Yé vais vous faire un tour de cartes. Yi yi yi!
Après le moine cliché, attaquons nous à un personnage mini-maxé d’un point de vue RP.
Rien n’existe, tout n’est qu’illusion
Dans le cas présent, l’origine du personnage vient de la lecture des différents sorts existants dans la 5ème édition de Donjons, et là où je trouve l’école de transmutation bien cool, mon esprit s’est arrêté sur l’école des illusions pour son potentiel de résolution de situation par moyens plus que détournés.
Être le petit fils de Garr’is Mohr
Alors là, on ne va pas se le cacher, même si le MJ peut s’amuser un poil avec ce que je vais écrire, c’est vraiment un prétexte foireux pour justifier l’école de magie en question.
Le personnage serait l’apprenti d’un grand mage illusionniste excommunié / banni / rejeté par une quelconque université de magie pour une raison encore plus obscure au bon vouloir du MJ. Son bannissement a-t-il été du par ses insupportables blagues, a-t-il été cleptomane une fois de trop, aurait-il cocufié l’administrateur de l’université lui-même, a-t-il été le bouc-émissaire d’une sombre histoire magico-politique? Nul ne le sait sauf le potentiel MJ le jour où il décidera de s’en servir.
Bien entendu, nul dans son entourage ne connait les raisons de son exil, ni même encore l’étendue réelle de ses pouvoirs d’illusionniste. Il est même fort probable que ceux ignorant sa véritable identité le considèrent simplement comme un vieux fou.
Le personnage peut être son petit-fils biologique, d’adoption, juste un gamin paumé du village ou encore un jeune du race conspuée dans la région.
A l’inverse du personnage de moine naïf décrit plus tôt, lui a été élevé dans l’idée que rien ni personne n’était ce qu’il semblait être, que tout était illusion à divers degrés et que la duplicité était le seul moyen de survivre en ce bas monde.
Illusions et tromperie
En terme de compétences, on est dans une seule et unique école de magie et dans la caractéristique de tromperie augmentée le plus possible. Toutes les autres caractéristiques étant absolument accessoires et bonne pour les bon gros bourrins qui joue à Counter strike.
Je me demande même si le personnage gagnera un jour un seul sort d’attaque. Une bonne piste à creuser.
Idée bonus: utilise-t-il le sort d’illusion permettant de changer d’apparence constamment de telle manière que personne ne sait vraiment quelle est son apparence ni même sa race d’origine? Y compris les autres personnages du groupe.
Alors oui, pas un personnage très profond, mais je vois en lui un énorme potentiel en jeu. Que ce soit en ou hors combat. Et autant à jeter des sorts sur ses adversaires que sur les autres membres du groupe.
Quant à ses motivations… Là… les connait-il lui-même? TIN TIN TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!!!!
8 ans, 27 mois, 73 jours et 55 heures après la rédaction du dernier article, me revoilà pour un article qui s’écarte un peu, voire totalement, de la peinture sur figurines. En effet, je vais mettre sur papier virtuel, 2 idées de personnages Donjons et Dragons qui me trainent dans la tête depuis quelques temps.
Ce qui m’amuse dans cette histoire, c’est que je n’ai jamais au grand jamais vraiment travailler sur les histoires de la poignée de personnages que j’ai pu jouer dans ma maigre carrière de rolliste, 5 si ma mémoire ne défaille pas trop. Ma construction de personnage s’étant toujours limitée à vaguement le look et le choix de la classe de personnage. 1 seul sort vaguement du lot, mais là encore, ça a été plus une justification des choix de compétences du personnage, l’histoire elle a été 80% définie par mon cher Bernard-Henri Lavis ici présent.
C’est donc la première fois que j’ai réfléchi à l’histoire de personnages de jdr. Alors soyons bien d’accord, tout est parti de la classe de personnage, mais mon esprit est parti un peu plus loin cette fois, sûrement influencé par mes récents copains de JDR.
