#talabecland

[nightbringer24]

A selection of Empire banners from White Dwarf 146 and 147:

Hochland

Ostland

Talabheim

Nuln

Stirland

Middenheim

Altdorf

Nordland

Middenland

Reikland

Averland

Talabecland

Random Tilean

Carroburg

Wissenland

Ostermark

[haaaaaaaaaaaave-you-met-ted]

Crossbowman from the Grand Duchy of Talabecland by Adrian Smith

[stories-from-the-warp]

𝘿𝙊𝙎𝙎𝙄𝙀𝙍 𝘾𝙃𝙀𝘼𝙏 𝙎𝙃𝙀𝙀𝙏

LEGAL NAME: Skreech Man-Cleaver

ALIAS: Warlord Vishus, Great-Mighty Warlord

NICKNAME(S): Raven, Shadow (by @weeping-gospels' Betty)

DATE OF BIRTH: June 22, 2498 IC

ASTROLOGY SIGNS: Cancer

GENDER: Cisgender Male

PLACE OF BIRTH: Vishus Warren (Stirland-Talabecland border)

CURRENTLY LIVING: Castle Drachenfels, Grey Mountains

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: Queekish, Reikspiel

EDUCATION: Home-schooled (I GUESS?)

HAIR COLOR: Black

EYE COLOR: Red

HEIGHT: 6'4"

WEIGHT: 250 lbs

---FAMILY INFORMATION---

SIBLING(S): Seven brothers (all deceased)

PARENT(S): Scourge (dead father), Vishus Breeder #5 (living mother)

RELATIVE(S): N/A

CHILDREN: Little Skreech (son)

PET(S): N/A

---RELATIONSHIP INFORMATION---

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Heterosexual

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Taken (by @weeping-gospels' Betty)

SINCE WHEN: N/A (because I'm not 100% sure)

Tagged by: @weeping-gospels

Tagging: @waystalked @warhammer-fantasy-muses and anyone else

[formlesschromatic]

ironically started a new thread right before i left my laptop for 2 weeks were i continued to read quite a bit. so the thoughts here are just from a skim over of the parts i read.

[Does Regimand help? Roll: 78-10(busy)-20(college politics)+100(wants to spend time with Mathilde)=148.]

love you wizard dad 🤗

"This is why I hate College politics. Because of them, you're in a position where the Magister Patriarch of the Light Order being a good person would be a tricky complication." "Things were definitely simpler down south," you agree. "Normal contact procedures?" "Yes, and use the EIC if there's anything urgent but not sensitive." He nods. "See you in a fortnight," he says, and disappears. Over at the bar, his actual self smirks behind his disguise as he drains his drink. "What do I owe you?" he asks the barman. "A little more credit, for starters," comes your voice from the barman's mouth.

the spy games are so fun

Regimand nods. "I take it you've got contacts down south that would be able to tell you that?" "Yes, the Baron of Blutdorf is a friend, and through him I can get the impressions of the other rulers of Western Stirland." "Then I'll poke around Wurtbad for the perspectives of those below him. You only ever get half the picture of who someone is if you only know how they treat their equals." The two of you stare at each other for a while, each waiting for the other to vanish first. Then you both realize at about the same time that you'd both tried the same double bluff, actually coming to the table in person but wrapped in an Illusion to make it seem like you were an Illusion. Without speaking or making eye contact the two of you stand from the table and walk away.

he he

"Alberich," you summarize, "is performing a Ritual of Dedication to either the Tempter or to Chaos Undivided, with the next victim already selected and under Alric's guard, and Alric is certain to know who it is going to be. The penultimate victim is going to be likewise identifiable to Alric, but the culminating act of the Ritual would be a lot more freeform, which Alric is unlikely to be expecting - and that act might target Alric himself. Alberich himself is somewhere northwest of Bad Dankerode, so the most likely location would be hiding within the local population of Talabheim, with Talagaad as an unlikely but possible alternative - the only other possible locations in that direction within Talabecland are sacred to Taal."

