. SeeInvis(2h). Barkskin(2h)
Alchemist(Grenadier) 12 / Siege Gunner(Gunslinger) 1

On the field of chaos and battle, Jasper Varmine is one of the few not screaming in rage, fear, or pain. Instead, he just walks methodically amongst the carnage, picking a target, firing a single shot or two, then moving on away from the havoc unleashed.

The human is tall and gaunt for his age and race, crossing the hellish grounds with a with a deceptive grace that makes his movements seem slow as the bodies littering the ground does nothing to hamper his step. A long knee length darkleaf cloth jack acts as his armor, and a brown fedora covers his eyes as he looks down for the various ammo and components he pulls out of his pouches and bandolier.

The results of his fire vary drastically. Sometimes subtle as a sizzle as the wound burns from acid against a target he deems unimportant. Other times against targets like the Warbosses, the shot explodes into a brilliant explosion of fire, light, or force that wrecks havoc with them and their surroundings.

A trio of orcs personally hunt Jasper down, after a shot sent their injured Warboss into a shower of burning chunks of flesh and seared the trio in its flames. It should have been an easy kill, but their blades glanced off the coat and the flesh as he twists and dodges their blows. Where there should have been openings as their prey calmly reloaded his revolver, failed to find their marks as planes of shimmering force, enchanted cloth, and toughened flesh deflect what blades that attempt to draw blood.

One finally manages to get lucky, and cuts a deep gash across the humans face and neck. All three orcs roar with triumph as they finally draw blood, even if it visibly stops bleeding and slowly closing on its own. The gunman, sick of the attention, merely glares at the orc before reaching out and clawing at him with an out stretched hand. The skin of the orc sloshes off at the seemingly meager strike, leaving the other two orcs and the still standing skin of the remaining one staring at the collapsing body of muscle, only to jerk in surprise when the firearm goes off sending a bullet into the head of the now skinless corpse.

All three orcs rage, two of them raising their weapons towards the gunman, while the remainder attempts to do the same but struggling to lift his massive 'choppa' as he lacks a skeleton now. But they are too late, as he simply downs a vial and disappears from view. Let them be someone else's problem.

Walking towards the back lines towards the rest of the archers, gunners, and mages, he glances around at the battlefield seeing if there is another target of opportunity. Its far, 900 feet roughly, but another Warboss is seen in the mess. Too far for a shot with a pistol, but...

Holstering his pistol and reaching into his handyhaver sack, he pulls out a bow and a single arrow with a vial rather then an arrow tip on the end. He downs another vial from his bandolier, before he calmly works additional reagents and alchemical materials into the arrow. Drawing and releasing the shot, it flies in an arc towards the distant warboss striking him and shattering the vial. The conglomeration explodes into a mix of a tar like substance, sharp needle-like shards, fire, light, and force on the massive orc, as his band are burned as they get caught on the edges of the blast.

Jasper Varmine can't make out if the warboss died in the attack or not, but he doesn't care. Others can finish him off when they run across him. Heading to the rear lines, he intends to take stock of his supplies and potentially gather more before returning to once again find more targets.


AC 21 FF 15 T 16 | HP 44/52 | F +4 R +13 W +7 | Init +11 | Percep +11

Galendir 'd Arden has entered the court of King Hrothagar. He wears the disguise of a northern warrior. He bears the mark of Khorne. He speaks of his days spent among the arrogant knights of Bretonnia, and the men of the Empire. He has been hired by the king, though his true motives remain hidden. He now finds himself on the battlefield. A test, a time to show his worth.

As the greenskins send the first wave. Galendir trumpets notes over the field. All 5000 of the men here it. "KHORNE BLESSES US"

King Hrothagar leads from the front as a northern king would. The first wave of orcs lust for blood. These Savage Orcs have their massive choppa's in hand. One breaks ahead of the rest and makes his way for the king. With an uncanny speed it is intercepted. A swift strike leaves its body fallen to its knees while the forward momentum leaves the head lay at the feat of the king. Galendir looks back shooting the king a smile that says his money is well spent. A moment later Galendir stomps the ground sending out a tremorous wave. The savage orcs lay looking to the sky unknowing of what just happened. The last they see is the glint of light that catches the heads of the axe as the northman army falls upon them.

FALL BACK TO THE KING. Galendir shouts as they break the first wave.

The second line is a few giants. The are divided as some move to flank while another comes up the center. Moving through the slain orcs Galendir charges the giant. It's club come down with a thunderous force, but Galendir sweeps it to the side showing unnatural strength. He moves in close. His first blow strikes true across the thigh of the beast. It drops to a knee no longer able to support itself on that leg. The wound has a dark energy to it that seems to wither around the opening. The giant tries its best to club down the man before him, but each blow is blocked matching the beast in strength. The last leaves and opening that Galendir exploits. He opens up the belly now, as the beast insides begin to spill out. the northern army cheers for such a display of prowess. The hoot and howl. A warchant starts up. A moment lager Galendir cuts the other leg bringing the giant even lower to the ground. It is then he shoves the sword into its chest. It howls out in pain for only a moment as its blood filled lungs gargle for its last breath.