Si vous êtes bien préparés à être déçu, à lire des histoires qu’un adolescent de 14 ans rejetterait tellement elles sont convenues, c’est parti!
Chaussée aux moines
N’ayant joué qu’à la deuxième édition de Donjons, c’est avec surprise que j’ai découvert qu’aujourd’hui les classes avaient chacune leurs mécaniques propres. Dérivant sur les classes, mes yeux sont tombés sur la classe de Moine, qui m’a fait furieusement pensé au personnage du moine de Diablo 3.
Définissons sa personalité
Qui dit moine, dit monastère. Et pour ne pas me faire une foulure neuronale, j’imagine le monastère dans lequel aura vécu mon personnage comme un monastère tibhéto-kung-fuien dans ce qu’il a de plus cliché dans notre inconscient collectif.
Ce contexte aura pour raison principale de justifier les grands traits de sa personnalité et de son rapport au monde.
Le cliché du détachement matériel dans sa version la plus pure de lycéen en première L. Le personnage ne comprend pas vraiment le concept d’argent, et échange son temps, ses compétences, ses « bras » contre un toit et du pain, étant conditionné depuis l’enfance à travailler pour la communauté.
Cela peut, je pense, entrainer quelques quiproquo et scène bien débile dans un groupe s’il offre les services du dit groupe pour rien.
Naïveté et foi dans les autres.
Encore un bon gros cliché: le pécore qui n’a connu que son monastère perdu dans la pampa et qui ne comprends pas vraiment que les autres puissent mentir et avoir des intentions cachées.
Encore une fois, cela peu amener des scènes bien débiles et mettre le groupe entier dans des positions fâcheuses. La possibilité de le faire succomber aux charmes de n’importe quelle femme fatale de la campagne peut engendrer des situations et des choix problématiques pour le groupe entier. A voir comment le MJ veut se servir de cela.
Ascétisme et compagnie
3ème et dernier gros cliché des familles: les moines, c’est bien connu, se contentent de peu. A voir avec le MJ bien entendu, mais l’idée est que le personnage n’ait pas besoin de manger des tonnes de barbaque pour être en forme. Principalement des graines à l’instar d’un certain maitre d’armes que je ne nommerai pas.
Parlons un peu de son passé
Alors là les filles (car pourquoi ne pas casser le réflexes de dire « les mecs »?), accrochez vous, car il y a du bon gros cliché fantasy qui tache. Annonce compte double!
<insérez nom> : origins
Fils (et pourquoi pas fille d’ailleurs?) de pêcheurs dans un village côtier un rien perdu, c’est à 4 ou 5 ans qu’il a été témoin d’un raid d’esclavagistes qui a complètement décimé le village, les habitants ayant été soit été pris comme esclaves soit simplement tués.
Il n’y a échappé que grâce à sa sœur / son frère (jumeau ou grand.e) qui réussit à le cacher au dernier moment mais, se faisant, s’est fait.e elle/lui-même enlevé.e.
Une fois le raid terminé et avoir beaucoup pleuré bien entendu, il est parti dans une direction au hasard bien entendu, s’est perdu bien entendu, s’est retrouvé dans une montagne enneigée bien entendu et à été sauvé.e et recueilli.e par des moines du monastère bien entendu.
Par un évènement / un choix à définir qui n’a pas vraiment d’importance, elle/il décide de partir à la recherche de sa sœur / son frère.
Alors, j’avais pas raison? AH AH AH En plus Annonce compte double!!! Putain je suis trop fort!
Ce que le MJ peut en faire
Derrière ce mille-feuille de clichés plus convenus les uns que les autres, je pense que cela peux donner quelques pistes sympa au MJ:
- Le jumeau maléfique cherchant à se venger à cause de sa longue vie d’esclave
- La soeur / frêre vaguement maléfique ou du moins endoctriné.e au point d’être devenu.e un.e lieutenant/capitaine/on s’en fout (ou carrément la tête pensante) d’une des factions antagonistes au groupe. Pouvant ou non chercher la rédemption après avoir retrouvé le personnage.