grey wizards are scary, going from spooky mysterious murders noone knows anything about to this level of detail in just a few weeks

[Alberich dodge roll: 72. He manages to save 72% of his body.]

dodge roll to save percentage of your body is so funny to me

With a moment of concentration and a few muttered syllables you appear behind him, and Branulhune passes in a neat and perfect arc through Alberich's neck, sending a spray of blood over the Longshank who was heartbeats away from having his own spilled, and a head rolling across the cobblestones. "Thank you for your assistance, gentlemen," you say to the Longshanks as you allow Branulhune to disappear once more.

*insert spy taunt gif*

You leave Johann with the villagers, many of whom have grown rather friendlier since he removed his shirt

And despite their relative isolation, the rare dalliances that the young women of the village are able to enjoy with Ostermark cityfolk and Kislevite sailors very reliably provide fresh branches to what could otherwise be very narrow and gnarled family trees. Speaking of which, you do not comment when Johann reappears the next morning, though it is impossible to completely resist the urge to indulge in some private speculation as to how and in what company he spent the night.

😳

In the Empire it can be a process of weeks to raise even a local militia, which is why in modern times the provinces rely more on their standing army in all but the direst of circumstances. Outside of the major cities Kislev has no standing army and relies entirely on its mounted levies, which many take to be a sign of poverty and primitiveness. As horns blow, riders muster, and the Boyar comments to you that the rota of Rakhov could have made Vitevo before dawn were they not giving time for word to reach Fort Jakova, you begin to realize the truth of the matter: that the people of Kislev are already a standing army.

Never underestimate horse nomad armies

Normally you would hesitate to leave a male Imperial magic-user with no knowledge of Kislevarin unattended in Kislev, but close proximity to an obviously unperturbed Ice Witch has demonstrated to the gathered pulks that Johann is benign and keeping up with cavalry on the march for days while on foot has made him intriguing, especially to the young men and women of the nomadic Ungol krugs. So while a chaperone might be called for, he's at least in no immediate danger from the Kislevite taboo on male magic-users

conceptually perfect flesh is hard to resist

The part about the trees watching them during lunch did suggest the dialogue 'let's give them something to watch', but dendroexhibitionism is a bit saucier than I've been trending for DL.

🌳🌳😏😳🌳🌳

"Such an abrupt departure is the sort of thing that starts rumours," you observe as the doors swing shut and you run your Magesight over the room, confirming it's as empty as it seems. She waves a hand dismissively. "Those rumours exist for every Empress, doubly so for the attractive ones. At least with you there's no way for it to cast doubt on Mandred's legitimacy." With a mental shrug you accept that. You've never been one to care too much about gossip, and there's so much worse that can be and often is said about any given Wizard. "What is it you wanted to talk about?"

man this Turn had a high density of "implications" didnt it

kinda sad we didnt get the 100 on the third child magic roll, the kid magic-ing trait wouldve been fun, but the results of the dice are sacrosanct and not to be messed with

"See? There's always opportunities for mischief and profit, even when you're doing the right thing." She smiles at you. "The Cult would be a lot more accepted if everyone went about worshipping Him the way you do."

mathilde's worship of Ranald summarized

As you begin to talk to Aksel of the specifics, you think to yourself that if the Nordland Hedgewise were always this trusting, they likely would have been wiped out some time in the past two thousand years. Between that and the relatively unbothered reception you received when you arrived, you suspect you might have answered half the mystery that Ranald presented you with when you were gifted the fifth face of your Coin.

one day we will confirm the second half...

with some relief you shut yourself away from all of that. You've sectioned off a neat chunk of time with which you can get to the nice, relaxing activity of poking at the fundamental forces of magic to see if you can make them do anything unexpected.

just wizard things

still kinda sad we picked went with the Librar-We instead of Locals. its more optimal and still pretty cool, but its not the Library I wanted. At least we got Locals for scribes later.

okay starting another Divided loyalties readthrough. going to post stray thoughts and comments here reacting to it.