He looks to the hills to see the Orc Bosses. He sees what he thinks to be the general. He stands and waits as the wave of Black Orcs reach him. He kills the first few, but disappears among them. He is now a mist moving among the field of battle. He stays low to not be detected among the dust and debris kicked up on a battle field. He makes his way up the hill and circles around. Once in position he appears now disguised as an orc. Even if they were to notice he moves with such speed they have no chance. His blade glows green for a moment as he launches into attacks. The others try and aid the general but their attacks are to clumsy or seem to be healing as fast as they can damage this rogue orc. As the General falls Galendir takes back on the guise of the northman and lets out another trumpet of sound.

"KHORNE IS VICTORY"

As the others do their part to destroy the army Galendir turns back into a mist to escape the swarm around him. He again hides among the dust all over the field. Once things are settled he is seen walking among the field of the dead, not even a scratch on him, but covered in blood and gore. He holds a hand up in greeting toward the army.

"So my king, how did I do?"


HP:31 | AC:15 ; T:15 ; FF:13 ; CMD:19/17 | Fort:+5 ; Ref:+6 ; Will:+7 | Init:+3 ; PER:+11 (Low Light)

The tomboyish, olive-skinned woman pushes her woven conical hat back off her head, not needing protection from the sun this close to the maelstrom. Senna turns her face to the sky and regards the magical pall with curiosity - far more interested in that than the battle itself. However, she was being paid and her fell reputation among the orcs had to be maintained. She slaps her hat firmly on her head, casts a minor enchantment which causes the line of runes traveling down the plane of her face (bisecting her right eye) to glow a livid green, and strides towards the front, angling toward an orc battle-standard she knows well. An amused grin slides across her face as she casually pulls a grey rod from the worn leather bandolier strapped across her chest.

By the time Senna pushes through the crowd of hulking warriors, she is swathed in layers of eldritch warding. She eyes the swiftly closing wave of rampaging orcs, and gives a hard-eyed look at the phalanx of warriors around her, announcing, "I'll take the first wave. Stay back." Without further warning, she begins practicing her arts...

The orcs of the Iron Claw rush forward like a bloodraged tide. A roiling column of fog appears in front of the vanguard, too late for many of the charging orcs to avoid. They rush into the fog and their choked curses and cries warn their brethren to avoid the mist. The onslaught stalls and chaos rules briefly as the slavering warriors crash into their own lines in an attempt to skirt the fog. The left and right columns charge again... or try to. The left column barely reaches a jog before the ground beneath them explodes with dark tentacles that grab, trip, and strangle every orc in range. The right column pushes forward over the rough stone, only to suddenly trip upon a series of ankle-breaking trenches shrouded by the illusion of solid ground.

The orcs that manage to stumble free of the traps glare at the long line of tall, well armed warriors... and the single small woman among their ranks with the slash of green on her cheek. Their reaction is visceral and immediate "Kamzhik Motra! Vriste tani!" They bay for the woman's blood and sprint towards her - but it is far too late. Before they are a dozen steps closer, Senna completes a series of well-practiced gestures. Huge, barely overlapping spheres of black condensation explode over the trapped, downed, and running orcs. In the blink of an eye, only corroded earth and a few mewling, melted forms clutching feebly at the scoured stone remain of the tribe.

The sorceress glances at the warrior next to her, saying mildly. "Those were the Iron Claws. We disagreed on some matters."


The High King nods in appreciation of Galendir's prowess as the warrior smiles back at him and continues slicing through the greenskin horde.

The King is surround by his eight huscarl bodyguards, led by the young, handsome and strong Captain Wulfgar, but he has little need for protection. A life time as an alpha warrior amongst the savage pack of his people and the martial blessings of the Dark Gods serve him well, his two handed blade leaving a trail of ruined Orc corpses behind him.

"Blood for the Blood God!" He bellows as he kills.


The short and slightly built Prince Sigmar, son of King Hrothagar, is standing near Senna as she works her magic.

The Prince looks more like a southern lord than a barbarian noble, his long luscious locks of blond hair framing a face that is divinely beautiful. Silver form hugging armor protect his person and he fights with a long rapier-like blade that he wields with grace and skill.

His ocean blue eyes find Senna's and he remarks; "It is rare to find a sorceress of such skill, I am very happy you have joined us."

Far from the chest beating machismo common to the Norse this youngster seems to have the manners of a southernling as well.


HP:31 | AC:15 ; T:15 ; FF:13 ; CMD:19/17 | Fort:+5 ; Ref:+6 ; Will:+7 | Init:+3 ; PER:+11 (Low Light)
Prince Sigmar wrote:
"It is rare to find a sorceress of such skill, I am very happy you have joined us."

Senna slides her eyes to the lithe prince, then to his lumbering men, and then back at him - trying to reconcile the differences.