- La soeur / frère assassiné.e entrainant le personnage dans une quête de vengeance
- J’en sais rien moi, je ne suis pas MJ, qu’ils se demmerdent pour trouver un truc cool.
Derrière cet amas de cliché, je pense que ce personnage peut engendrer des situations RP bien débiles, lesquelles, on ne va pas se le cacher, sont les moments les plus mémorables des jeux de rôle, bien plus que n’importe quel jet de dés.
Rendez vous très bientôt avec un deuxième personnage dont l’unique but semble être justement de créer des situations débiles.
Comment j’ai hâte de ne pas les jouer…
Mythic Battles: La boite de base enfin finie
Sans même parler de la rédaction de cet article écrit bien après la bataille, j’en aurais mis du temps à peindre la boite de base de ce Kickstarter. Entre plaisir de peindre et doute, c’est avec satisfaction que je peux enfin poster l’ensemble des figurines de la boite de base.
Il n’y a plus qu’à jouer maintenant…
Bleak Chewers, Ogors on ice
Without appearing to be disturbed since his change of status, Stiggaz was bellowing from his mount, shouting orders more than summary to the many gnoblars that made up the now famous Gnobknights unit.
Since the quolibets wiped out during their first act of arms a few days ago on the shores of Lake Bykaal and their victory over the numbered orruks (but overcome by uncontrollable spasms of laughter), these so-called knights had been provided with new mounts by their allies from the Stifling Procession. Some of the gnoblars had even managed to find a very silly way to reach the battle as quickly as possible: harnessing to a hellstorm. The tests of this mode of attack were of course not without collateral damage and failure, but without the support, patience and understanding of General Greyson’s forces such a unit could never have seen the light of day. One must also not forget to take into account the undeniable lack of common sense and chronic recklessness shown by the Bleak Chewers’ gnoblars to explain even the idea of such a method of locomotion. The Midnight City engineers are still wondering to this day how these creatures renowned for their inherent cowardice could have acquired such mastery and above all find a way to get to their destination without ending up as green purée.
So it was under the briefest of orders that a horde of junk warriors of far below average size took the lead and surprised a well-sized troggoth unit against all odds. Their horribly slow natural reflexes probably had a lot to do with it. And the cold did not help the speed of reaction of these big goofballs, Stiggaz thought to himself as he shot an arrow straight into the knee of a giant who had just missed him. A few short minutes were enough for the gnoblars, well supported by thundering iron blaster shots, to make a breakthrough in the ranks of the rockguts with relatively minimal losses.
« Olof, Alkeru, Frigs, that’s your cue! »
The words of Gorogark’s favorite former aide-de-camp brought the three weirdoes out of their half-sleep. They quickly checked their equipment, walked with an ungracious and unbalanced step to the nearest hole in the ice and plunged in without hesitation.
« Now we’re going to keep pushing those big, soup-filled mussels, » uttered Stiggaz with a raised fist, spurring his sewn-up gryph-charger as best he could. The plan was going smoothly for now and he still had to deploy a few more « divers » at strategic points, as Gorogark and Greyson had shown him.
To Greyson’s surprise, the deployment of the gnoblar units supported by the ogor artillery was bearing fruit. They had managed to create enough surprise to break cohesion in the orruk rankgs at key points and, more importantly, create diversions so that the rest of the Perpetual armies’ plan could be carried out. It wasn’t until he heard reports that two of the orruk flagships had almost simultaneously been hit by explosive submarine attacks that he knew he had made the right choice to trust the ogors and their unusual fighting methods. He even found himself praising the ingenuity of gnoblars.