Better clean the… whatever that was… off you, because it's time for the ceremony. Thankfully your normal grey robes count as formal dress, because otherwise you wouldn't have a thing to wear.

there are many benefits to being a wizard

[thewarfactoryau]

Weary from a late night but this first version of my Warhammer Empire kit is finally together. Lots of pieces to add/swap/alter but it's a beginning

[yoddel]

A noble of Talabecland repping their colors

[internationalspacehobo]

uuh just some writing. Companion piece or prequel or w/e to this thing.

I promise I’m not usually this edgy gang but warhammer lore calls for edge sometimes, so bear with me.

//

A raven watches six figures standing around an open grave. They stand quietly, shifting uncomfortably, both because of the cold, and the given circumstances. They carry muskets and pistols, spears and swords. Their mud-stained clothes, under thick leather coats, betray their varied allegiances, forgotten as they may be. Blue of Middenland standing next to Talabecland’s yellow and Stirland’s green. Two wear no colours at all, their origins even murkier than the others’. None of them talk, there is only the occasional rattle of a belt being adjusted or a blade loosened in its sheath; or a cough, as one of them drags on a well used pipe. It’s a clear night without rain or wind, and the light of the moons is the only thing allowing them to see.

Kneeling on the ground next to them is a seventh figure, wrapped in a tattered grey cloak. His arms are caked with earth up to his elbows as he continues to dig with his bare hands. Around him are piled several objects, each a hands-width apart from the other: a pair of bird-like skulls, a sprig of lavender and some iris petals, an hour glass, two silver coins, and a scattered pile of thin bones. Finally, the crouched figure’s hands scratch wood. Something flashes over his eyes, and as he mutters an incantation, the coffin’s lid begins to crack, before being blasted open from the inside. Unable to hide a pleased smile, he leans back, waiting for something only he understands.

The smell of the burning tobacco mixes with that of wet earth and putrid flesh. One of the standing figures is praying to Morr under his breath, and several have made the symbol of the Hammer, more reflex than a conscious act of devotion. They know the defiling of a grave is unlikely to be forgiven by even the most lenient priest. The raven caws, and the soldiers flinch as a slight breeze blows through them.

The man sits up and lets out a sigh. “Finally.”

He pulls a stick of incense from a bag, followed by two pieces of flint. A spark, and the sweetly scent of strange spices mixes into the dense atmosphere, as he carefully pulls out a long sheet of ancient parchment, covered in washed out reddish brown glyphs. He looks around; through his eyes, he can just barely make out the Eight Winds slowly creep and dwindle across the sky above and the earth beneath him, drifting without much direction. He focuses; here, in this place, at this time, one wind blows stronger than the others. The deep purple strands of Shyish, the Wind of death, creep around him. Its tendrils, like the tentacles of some nightmarish creature, curl and mound around the tombstones and graves.

One arm raised to the heavens, the other stretched out in front of him, he begins to intone the words, written in blood on dried skin. The soft breeze picks up, blowing stronger now, and the soldiers shudder. Beyond their sight, the wind Shyish pools around the warlock. The skulls of a white dove and a black crow, flowers plucked from a graveyard, an hour glass filled with ashes of a burned man, two pennies to pay the way, and the bones of a hand to reach beyond the mortal coil. The Winds of Magic are fickle; hard to read, and harder still to control. But they can be called upon. Channeled, through the right mediums. The mages of the Amethyst Order might have studied the purple wind for centuries, and the knowledge hidden away in their libraries was vast, but he had his own way of procuring the information he needed.

The wind was blowing stronger now, even the others could feel it clearly. Something was happening. His chanting grows louder with each completed verse, his voice straining to form the arcane words. The soldiers pull their coats closer and huddle together, the howling autumn wind biting at their faces. A glow starts to emit from inside him, visible to the naked eye. He throws his head back, his voice cracking as he reaches the last few verses. The gale is lifting up dirt, drawing sinister figures in the air; some of the men stumble as it threatens to knock them over. The raven caws again before opening its wings and disappearing into the sky.