Fv<k me! He's pretty. A glamer? Aasimar?

While she finds his manners a nice change from the typical hairy-chested bellowing of 'wench' that had more often than not greeted her in these northern lands... nevertheless, Senna had a hard time entirely trusting the motives of a man who'd look far better in a dress than she did.

"Kind of you, your Grace, but most competent spell-slingers can kill from a distance. The real test is what they can do up close when surrounded by enemies and allies." She surveys the disposition of the troops now that the battle had truly been joined. The orc army had broken through the Norse lines in a few places and the prince's men were in danger of being cut off from the main force. "You just might find out exactly how skilled I am if we try to hold this ground..."

Like the first wave, the second wave breaks on the Norscan line... until the stone giants and armored battle trolls thunder across the field driving deep wedges among the defending forces. Prince Sigmar's unit holds a small hillock valiantly, an island in a sea of blood enemies. The trolls and giants mount the hill. As they close with the defenders, the sorceress utters a dark phrase of power. A worm of roaring flame, 5' wide, springs from the ground next to her, weaves through the defenders (leaving them untouched), and selectively takes troll after troll after troll into its burning maw. The trail of the worm's passing circles the top of the hillock. When the flames vanish only blackened bones and dully glowing red hot armor remains.

The giants are another matter. Alongside the handsome prince, Senna finds herself dodging clubs the size of cattle. In the swirling melee, she can't hammer the giants without hurting at least a few of her allies. So - not for the first time - she slashes with her curve-bladed kama at the thigh of the nearest looming giant. Yet again, the armored skin turns her blade. Her frustration mounts. She casts a simple spell, practically a nursery rhyme. She sidesteps the next crushing club strike and lets magic faultlessly the blade into the giant's abdomen. The giant ignores the scratch of the blade... but not the eldritch force that accompanies it. A mattock of pure force slams into the monster's gut leaving a dent in it's hide and throwing the behemoth 20' down the hill.


A large clump of for-would commanding Green Skins cluster around a large Banner, Its badly made but seems to be keeping the ranks in order as for-would command bellow and boom orders then from above something shinning falls, like a silver stone. A few guards look up just in time to be split in two as the silver meteorite hits, then its moving. Shouts go up as arms, legs heads come off body's, Slashing wings flash in the brights sun as something moves fast. A green skin with a boom tube take aims and fires at it, but the closed of deadly shout is sent back from the at it and three fall with it as flesh is ripped apart. Still the things moves, the army can see it glint deep in the enemy ranks, Ac cry go's up from a much of mercenary's as they charge and fight to the spot. Disarray is spreading in that flank of the energy ranks. Then for from takes off once more and comings flying past the kind and prince. Its a near naked Aasimar a female, her silver metal like skin glinting and streaked with green skins blood. As she fly's past she throws the Org for-would commanders head at the kings feet and calls out.

"WHAT A DAY!!, WHAT A LOVELY DAY!!"

Then she is off gain into the thick of the fighting.


A mercenary cries out in anguish, despair, and horror as he falls backward into the trampled mud of the earth, clutching the stump of his severed arm before the limb even fell back to the earth. An orc savage charging past at full speed, brutally swings his stone axe for the mercenary's head to finish his noise, but the stone weapon shatters inches from its destination on a shield as Sigmar's hammer collapses the orc's thick skull into a cavity of red paste and spraying a gory mist into the air. The savage orc's body in the split instance after the fatal blow to the brain, lunges forward at a woman still caught in the way of the orc's momentum.

The woman wears a black tunic covered by a black scapular and cowl, but wears a suit of plate armor juxtaposed with the simple black garb. The armor is covered in religious symbols and texts that were masterfully woven into a multi-layered faceted scripture that told the story of the woman that it protects. In one hand she wields a dark and rare metaled war hammer with the symbol of a twin tailed comet on both sides and on the other arm carries a shield with the Empire's coat of arms with the exception of a giant spike protruding from the center. She is eerily a sight to behold, possibly even a beauty, but her face carries with it the burden of many past battles and a determination to to see many more. She moves with grace, and power so confident it emboldens those around her.

Just as the orc's body lurches forward and what looks to be an inevitable fate to fall on the lithe Sigmarain nun, she spins out of its way and lifts the injured mercenary out of harms way setting him at the feet and care of another woman dressed in black. The nun turns back and wades into the orc tide, parting the green skin sea with a red rain from her hammer and shield flurry, a superfluity of Sigmarain nuns behind her.


She slammed into the back green skin boss, sending him face 1st into a bunch of berserkers. That set them off as she half ran half flow over them into the next clustered bunch. Her tactic was always the same in big fights, hit and run. Standing some 17' high from wing top to bear feet she stopped in front of a troll. It came at her she wanted just one moment then move. Hitting it before it even had a chance to rise its club. Her fists hit its body points like large balls of cold steel. It froze held by its own flesh. Then her wings came slashing its neck with two clean cuts. Its life blood slashed out as it fell over. She did not see this, she was already up in the air on back to the ranks of the defenders. The small hill that was being held was under attack. Up then down, with both feed she slammed into the back of a giant. Big as it was when 300+ bounds hits you from behind even a giant go's down. She looked at the defenders. A large silver Angel steel like wings coming down on the back of its head to stun it.