Oh yeah please, backstab us! (an AnimosityII short story)
« Yeah, sure, whatever », these are the last words Valdyr the hollow guide said to his peers at the last « strategic meeting » (another « good idea in his opinion), before he and the main forces of the Stifling procession left to Tsatraya.
It went as always, first it was decided that we shall continue the truce with the Expedition meatbags, the traitor god’s zealots. As much as he hated to let those souls alone, Valdyr had to admit that this pact worked rather well since the beginning and that it always was beneficial to the Perpetual and even let the concentrate their force on the other coalitions.
Then, the daemonic cold blooded reptilians explains in Nagash knows how many ways, that The Perpetual should focus on the Soulmuncherz as Zectoka, their daemonic amphibian master, says. And whatever your arguments are, it always concludes like that with them « we will follow Zectoka orders and you will too ». It is in those too rare moments that Valdyr can laugh naturally, thinking that all the one to to Nagash always think they are superior to the legions of Nagash because we are bound to his will, when they are just following orders to their multiple gods orders like the good soldiers they are, with absolutely no free will. Hey, at least they will all make good skeleton warriors in the end.
But this was just the usual annoying reptilian so-called strategy, the worst was yet to come and left Valdyr speechless (not that he was volubile). It came from Ashavohlk, a vampire lord. That Reikenor accepted those treacherous cold blooded meatbags was something that Valdyr never understood. How could he trust the cousins of Neferata and Vlad Von Carstein? That we allied with the reptiles, ok, why not. But Soulblights? Was Reikenor so desperate?
So Ashavohlk entered in the meeting room, bombing is torso as always, with a satisfied smile on his treacherous face, and he said proudly to Kroqaqu-Cotiq and Cueyatl: « It is done, I made the pact of non agression with them, so we can all concentrate on the ur-whale carcass! ». Everyone in the room seemed satisfied, except maybe Signy Myzlan, the Idoneth, who might have known what was this pact about.
Valdyr could not take it anymore and asked through a long chilly whisper: « Another deal?! With who? Because I don’t remember the last one went very well for us and especially for you corporeal lot. ». Obviously annoyed, Ashavohlk, relied shamelessly « A non-aggression pact! With the Wretched. We don’t attack them so they can concentrate on those treacherous Pilgrimage, and they don’t attack us so that we can concentrate our efforts against the Soulmuncherz. This is a great opportunity for us. But once again, I guess you will complain over and over again like a banshee, won’t you? ».
One day, Valdyr knew he will kill him. Him and all the Soulblights. Not that there were many of them left anyway. The purge will be a good thing for the Legions of Nagash. He knew it. Still, Valdyr feared that in the future, Nagash will call them, or even create new ones. And it will end as always, with a knife in the back. This was the Soulblight nature after all.
Valdyr had a difficult time processing the information. A pact with the rodents, the beasts and the zealot of the minor gods. He first thought that it was a joke. A very bad one. But he soon realised that no one really reacted. Everyone knew, and yet no one told Valdyr. He hated them, even more now if it was even possible. He told them that the rodents will betray them, and not in a small way, even more than the Pilgrimage meatbags. But no, they did not listen. And before Valdyr could ask about the Bonefleet of Nuyra, the cold blood deadmeatbag said « And we are also sending the whole fleet against the Soulmuncherz » with a sardonic smile. Valdyr stayed silent a long time and watched each of his peers. To the point that some of them looked away. And he left.
He went to talk to Reikenor. It did nothing. Nothing but increasing his hatred of the « living », if we could consider the Soulblights and the Seraphons as living beings. At least he had the benediction of Reikenor to go and observe the Wretched to be sure they will respect their part of the deal. Valdyr knew that in trying to mitigate the Wretched treachery, his Stifling procession will take a huge hit when, and not if, the rodents will attack in numbers. He could already see it. But who was he to discuss Reikenor will? At least he was questioning, trying to understand the figure heads plans, unlike some others….
