A matter of zero stakes but human lives that are probably better off in the ground than living in the Borderlands. The Borderlands rage in constant endless war, because to lose in the borderlands means to lose next to nothing, and to win means gaining slightly more than nothing.īesides, the next time a WAARGH rolls through all everything will be basically reset anyway. Most Cartographers would rather cut a finger off than do more than chart out the roads to Barak Varr. The Border Principalities are ill-fit the title of polity, and hardly worth the bother of geography. You scratch at your ear, and glance around at where you ended up.įar from any human civilization worth the name, the home to a thousand princes and at least twice that many pricks. You refused to accept that, and if you could not change that, you would simply go somewhere where you did not have to.Īt least, that's what you try to tell yourself to rationalize why you ended up where you did end up. The very idea that no matter what you did, you would compare unfavorably to some figure of the distant past that just so happened to exist in the same area as you did? Which, was all very well and good but extremely depressing. It was the truth of the world, that no matter what you did, those that came before had done it better. The great men they leave behind unable to live up to what once was. The legendary men of these people have been, and they have died. Even the mighty, inscrutable Lizardmen slowly broke apart, their Slaan sleep longer and longer, their temples looted and desecrated, their endless task slowly failing. Every moment just a little more of that great darkness encroaches on the realm of man, from Brentonia to Cathay, just that bit more forest encroached on the hamlet, and the endless rattle of horror in the night grew stronger. Every year just a little bit more of influence of the Asur slips through their fingers, even as the bodies of elves that earned that influence stay rotting in the ground. To the Dawi of the Karaz Ankor it was a starker truth than most, but every civilization felt the sinking rot of decay in their bones. It was the truth of all races, that they faced an inevitable march towards decline. Those that came after would always, and forever contend with the fact that the pinnacle had been reached. To conceive of equaling them in any true measure was solely in the realm of the mad. To even manage a fractions fraction of what those men had achieved would be the work of a great man. Changed it irrevocably in a way that those that came after would always stand in their shadow. Legendary men, some as terrible as they were great, that shaped the world. From Nagash dooming what was once the brightest star of humanity to rot and decay, to Sigmar binding together the tribes of the empire into an ironclad brotherhood. From Caledor Dragontamer taming the untold infinity of the Great Catastrophe, to Malekith sundering his kingdom from the berth of Ulthuan itself. The world is shaped by truly legendary men, both in antiquity, and in modernity. I've not changed anything, which is probably going to make the author notes rather confusing. There's about 11 story updates, and a few informational posts I'll be putting up.
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