"What are you waiting for KILL IT"

Then she leapt off it and to the side of the defenders.

"How go's the fight?"

A gem high on her head blazed with light.

Changed a few things so she has Permanency Enlarge person, not 100% if it works on outsider native, if not just say its temp


AC 21 FF 15 T 16 | HP 44/52 | F +4 R +13 W +7 | Init +11 | Percep +11

Galendir continues to walk the field. He ignores the random orc here and there that rush him in attempt to end his life. As their weapons either don't find the mark or fail to cause damage to him.

"So this is the band the king has put together. I am confident in the abilities I see here. The tomb's power shall be ours."

He soon takes position by the king and watches as the battle is won and the last of the orcs flee the field.


Male Human
Boosts:
Heroism(4h):+2 Saves, Skills, Attacks. Darkvision(12h): 60ft. SeeInvis(2h). Barkskin(2h)
Alchemist(Grenadier) 12 / Siege Gunner(Gunslinger) 1

*Boom*

Another of the trash called orcs falls to a shot that flares with fire from the wound in its head as Jasper calmly walks near the monster of the battlefieldGalendir, quite a statement considering the opponents and allies surrounding them all.

"You make it sound so easy, to compare this trash to that of what may lurk in a Daemon King's tomb." The human states in a dry and near emotionless tone, as he over hears Galendir's statement. "Tis it be confidence, arrogance, or truth, we shall see. Still it would be appropriate to say, 'Have some courtesy. Have some sympathy, and some taste.' for where we shall soon be."


AC 21 FF 15 T 16 | HP 44/52 | F +4 R +13 W +7 | Init +11 | Percep +11

Jasper just to be clear I was referring to our band commenting on our prowess. Though I realize that may not be clear looking back :)

Galendir looks to the human with the hat pulled down.

"Confidence... Yes, arrogance... Of course, Truth... Well that only lies in the path ahead. Courtesy... Hmph... I remember being courteous once. It has no place in war though. Sympathy... That is a weakness I have no time for. I was paid to do a job. Let the good king have sympathy for those he releases me against for it is then he has brought death upon them. As to taste, I'm not sure what you mean. Perhaps you should explain, but please have the courtesy as you say to lift your hat and look at me."

He smiles to the man.


Male Human
Boosts:
Heroism(4h):+2 Saves, Skills, Attacks. Darkvision(12h): 60ft. SeeInvis(2h). Barkskin(2h)
Alchemist(Grenadier) 12 / Siege Gunner(Gunslinger) 1

Chuckling softly, the human does so and tilts his hat back ever so slightly showing some of his eyes.

"I shall see if I can find another minstrel that knows the song decently, so that you may understand one day. The one I heard it from sadly sang it as his last performance, before he met a messy end at someone's request. That saying was merely one of the parts that has stuck with me."

Tilting his head up further, he glances over the 'man' before nodding to himself and continuing.

"Who knows, you may take up that saying as your own after you hear it." The human casually states with amusement, as he reloads his revolver. Fanning the thrice hammer off towards the side without bothering to turn and look, a trio of orcs that were closing in falls into a sliding thump along the blood drenched ground and resting at Jasper's feet.
Echolocation, lovely extract.

"Annoying trash," Jasper all but spits on the corpses. "Shall we return to what the good king gathered us for?"


AC 21 FF 15 T 16 | HP 44/52 | F +4 R +13 W +7 | Init +11 | Percep +11

"I see, a song was it? Perhaps one day I will here this song. Yes to the king. We should get to know these others if we are to travel with them. I am Gale. What is your name?"

Not using his full name as characters of our renown would probably bee known in the warhammer world.

"That style of fighting has it's merits, but seems expensive."

An orc charges in from behind and plunges its blade into Galendir's belly. he finds a gap in the armor. The man doesn't let out even a grunt. He simply touches the orc on the head and his body withers falling and spasming. He pulls the blade from his belly holding up a moment to look at it.

"Crude weapons and quality. Let us go meet the king."


Male Human
Boosts:
Heroism(4h):+2 Saves, Skills, Attacks. Darkvision(12h): 60ft. SeeInvis(2h). Barkskin(2h)
Alchemist(Grenadier) 12 / Siege Gunner(Gunslinger) 1

"My forename is Jasper, and it is a pleasure to finally speak with you Galendir." The human states plainly and flat, knowing the other's name quite easily from his renown. "And yes, the materials can be costly. It is part of why I take only the better paying contracts or bounties." Jasper confirms with a parched sigh, his mind going over the costs used so far again.

"Agreed, let us meet with the king. Perhaps he has something that doesn't has me waste bullets on dross to amuse myself."