So they left, his Stifling procession and Signy Myzlan Idoneth deepkin army. Signy Myzlan’s goal was to harvest as many aelven souls she could to summon an aspect of one of their dead god. Valdyr did not like the Idoneth, he did not really anyone in fact, but at least he find someone who agreed with him, who was against this pact. So they went to Mount Nagas ‘ua. And when Signy Myzlan gathered all the souls she could, she looked at Valdyr with what he guessed was sadness more than pity, and then turned back to Go the ur-whale carcass. Not that securing the ur-whale carcass was a bad idea, but the effort was disproportionate, and left their back with a giant target, doing half the work of the rodents in doing so. This sure won’t end well.
But Valdyr had a plan, not to win because he was sure the Wretched will overwhelm the Stifling procession, but to maximise their loss. He spent a lots of time summoning them. They were 3. It was demanding. First, the Mortalis terminexus, which could reinvigorate his Nighthaunt hordes or accelerate the aging of the enemy at his will. Then, the Shyish reaper, the perfect tool to kill the thousands of skavens which will run around everywhere. And finally, the Vault of souls. This will be his personal touch. He will place it as inactive where it will be visible on the path from their camp in Mt Nagas ‘ua to their treachery. He knew the skavens will look at it with envy, believing the vault might have some lost artefact that could help them becoming chief instead of their chief. It will be their downfall. Valdyr will activate the Vault of souls when it will at the exact center of their force, with maximum rodents to kill, empowering it even more and disorganising their army. Then he will send the Shyish reaper and make the Stifling procession attack from the underworld. He will break their lines, he might even make so much damage that they will flee, the rodents, the beasts and the tainted humans. He will make them taste fear. The primal feeling, the only feeling that matters.
And Reikenor will see. They will all see. That Valdyr the hollow guide was right. That the Wretched can not be trusted. Even if to prove his point, he might have to push a little. Just a little push. Almost nothing. And behind his mask, Valdyr smiled. « Yes. Just a little push. Almost nothing. »
Bleak Chewers, en route to The Wreckage
Since the numerous moons he was part of this warglutt, Gorogark never felt as tired as he was feeling now. The battle against the Chaos forces was a fierce and a good one he only experienced scarcely here in Shyish. He felt an ounce of envy when some of the older ogors were telling old epic battles from Ghyran and Guhr with great beasts over precipices and all the gluttony that followed. As always the only goal of reminiscing such tales tingled his appetite. He was tired of eating rotten flesh, ash, bones (being wary of not stepping on toes of bonereapers though), earth and rocks. Times were scarce for the likes of ogors and his gluttons started to be nervous. Some of them even ate a couple gnoblars. That for sure is a sign. He glanced nonchalantly at his favourite aide-de-camp who was coming towards him and wondered what crazy idea that little green thing had got into his head again.
« Your excellence, I must warn you some of us are thinking to start a strike. »
The tyrant bursted into a laugh that almost led him to tears.
« How funny of you Stiggaz, you silly diminutive jester. Tell you friends you are all safe for now as we will soon be marching towards the wreck of the Mariner. Or so our allies call this place. And a little bird told me our plate will be quite full. »
It will most probably be the case indeed as the scouts reports gave insights of greenskin presence. It bode more like a proper menu for the followers of the great gulper.
Ruins of the Cathedral of the Mariner
Stiggaz’s hands ran over the remains of the mount that lay lifeless in front of him. He had brought with him three of their great masters boldest servants. They were three faithful companions in whom he had complete confidence. He had chosen them to carry out this task they all chose to fulfil.
He had traded a significant amount of grave-sand with a few amulets from one of the Necromancers in the Stifling Procession. Each of his companions had one of these trinkets. They held them out over the lifeless carcasses and they chanted the words of power attached to each pendant one after the other. Sprays of purple and green magic spilled over the remains of the mounts and they slowly rose to their feet.
They now each had a faithful steed, or rather what was left of it.