The skulls and phalanges in front of him begin to crack, the flowers wilt, the coins tarnish. Inside the coffin, the rotting corpse begins to dessicate; moist flesh turning dry before disappearing completely, leaving behind bare bone. One of the soldiers doubles over, heaving his supper on a nearby gnarled tree with a gurgling noise. As the last grain falls inside the hourglass and the incantation reaches its zenith, even these bones crack and turn to dust, leaving behind an empty coffin, as the last remains of the person ones buried here are swept away.

As sudden as it came, it leaves. The silence of a quiet night comes back, and the air is clear of incense, rot, or smoke. Panting, he stands up, nodding to one of the others. The mercenary leaves, as he begins to gather his things, disappearing them into various bags, pockets, and pouches. None of the others speak, simply staring at him with bated breath. He winks at them; he can’t resist enjoying these infrequent moments. Finally, the one who left makes his way back, carrying a small cage with a clucking chicken inside of it. Leaving the man standing there, he kneels to be at eye level with the animal, letting his gaze drift upwards until locking eyes with the soldier.

Flashing a grin, he looks back at the creature, slowly extending a hand. Taking care not to scare the bird, he opens the cage door, offering a handful of crumbled bread with the other. The animal clucks two times, eyeing the food with suspicion, before taking a few careful pecks. Seemingly assured, it begins focusing completely on the meal. As it eats, he extends a single finger from his free hand, and gently brushes the chicken’s head. It falls over without another sound, spilling half swallowed crumbs across the cage, and lies motionless. Dead, in an instant.

He shakes the remaining feed from his hand before standing up, smiling coyly at the trembling man. The soldier winces as the man softly places his fingers on his cheek, though he doesn’t share the fate of the animal. The mage looks to the leader of the small troupe, standing with the others.

“Well, I’d say it worked, sir.”

[viesti3]

I wonder how mannfred whos army consists of half skeleton spearmen and half black knights didnt take talabecland

[vanmadred-blog]

Years ago I played much #warhammer. I loved the #empire and the cool uniforms. So I decided to draw one of its soldiers: a musketeers! My template was one of my miniatures. 🤣 . . . . . #draw #drawing #doodle #doodles #doodlesofinstagram #artwork #medieval #sketch #sketches #pencildrawing #pencilsketches #fantasyart #fantasy #nerd #scribble #scribbleart #youngartists #drawdrawdraw #zeichnungen #zeichnenmitbleistift #bleistift #illus #pen #kunstwerk #kunsthandwerk #warhammerfantasy #talabecland #musketeers (at Bielefeld, Germany) https://www.instagram.com/p/B4jq_pni35P/?igshid=a7g00smcrd0w

[nightbringer24]

The new Empire of Man character looks so fucking cool!

Presenting: General Hans von Löwenhacke... which means 'Hans of/from Lion hoe'.

Look at this mad-lad! This fucking unit!

And also, new details on what one of the two Armies of Infamy, the City-State of Nuln, which can take up to 25% of its total points value as mercenaries. A nice touch back to the old school lore for Nuln that it hired a lot of its standing army from mercenaries.

There's also an interesting lore tidbit in the page for him which says that Nuln and Talabecland have joined together against Reikland.

[nightbringer24]

I just remembered that I've got a small number of models of Empire Swordsmen that I was originally planning as doing as Talabeclanders, but now I'm wondering if I should keep them as Talabeclanders (so red and yellow) and just rebase them, or take off their bases, either strip their paint jobs or just spray over the old paint job and redo them as Altdorf swordsmen for my next unit of State Troopers for my army.