AC 21 FF 15 T 16 | HP 44/52 | F +4 R +13 W +7 | Init +11 | Percep +11

Sorry Jasper, I meant he is not using his full name because he is not on the up and up of why he is here. He is disguised as a Northern Warrior.


Male Human
Boosts:
Heroism(4h):+2 Saves, Skills, Attacks. Darkvision(12h): 60ft. SeeInvis(2h). Barkskin(2h)
Alchemist(Grenadier) 12 / Siege Gunner(Gunslinger) 1

Dang it, assume he said Gale then, and ignore "Knowing the other's name" part. Too late to edit now.


The Barbarian Champion Bjorn, known as the Crimson Bear, is the only other fighter on the field with strength comparable to yours and the Kings.

Massively built with thick red hair and elongated teeth that form fangs that barely fit into his human mouth Bjorn is a whirlwind of destruction as he carves his way through the Orcish horde with his twin oversized axes. Only one Orc he encounters has the strength and skill to come closer than arms reach with the Champion but he loses his life as Bjorn lunges forward and bites straight through his thick skull, deadly fangs tearing the brain meat from the hulking Orc warrior.

Spitting gore on the ground Bjorn roars to the sky as the last Orcs are put down by the mercenaries and Norse warriors.


After the battle the King, mounting his enthroned palanquin and surrounding by Wulfgar and his huscarls, calls for the greatest performing of the mercenaries in the battle -The PCs- to present themselves before him and introduce themselves, that he may honor and award them.

As the kings scantily clad body servants pour him wine and massage his creaking muscles he commands the prince to fetch some treasure to award these skilled warriors after they present themselves.

"Most of you mercenaries aren't worth the gold I put down for you, but these few have proven exceptional, and I won't let that go unrewarded, step forward, announce yourselves, and be acknowledged!" The king beckons.


AC 21 FF 15 T 16 | HP 44/52 | F +4 R +13 W +7 | Init +11 | Percep +11

Galendir approaches the palanquin. He has cleaned himself of the blood and gore. A bit of water still runs off his leather cloak. His hood is drawn up and the hilt of his massive blade bulges above his shoulder under the cloak.

"Good King Hrothagar, I am called Gale. I return to these lands as Khorne has called me. Blood for the blood god my king. I have heard the call of this tomb. I will uncover the power that hides there."

Bluff: 1d20 + 28 ⇒ (16) + 28 = 44

"You have honored me. Giving a chance to prove my worth on the field of battle. I hope I did not disappoint the mighty king."


The large Silver Angel falls out the sky and lands in front of the palanquin, Its stands from the impact of its landing. She stands her 17' tall to wing tips, glinting silver in the sun, her hands on hip smiling at the old king.

"Ho!!, King Hrothagar, Now that! I as many of you know, I! am The winder Rose"

She bows her head to the king,

"and that!! Good king, was a hell of a glorious fight! What say you men!"

Behind a large rag rag mob of mercenaries, her war band, call out as one.

"HO! HO! HO!"

"When they sing of this day great King they will cry out your name and we that fought here as your Champlain's. It will be a grand tail, but you and I know, for it is to be a legendary one we must take the tome."

She gives a wide grin,

"We'er both old, this could be a our last great adventure so"

She turns to the throng.

"SO, I SAY... LETS HAVE AT IT!!"

As she turns back, again from behind her.

"HO! HO! HO!"

Now that should make the Army happy


HP:31 | AC:15 ; T:15 ; FF:13 ; CMD:19/17 | Fort:+5 ; Ref:+6 ; Will:+7 | Init:+3 ; PER:+11 (Low Light)

With a resigned sigh, Senna steps out from behind the far larger warriors and raises a slender hand to draw the King's attention. "Senna Proviso - great King - oft called the Daughter of Dragons." She says simply.


Male Human
Boosts:
Heroism(4h):+2 Saves, Skills, Attacks. Darkvision(12h): 60ft. SeeInvis(2h). Barkskin(2h)
Alchemist(Grenadier) 12 / Siege Gunner(Gunslinger) 1

Stepping to the side of the much quieter person, and away from the loud angelic one rudely taking up so much room in his opinion, Jasper still smells slightly of acidic smoke.

"My full nomenclature is Jasper Varmine, King Hrothagar." slides forth a near lethargic tone, as Jasper gives a respectable bow.


Two Sigmaran nuns lead Bertradis forward as she looks confused, wanting to return to where they pulled her from. One of the nuns cups a hand to whisper a message to Bertradis while the other looks inconvenienced. After a moment and another gentle touch to the shoulder to persuade her, Bertradis speaks, "Bertradis."

The inconvenienced nun gives a firm push, and Bertragis lets out an annoyed sigh, "Fine! Matriarch Bertradis... don't forget we are not here as mercenaries. We are here in service to Simgar and the Empire, a deal is a deal, Hrothagar." The inconvenienced nun shakes her head in quiet disapproval.


