In Warhammer Fantasy as my ERP Character

The next day, the first caravan from Cathay finally arrived through my gate. Saying the caravan is huge is massive understatement. Each of their carriage is comparable to modern cargo trucks, give or take. Each is pulled by eight draft horses seemingly bred specifically to pull these huge carriages. The carriages kept streaming from the gate. One after another. Ten, twenty, thirty, and finally forty of them. Not counting the escorts with their own transports and cavalries. Looks like I will need to expand the Cathayan quarters I have made. I already made it big but it can at most house a bit more than half of them. Not to mention the servants won’t exactly be enough to serve the ones who manage to get to stay in the quarters.

Of course the sight gathers the attention of my herd. After all, the number of the cathayan that arrives is more than a quarter of the population of the herd in Drakwald. More than five thousand give or take. While my base here is big enough to accommodate their number, I didn’t have a dedicated cleared ground like a mustering ground to allow the caravan proper ease of access. Already the caravan has difficulties moving in a single file towards the Cathayan quarters. Fortunately, there is still some space within my Herdstone’s wall to accommodate their camp around the quarters. It would seem like Kal will be overseeing another expansion of my Herdstone’s building and another set of walls surrounding the first wall.

Already Valariel looked excited beside me as she witnessed the caravan streaming through from my tent.

“Come with me. If there’s something you want we should be able to buy it.” I offered as I rose from my fur seat. We went to the Caravan Master who is already talking to Kal with a bigger cathayan man in a more ornate armor. Must be one of Zhao Ming’s Shugengan judging by how he is bigger than the caravan master. Though he is still a head shorter than Kal.

“Four carriages filled with iron and other materials as agreed and the silvers for the gate’s toll.” The caravan master stops the last four carriages and gives them to Kal’s beastmen to check. As I arrived, the caravan master and the Shugengan paused before greeting me. Their left fist in their right palm and bowing.

“And a dozen of our gunsmith and alchemists from my father.” The Shugengan continues after bowing. From one of the transport, exits a group of men and women in civilian clothing.

“What for?” I asked in confusion. I didn’t exactly ask for this.

“You are interested in our gunpowder, yes? Our father sent them to help teach your beastmen how to make your guns for a few months.” He explains. Ah, it seems like he sent them to show some charity as last time I only asked how to make the gunpowder.

“Hmmm.” How can I say that I don’t need them without insulting the other party? “Kal, pick some of the silver and give it to Valariel, she might want to buy something. As for you, what is your name?”

“I am Zhao Yangtian. Seventh son of Iron Dragon Lord.” He introduces himself.

“Very well then. Yangtian, and your craftsmen can follow me. Kal, help the caravan made camp before accompany Valariel when she buy something.” Kal nodded before he went with Valariel and the Caravan Master who bowed to me one last time before returning to his duties.

—

I led Yangtian and his craftsmen towards the workshop where my beastmen and priests of Vaul are making my guns and bullets.

“Yangtian, while I am grateful for the craftsmen lent to me, we have solved the issue of making gunpowder and guns.” I start explaining. To which, one of the gunsmith let out a barely audible snort. But audible enough for both me and the Shugengan who stopped and looked at the perpetrator. Which is one of the more older gunsmiths who clearly take pride in their works.

“I apologize for my men’s conduct. But how exactly has this been resolved?” Yangtian continues diplomatically.

“Well, that is why I invited all of you to come along. It will be much easier to just show you.” I said as we arrived at the workshop. The gunsmiths are already frowning as there is no sound of smithing or furnance’s bellows working. I opened the door and let them come in and see.

The workshop is divided into three main tables. One table working on making the gunpowder, another for the bullets, and another for the guns. The table on making the gunpowder is filled entirely by beastmen while the tables for making the bullets and guns have the beastmen on one side and the priests of Vaul on the other side. The priests of Vaul, muttering their spell nonstop as they coldforge the bullet casings, the gun’s barrels, and the parts that require most attention to detail like the gun’s internal parts. While the beastmen, most mutated to hell just one step from becoming a chaos abomination, are snorting the warpstone dusts, taking the gunpowders from the first table before filling the casing and similarly using coldforging powered by the warpstone to create the bullet heads, assemble the bullets and the guns. The mutated beastmen all sport multiple eyes and arms mutations. The fastest beastmen works at the bullet table, he has seven additional eyes spread around its skull and two other arms below his right arm. Assembling the bullets much faster than the rest. Using his main hands to coldforge the bullet heads while the two lower right hands picking up the finished casing from Priests of Vaul, filling it with the gunpowder and so on. Just this one workshop can make one gun every ten minutes and a hundred bullets every five minutes or so. The current limitations being the material consumption, the workshop can only work for a few hours a day to allow the priests to recover from their magical fatigue, and the materials are used to make other weapons and armors as our population continues growing. Even the irons and other materials we get from Cathay will be fully spent pretty quickly. The beastmen also need to be cycled before they turn into mindless chaos abomination from constant warpstone exposure. I even have some female beastmen shaman trained by Mal on standby to remove their mutations as they rest before the beastmen continue working again.

I turn to see the surprised faces of the craftsmen and alchemists. It's one thing they are told to teach a bunch of beastmen how to make gunpowder and guns. It's another seeing the same beastmen already can do that but fully using magic in all the process. Even the Shugengan is caught in surprise. Not even his father’s court spends all their wizards on making guns and besides, no wizards would want to work in a workshop like this.

“This is amazing.” The head gunsmith said before pausing, considering whether to continue or not. “But still unacceptable.” He finally adds. I looked back on my workshop to see what was missing.

“Looks perfectly functional for me.” I concluded after rechecking.

“Well, yes. But not what I mean. You make the gunpowder in the same room with everything else.” He explains. Oh, safety regulations. Forgot about that.