This is how the first four Gnobknights set foot on Shyish soil.
Gorogark had nearly choked with laughter when he saw Stiggaz and his three thieves arrive on their patched and sewn-up mounts. He managed to finish swallowing his snack and let go a thunderous burp that smelled like gunpowder. A gnoblar who was testing his lighter a little further away was thrown a few meters up in the air when this foul cloud reached him.
« That’s enough grocery chores for you and your jokers now. Ask Kobatu, our hunter, to show you the way because as of now you’ve just earned your place as a scout. That is, if at least one of you comes back alive from scouting the lake. Get out of my sight before I change my mind. »
They were so proud and ecstatic on their new mounts that they couldn’t see the few orruks watching them from a few yards away in the thickets. Nor did they see that the mainland had been replaced by the smooth, slippery expanse of Bykaal Lake. This was probably due to their sight being obstructed by their new headgear or simply by the thick snow that had been falling in large flakes since they had left the camp.
Their slide was quite incredible and most memorable, as the orruks hidden on the shore of the lake were laughing loudly and noisily, revealing their position at the same time.
Stiggaz wondered how to stop before another surprise stood in front of him and his companions…
Pseudonyme’s Squig and turnip stew (an Animosity II recipe)
- 1 gargant hémorroïd (also called onion)
- 1 grot kidney (also called garlic)
- 1 small squig or half a big squig (also called pumpkin)
- 200ml of Melusai milk (also called coconut milk)
- Aqua ghiranis (also called water)
- 2 table spoon of Chamon spice (also called garam masala)
- 1 big Kurnoth Hunter nose (also called sweet potatoe)
- 3 turnips (more or less the same quantity as the nose)
- The tip of a knife of aqshian sweets (also called Chili pepper)
- Fresh Shyish only plant (also called coriander)
- Snotlings’ phalanxes (also called peanuts)
- Ogor sweat
- Brown the gargant hemoroid, the grot kidney, the Chamon spice in 2 tablespoon of Ogor sweat in your mawpot
- After cutting the squig, the Kurnoth Hunter nose and the turnips in large dice, with a scrap launcher, catapult all of that in the mawpot. Cook them with Aqshy fire for 5 minutes. Do not forget to mix the ingredients.
- Toss the melusai milk, the Aqshy sweets and pour the aqua ghyranis so that it just covers all the ingredients. Let it stew for 20 to 30 minutes
- When serving, sprinkle some Snotling’ phalanxes and fresh Shyish only plant
- You can also serve this stew with Ironjawz bravery or honour (also called quinoa or rice)
Bleak Chewers, Supply Run
Always, always, always like that with those big ogors. Always. Stiggaz knew better but to say this in front of his master, the almighty Gorogark. He was lucky enough to serve him as it gave him a high enough status among the other gnoblars: he didn’t have to do some stupid tricks to make the ogors laugh or to complete menial and annoying chores. But not today as it was not a lucky day. Not really. It started with the most preposterous plan an ogor ever planned: eating a tunnel below the earth to surprise the enemy behind their lines. It all went kind of well until some stupid dim-witted ogor, a butcher they call him, said they needed more flavouring ingredients to « dig » faster. As they used all what was available they fell back to their leader. A great idea leading into another, he asked his favorite gnoblar Stiggaz, surprise, to go fetch his stashed rum barrels he hid not far from where they starting digging the galerie.
He knew how much he had to carry so he enrolled a handful of fellow gnobs snappy enough to complete the task and headed backwards to the entrance of the earth tube. He and his little comrades walked as fast as possible in the dim purple light and as a nimble worm swarm they avoided unstable rocks and debris along their way. Soon they reached the end of the way. This is when all went wrong.