AC 21 FF 15 T 16 | HP 44/52 | F +4 R +13 W +7 | Init +11 | Percep +11

So the servant of Sigmar is here for their own purpose as well. A paladin was not predicted on this quest, but is a manageable nuisance.

"So it's the five of us then. Tell me angel. Are you that size all the time? An advantage on the field of battle for sure, but we are entering a tomb. Now the Daemon was probably a large one, but you may find yourself in cramp quarters."

He looks to the nun and the sorceress.

"I met Jasper on the field. The two of you may call me Gale." He offers a bow.

"I have returned to my home here in the north in quest for the ancient power in the tomb. I am pleased to have you as allies in this." Bluff: 1d20 + 28 ⇒ (1) + 28 = 29

"So my good king. Shall you lead on with the army or are we to make our way from here while you camp?"


She slaps him on the back,

"straighten up there, Gale and worry not. This is but battle magic, when we enter out quest I shall be a size to suit."

She looks over the throng, pointing at a few of the fighters, and nodding or winking at them.

She then strides past Jasper and Senna to stand looking down at the small nun.
"Saw what you did in the fight, Matriarch you a very brave woman of faith, to take life in a battle is easy, but to protect it, that takes dedication and didaplin I respect that. No matter why your here, it would be an honor to fight by one such as yours side."

She bows her head in respect.


HP:31 | AC:15 ; T:15 ; FF:13 ; CMD:19/17 | Fort:+5 ; Ref:+6 ; Will:+7 | Init:+3 ; PER:+11 (Low Light)

I can't beat that Bluff, Gale, so I'm not even going to try.

Senna nods politely to each of the heroes - a category she definitely doesn't apply to herself - and says only "Please, call me Senna..." She glances at some of the large warriors she's stepped past and adds with distaste, "Not 'wench', 'little one', or 'squire'." There are barely concealed grins on the faces of some of the warriors.


AC 21 FF 15 T 16 | HP 44/52 | F +4 R +13 W +7 | Init +11 | Percep +11

It's more for the NPC's, Using social skills like Bluff and Diplomacy are not allowed against PC's it breaks down. As players you probably know he is hiding something. How can someone with this prowess exist in the world and you not have heard of him.

"Whats wrong wench, you don't like our customs. I will call you sorceress or Senna if that is what you like."

Her arcane might would be a valuable add to our army, Perhaps Manfred is looking for a wife.

@ The Winter Rose

When you slap him on the back he shoots a stern gaze your direction. For a moment you see a glamour. Illusion magic fades and his hair at least to you is now white as well as his skin being more pale. The rest of the disguise is mundane. Your best guess would probably be he is hiding his age for some reason.

Disguise: 1d20 + 30 ⇒ (4) + 30 = 34


Male Human
Boosts:
Heroism(4h):+2 Saves, Skills, Attacks. Darkvision(12h): 60ft. SeeInvis(2h). Barkskin(2h)
Alchemist(Grenadier) 12 / Siege Gunner(Gunslinger) 1

"Its unlikely that those titles will go away, Senna. Even if you do something drastic to prove you are anything but those." Jasper offers to Senna quietly with a just hint of understanding.

"I know a number still refer to me as a toymaker in spite of any display of skill, or think my greatest work is my Alchemist's Kindness to get rid of their morning hangovers faster then the hair of dog." he grumbles. "Tis better to accept it and move on, as its unlikely they will change."


HP:31 | AC:15 ; T:15 ; FF:13 ; CMD:19/17 | Fort:+5 ; Ref:+6 ; Will:+7 | Init:+3 ; PER:+11 (Low Light)
Gale wrote:
Using social skills like Bluff and Diplomacy are not allowed against PC's it breaks down. As players you probably know he is hiding something. How can someone with this prowess exist in the world and you not have heard of him.

Eh. Yes and no. I agree that social skills that force the character's behavior (Diplo making you like a NPC) have no place in the game, other skills like a Bluff to cover a lie are completely acceptable in my opinion as they don't dictate my reaction. It really is up to the DM to draw those lines and I'm happy to play along with however Yuugasa prefers. In the case of your Bluff, I had no idea what you were covering. I figured the lie was that you weren't from the North.

Senna gives Gale a cool look at being called 'wench', checking off something in her head. She glances at Jasper and smiles at his quiet comment, then whispers. "I've heard this sort of rot all my life. I don't expect them to change, Jasper. But I AM curious to see how the King reacts - or doesn't. I find it prudent to know my employer and saw an opportunity to test him."


"Your custom is either stupid or ignorant to refer to a woman as wench, especially one so able" Bertradis says with a sideways look at Gale. "Oh that's right, the blood god. You said that already." Bertradis turns with a crooked and prodding smile.


The Rosa Stands hands on hips, proud and strong. She looks down as the he others squabble over triviality. She gives a look to the king,

'So dread king you have your best here, what is your paid for command"

She give gale a qizative look.