“I see. I suppose your arrival here might not be wasted after all. Very well, you could teach my beastmen about safety regulations on making gunpowder and the guns.” I said while looking towards Yangtian who gives the final nod to his craftsmen and alchemists.

—

“Let me make this clear.” Ulric slams his tankard to the table before pointing at Taal. “You. set fire on a cultist base which happens below a wine cellar?”

“Yes, you speak like that is a bad thing.” Taal defends himself while Manann laughs as he drinks.

“YES! It is a waste of a good wine!” Ulric hammers the points down. “We could be drinking those wines if there’s any left instead of this.” Ulric is not the one that complains when drinking alcohol. But he will complain if he does not get the better ones, especially if the better ones are wasted.

“Meh, the mortals can make more.” Taal brushes off the criticism.

“As for you, I still can’t believe you didn’t just order your newest wolf to just kill the daemon.” Manann chimes in. “Doesn’t sound like what you usually do.” This gets an angry growl from the Wolf God.

“I can. I can do it even now. But the daemon is still working against Chaos for whatever reason. Should she show even a sign of working against us, the wolf won’t be able to refuse me. So for now, the world is keeping an eye on her.”

“Of course. Of course.” Manann accepts the answer with a smile as usual.

“How about you? What other mischief have you done?” Taal accuses Manann.

“Mischief? Me? Never.” Manann denies, scandalized by the accusation. “Well, I board one of those big black ships the dark elves have. Quite a rude host they are. And on my seas even.” Then he adds without missing a beat. The rest on the table already know the dark elves are either dead or end up with something worse that they did not need to ask further. After all, Manann, like the seas, does not exactly need any reason to be cruel with anyone and the dark elves have provided him a reason to be. Then suddenly Manann laughs.

“What happens?”

“Oh, nothing. Just watched something funny.”

—

Far north, on the south coast of the chaos wasteland. The first ships for the gathered Norscan tribes were constructed. All performing their own rituals and sacrifice to their ancestors and the Chaos Gods. All the while storms rages unending the inner sea of claws between the Norscan and the southern lands. Vile orgies between man and beasts to those who worship Slaanesh, the piling of dessicated and rotting bodies to those who worship Nugle, the fights in makeshift fighting pits to venerate Khorne, and the rituals by Tzeentchian followers in attempt to dissipate the storm. None are answered by the Chaos Gods. For their attention is gathered more far north. On their newest Everchosen.

One particular group, an offshoot from the Norscan Tribe of Sarls who did not heed the Everchosen call, enacted a very different ritual as most of their tribe went north to serve the Everchosen’s horde. But not them, as their new Chieftain and Champion of Chaos refuses the call. Seeing that there will be no glory for them other than be shipbuilding servants under the Everchosen. The marauding tribesman gathers at the coast. Forming a half circle chanting and babbling and dancing as their Chieftain and Champion of Chaos, Drumand the Rash, his dark armor and helmet fused to his body with unholy magic, is waist deep in the cold seas. The marauders push another slave to their Chieftain who catches him and headbutt the slave. The slave’s head cracks, blood spurts out, and Drumand lets the wave carry the slave’s body to the seas. The marauder kept pushing more of the slaves to be headbutted. The chants and the bables are emphasized with a unified ‘bob’ when Drumand headbutts the slaves. This continues on until the Sarls send their own, those too old to be able to fight. The dancing and the chants grow more fervent as the marauders reveal a heavily mutated human, its forehead bloated huge by overgrown bone. Two marauders dance and chant as they push the mutant to the water. Drumand pulls his head back and back again before slamming his head forward. A loud sound of metal smashing metal can be heard alongside another loud bob from the marauders. A single crack can be seen on Drumand’s dark helmet. Again Drumand pulls his head back again, pulling his head back as far as his spine and neck can handle, before smashing his head forward again. The mutant’s head cracked, blood flowing out, and Drumand let the wave carry the mutant’s body to the sea. But still the storm rages on overhead.

Following this, the chanting grows into its fervent pitch as three cultists knelt beside a summoning circle while the lead shaman gathers the winds of magic and pushes it to the circle. The rest of the marauders continue on with their chanting and babbling and dancing. Even attracting some Slaaneshi sorceresses from other tribes. Then the shaman pushes all the magic he gathered to the circle. Summoning a bloodletter. The daemon stomps out of the circle, exhaling fumes of brimstone. Spikes adorn its elongated forehead. The daemon allows itself to be escorted by two marauders to the awaiting champion within the water. The seawater surrounding the daemon boils. Drumand seizes the bloodletter’s horns on the side of its head and headbutt the daemon. The daemon grips his shoulder, searing it with the daemon’s heat as the daemon headbutt back. Then both pull their head back and slam forward at the same time. Then again. And again. Drumand’s dark helmet broke apart, blood flowed as his helmet is directly fused with his head, some of the daemon’s spikes now lodged on his head. But he has won and he let the waves carry the daemon into the sea before it dissipates. The lodged spikes burn even hotter, fusing with his head and sealing the broken parts of his helmet, creating a jagged crown on his head. Then from the sea, something hot touched his feet. He bent down and took it into his hand, the searing heat burns and melts his hand but still he perseveres. Then with a loud scream he lifts it up above his head. In his hand is the bloodletter’s own hellblade. His scream answered with roars of approval from other Khornate followers. The Sarls' moment of glory is here.

—

Manann witnesses all of this ritual. Confused on why a bunch of norscan made a sacrifice to the sea. A daemon rebelling and now a norscan performing sacrifice to him. Accidentally or not, he saw this as something funny. He will allow the screaming one with hellblade along with his tribe to pass his storms safely for that alone. Besides, the golden daemon can take care of any stragglers that manage to pass the storm. If not, oh then he will be utterly disappointed.