In his blind confidence Stiggaz emerged out of the metal grate and took a casual glance of the surroundings to locate the master’s hidden stash. To his great surprise he saw a lance arriving straight at him and only his reflexes saved him. He mentally praised the heritage of his race and centuries in the service of ogors. One of his aide didn’t get that lucky. In such an unsatisfactory situation the best solution was always the same: panick and try to stay alive. The common approach would have been to duck, dodge and flee, all at the same time to maximise his chances to get out of this mess. It was usually working. But for whatever reason he saw himself try to negociate with the tzaangors standing in front of him. How odd. What did he thought? Was he suicidal?
He was still in awe of what he had achieved. Right, everything came at a cost as he had to act as their servant and little plaything for a few days. It was really painful and uncomfortable most of the time but he did experience worse in the past. As a reward he got to see where one of the camp of the chaos was established. He silently listed his achievements: avoiding to fight with the tzaangors, gathering valuable intel and keeping some of his grot friends alive. Anyway they were alive when he snuck out. On his way down back in the pipe he even grabbed one of the huge barrel of the rum well hidden behind dead trees and under putrescent corpses. It was his initial mission after all. He only hoped his master was not to give him another cold wrath he was so famous for. He managed to cross his fingers without letting his load fall.
And they will know fear… (an Animosity II short story)
Reikenor called him. Asking him to come through the underworld. He told him that the Wretched, a coalition composed of rat men, beasts and devotees of the false gods, were trying to take control of 3 Realmgates: Kyady’s gate, the Stairs of Nyura and Crom’s canyon. Reikenor needed Valdyr and his Stifling procession to secure one of the Realm gate.
Valdyr knew that most of the forces from The Perpetual were fighting for the Cathedral of the Mariner. He was confident that The Perpual will overcome the devotees of the false gods and their daemons. Between the other Nighthaunt processions, the Ossiarch Bonereapers phalanxes, the Seraphon and, for sure, the Bleak Chewers. Gorogark had a simple plan which seemed effective, the main force of the Bleak chewers would go underground, chewing the earth, to appear in the middle of the Undivided back line. They were accompanied by a handful of Myrmourn banshees to take care of the false gods sorcerers. Valdyr was sure the plan went well. What could have happened?
Valdyr choosed Crom’s canyon as his destination. First, it was the closest. Second, he knew the Midnight city were heading there, their artillery will be precious in this attrition war against the Wretched, to decimate or at least disperse the hordes of Skaven and Beastmen. Those abominations were always appearing in thousands, which always make them difficult to contain.
But the Midnight city won’t be the only ones with a great tool to fight the hordes. Valdyr also had a powerful tool. Maybe the most powerful tool of all: he knew how to summon the Purple sun. It was Reikenor who taught him at the beginning of the conflict. He told Valdyr to summon it when needed, as endless spells can become wild. But it won’t happen to the Stifling procession. Valdyr was sure of that. He was an high priest of Nagash in Tsatraya. So long ago. Eons ago.
And then came the time of the battle. To ensure Crom’s canyon stayed under The Perpetual control. To ensure that the coalition will have its approvisioning line. The canyon was already swarming with Skavens and Beastmen. They were everywhere. Valdyr unfolfed the usual Stifling procession strategy; the combination of a brutal frontal attack and guérilla tactics from the underworld. The front line will be a combination of Chainrasps, Spirit hosts and Grimghast reapers, backed by Spirit torments, to be sure replenish the lines, even with those fouled souls. They will advance, relentlessly toward the enemy. They have to see them. To understand what is coming. What they have to face.
Himself and his executioner Klosyom the hollow exile, will appear in the middle of their lines, to strike, disappear and strike again. The Myrmourn banshees taking care of any sorcerer, cutting all their magical support. Glaivewraith stalkers will harass their distance fighters, their artillery and their behemoths. Klosyom will execute their lieutenants. Every single one of them if he has enough time.
Valdyr will appear behind their strongest line and will unleash the Purple sun. To break them. To teach them that they should not have crossed The Perpetual path. They will face his wrath.
And they will know fear…