That one is now as he seems, a spy no doubt


AC 21 FF 15 T 16 | HP 44/52 | F +4 R +13 W +7 | Init +11 | Percep +11

"Yes nun, Blood for the blood god. How does it feel to do the work of Khorne? Does sigmar stay with you in the lands of chaos?"


"A wrong question, followed by a wronger one, and I haven't the time to correct either with you. Bertradis is the name since you have forgotten it so readily by the way."


The King welcomes and respectfully converses with each of you as you introduce yourselves and he has his young prince hand out five thousands gold pieces worth of treasure to each of you that has clearly been taken by raiding many diverse lands as a reward for your exceptional prowess.

"My wealth flows freely these days for I would expend every last coin in my treasury for the prize that lies in wait in the Daemon King's Tomb." The King informs you. He waves forward a hunched figure in a black cloak. As the figure lurches forward, leaning on a tall staff topped with the eight pointed star of Chaos, the King says; "This is Visilk, my shaman, he shall share the tale of the Daemon King as we drink and celebrate."

As the mead is brought out and steins passed around the shaman pulls himself up onto the King's palanquin to gain some height over the crowd and begins to speak.


The Shaman's face is shrouded under his black hood but his voice is clear and precise as he tells his tale.

"Thousands of years ago, when the world was still young, there reigned a King of Daemons, a spirit from the Realm of Chaos with a mastery of magic and a breath of knowledge that made him nigh omnipotent. Entire layers of the astral seas and nineteen planets in the material realm he ruled over, with armies of Daemons and mortals numbering in the tens of millions at his beck and call. Over the eons his power grew so great that the Gods themselves grew wary of his potency and in their jealousy joined together to strike him down."

The Shaman's voice has a captivating quality to it, arresting in a way that even the normally raucous Norsemen have fallen silent to listen.

"The war lasted many years but when it was over the Daemon King's realms were in ruins and his followers reduced to a fraction of their former numbers. Of the King himself he proved too formidable for even Gods to slay. Though his will was broken and his personality destroyed his reality altering power lived on, unfortunately he could not be healed. His power was taken by his remaining Daemon followers and buried in a massive tomb on a backwater world, this world, until such a time as he was ready to be reborn."


"And how will he be reborn, Shaman?" The King asks with an almost gleeful look in his eyes.

"When a man with the blood of Kings and an unbreakable will arrives at the Daemon's resting place, the Daemon King's remaining Daemon followers will celebrate the Divine Coronation as this mortal's soul is wed to the Daemon's power and a new Daemon King will be born!" The Shaman says, gesturing to Hrothagar with an open palmed gesture.

"As you can see." Hrothagar states to the mercenaries. "This is why I am free with my resources, nothing I spend reaching this prize can compare to the prize itself, and once I achieved my ascension those who helped me along the path shall receive anything their heart's desire as a reward!"


Male Human
Boosts:
Heroism(4h):+2 Saves, Skills, Attacks. Darkvision(12h): 60ft. SeeInvis(2h). Barkskin(2h)
Alchemist(Grenadier) 12 / Siege Gunner(Gunslinger) 1

It almost sounds outlandish to the forlorn human, especially the Divine Coronation, but still the rewards offered so far have been well paid. If it is all true, then it would be better to have favor among such a new power, even of Chaos. Is it worth the risk of breaching the Daemon's King tomb?

Yes.

Knowledge near omnipotence, one can't even imagine what secrets could lay within that tomb. Possibly even a way for him to ignore the ever closer feeling of Death's ever silent footsteps. An alchemist's dream, to live forever without succumbing to undeath and have no fear of age, for wealth to be but an afterthought could be within.

"I offer my tools and services to help breach and clear the path, King Hrothagar. This shall indeed be a most profitable opportunity to all who partake and survive such a tale, that only a fool would dare risk being left behind."


She takes off her belt and shrinks in size to just 7'
Then put on another as a aid comes and takes the old one.

"Sounds Dangerous, odds stacked, a 1000 traps and unknown evils larking, personally I don't think we stand a chance, but if we did, O such fame. So of course I will try."


HP:31 | AC:15 ; T:15 ; FF:13 ; CMD:19/17 | Fort:+5 ; Ref:+6 ; Will:+7 | Init:+3 ; PER:+11 (Low Light)

Senna considers the legend. The blood of kings is the easy part. An unbreakable will is where nearly all will fail.

And the sorceress sees little in this king to suggest he'll be the exception. Not that it mattered, she had taken her pay and would see their agreement fulfilled.

"So, Great King, do we leave on the morrow or are there yet arrangements to make?"


AC 21 FF 15 T 16 | HP 44/52 | F +4 R +13 W +7 | Init +11 | Percep +11

so that is his game. So powerful the gods could only break him apart. We will see this through.

"To the new Daemon King then. Raise your voices men for a god walks among you. Soon he will ascend."

Galendir bows deeply as he rouses up the men to the kings words.


The King lifts his mug of mead and raises it in a salutatory gesture. "Tonight we feast and drink, on the morrow we march on towards the Tomb."