[formlesschromatic]

He muses on that for a while, looking at you oddly. "Sometimes I forget how young you are." You open your mouth to reply, but no reply presents itself. He continues on. "Have you fully grasped the fact that you are the second most powerful person in Stirland?" You blink rapidly as you try to take in this sudden change in direction. "Gustav's new to the role. Kasmir was damn near fired. Anton is..." he hesitates, then moves on. "Schultz serves a very specific niche. And Wilhelmina... is a very close third, actually. She's blossomed. But none of them have the combination of abilities, resources, trust and wide-open mandate that you do. And by Sigmar you do the job damn well. But your problem is that you don't believe in yourself to the degree that this job requires you to. "You have access to all the information I do, and you have the luxury of spending the majority of your time and focus on intrigue, where I am pulled a dozen different ways. There is only one reason for you to ask me that question, rather than reaching a conclusion for yourself: because you lack confidence. "I wish I had words to instil that confidence in you, but all I can do is tell you that if you allow self-doubt to erode your resolve, you will fail in the duty to Stirland we share. And while I would not hesitate to stand alone and die against all the evils of Sylvania, I would rather have you by my side and win. "So stop thinking like a journeywoman, and start thinking like the Knight I know you are." He claps you on the shoulder and leaves you there atop the keep, and you slump against the battlements to process his words.

sadly those wont be mutually exclusive options, Abelhelm

- Last turn I rolled for Anton's mercenary recruitment efforts to see who came back to the Fort with him; this week I rolled his diplomatic efforts in Ostermark, and now Ostermark is going all in. - For those ready to beatify Anton, I will remind you that his efforts in Talabecland resulted in one notch above doing nothing. His dice aren't always ridiculous.

That claim will just keep getting harder and harder to believe as the quest goes on

"Damned useful, that. Half of training a cavalryman is teaching him how to get his horse to cooperate." He puts down his knife and fork and strokes his moustache thoughtfully, and then nods at the scabbard on your back. "I've seen you training with that thing, you seem to be decent at it, so I won't try to argue you into using a nice sensible saber instead. But here's something a lot of young would-be warriors die learning: there's many a thing in this world you cannot win against once they get at blade's length. There's no amount of training that will make you stronger than a minotaur or faster than a vampire or bendier than an elf. For things like that," he pats his hip, "you shoot them. Sure, there's a lot of things that won't die to a bullet, but nothing that fights better with a bullet in them." He takes a long drink out of the wooden mug, then stands. "Let's go. No better time to start than in the dawn light."

To solve this problem Mathilde got a sword that is also a cannonball

okay starting another Divided loyalties readthrough. going to post stray thoughts and comments here reacting to it.

Better clean the… whatever that was… off you, because it's time for the ceremony. Thankfully your normal grey robes count as formal dress, because otherwise you wouldn't have a thing to wear.

there are many benefits to being a wizard

[nightbringer24]

If I was to do an Estalian force with red and yellow as the colour scheme, even with the flag, I'd need to do something different to make them apart from State Troopers of Talabecland.

Maybe striped clothing would work. Though it would be a pain...

[nightbringer24]

@blackcountrygateau replied to your post “Right, so I am going to repaint all of my...”:

What colours are they currently? Who even wants to be the reikstadt?

​I was originally going for a mix. Main officers would be Talabecland, so yellow and red, with a unit of Pistoliers from Hochland, red and green, with a unit of handgunners from Nuln and a unit of halberdiers from Altdorf.

But since Old World is in the Time of Three Emperors, such a mismatched force isn't going to happen. Plus, I felt it better to properly unify the soldiers. But I don't want to do a lot of white cloth, so Altdorf it is.

[nightbringer24]

So looking at the map in the cover for Old World, there are 9 Imperial elector states with their names given importance:

Reikland

Averland

Wissenland

Sudenland

Stirland

Ostermark

Talabecland

Middenland

Westerland

The Moot is there but it's not a true Imperial elector state.

So I think those states are going to have lists or rules for them when the Empire gets its Arcane Journal.