The huge fanged barbarian Bjorn approaches the seated Prince Sigmar, who drinks with several lithe women and his royal huscarls.

"You stole my kill princeling!" The massive man growls at the prince, who even if he were standing would be half the height and a small fraction of the weight of the Champion.

The Prince's huscarls lift their weapons defensively at the Champions hostile tone and move forward to protect their prince.

Sigmar halts them with a raised finger.

"What kill is that my dear Bjorn?" The Prince asks as he stands and approaches the Champion alone.

The Champion's hands tighten on his axes as he resists the urge to slice the small man in half, at least for the moment.

"That Orc Warboss whose throat you slashed, he was mine, you stole my kill!" Bjorn bellows, raising his weapons threateningly, and it is no idle threat, amongst the Norsemen, even a Prince can be challenged and killed and Bjorn was more than capable of that.

The Prince holds the giant's eyes for a long moment, his gaze steely despite the fact that the Champion could cut him down easily.

"My apologies, Bjorn, those of us that stand in your martial shadow desire a bit of glory now and then, but it was wrong of me to steal your kill." The Prince apologizes.

Receiving a genuine seeming apology from a royal person throws Bjorn off, as he expected wounded pride and violence or pitiable cowering, he narrows his eyes at the Prince as he wonders if he is being mocked. After a moment he seems to reach a decision.

"No real Norsemen would ever apologize, whelp, but your cowardice has bought you another day of life." The Champion sneers before putting away his weapons and contemptuously walking away.

The Prince has a faint smile on his face as he takes a seat again and takes up his drink.


Visilk the Shaman creeps over to where the mercenaries sit.

"Perhaps a chance at wealth and station, or at least an ally in the horde, if some of you would champion the young Prince. When Bjorn comes for him, and he will come for him, the Prince will die and even all his huscarls together can't save him against that monster, but the Prince can be valuable alive, as he is the army's paymaster and the accountant of the King's wealth. A head for numbers and a royal linage does little to help one survive combat, but can be quite useful in accumulating wealth and power, a fine friend to have if he lives long enough." The Shaman whispers to the group in a conspiratorial tone.


Seems to relax at the meal, a robe is bright for her. She sits her wings. Back.
In a politer tone than befor she says.

"well it's nice to meet you all, sorry for the brash act erlear, I was put in charge of a war band and there manners while rude are effective. I thought it best to fit in with the tone of them."

She takes food but you note she dos not actuality eat.

When the shaman comes over with his deal, she looks at him long and hard befor saying
"How much, what stations and what will be uses as contract binding"

She seems a hard nosed trader


AC 21 FF 15 T 16 | HP 44/52 | F +4 R +13 W +7 | Init +11 | Percep +11

Galendir watches and enjoys the festivities. He eats and drinks even though it is not required. As the mighty Bjorn stares down the prince it gathers Galendir's attention. He takes only a moment to study the large man seeing natural weakness in how he carries himself. Using Study Target.

After the incident passes he listens to the shaman's words.

"We are but mercenaries my friend. If the prince wishes our help then he must come enter a contract. If we stand with him without it shows an agenda of our own. It could also bread mistrust with the king. Why do we suddenly favor his son, but if a contract was struck here and now. I will champion him. I have little to fear of this monster Bjorn. Would we not risk a civil fight among the army if we all were to challenge? I have not been raised here and no not of the customs. Tell the prince this. See what he has to say. We will negotiate with him."

As the shaman leaves.

"The rest of you are of course able to follow your own actions. I only speak for myself on this matter. If you do not wish to aid the prince or wish to do so out of charity.He looks to the Nun Then that is your decision. I don't see the harm in making some extra coin. The only disadvantage will be loosing Bjorn's axe on the field of battle."

With that Galendir stands.

"I seek to know what Bjorn's play is."

He makes his way to the large warrior.

"Bjorn, I am Gale. Mercenary here for the king. May we speak and enjoy drink together?"

Later in the evening Galendir sneaks off, he fly's off to meet his servant where he drinks from the slave girls, renews their domination and sleeps in his coffin. He returns early enough to be found outside his tent doing training drills. This is his normal routine on the road.


Galendir, As the shaman leaves?? GM you ok with players driving your NPCs. I do believe the shaman is still with us and being talked to. I would hold off any thing more than the speech till after the other layers have posted comments and interacted with the shaman.

The Rosa give Gale as heard look.

'Keep your voice down you dull wit, or do you make it a habit to blab to all what is said in low voices. That is unless you seeking to deliberately course a fexing with those around us."

She give the others a look of Gods help us


AC 21 FF 15 T 16 | HP 44/52 | F +4 R +13 W +7 | Init +11 | Percep +11

Yeah I wasn't trying to move this scene along, just what I was doing after. Sorry

"I don't play at politics angelic one. This squabble is not my concern, but if my pockets are filled with gold then I may make it such. I don't know what the shaman is playing at, but I will not play games."

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