In Warhammer Fantasy as my ERP Character 54

54

I tried to shrink myself but that didn’t work much. Rather it doesn’t work anymore. I can still change my appearance, but shrinking is almost impossible. I checked around and found that basic concepts will have severe penalties if applied to myself and other Greater Daemons. This will an that I will have difficulties further leveling my Facsimile concept. Regardless, now I cannot make myself appear like I once was when I reveal myself to Rhya and Taal. While coming clean might have its worth, it might give them so concern as I ascend from Lesser to Greater Daemon in less than a week since our last eting.

I stopped again just before I flew. I am still naked all this ti. The prospect of so kind of official eting suddenly made feel self conscious again. I guess this is finally the ti for so clothes. I summoned my soul forge which adapted to my height. As I am still limited in materials, I decided to throw all the Tzeentch Screars I still have inside my Sanctuary. They scream as they start to burn and condense into a ball of fla. This won’t be enough, so I cut so part of my hair and threw it into the fire. I rember the Changeling managed to cut parts of Slaanesh’s hair as a prank and Tzeentch weaved it into a cloak or sothing. So my hair as a Greater Daemon and having so Divinity might be the best quality material too. As for the souls, I decided to just spend ten. I can just upgrade it later if it is inadequate.

Finally I start the soul forging. As making multiple clothes is impractical, I focus on bestowing sothing similar to Facsimile concept to the artifact so that I can will it to beco anything I want anyti. Must be a bit durable too as changing it into an armor for combat is a must. The process is much quicker now that I am a Greater Daemon. The result is a semi transparent golden cloth. I took it and imdiately turn it into presentable clothes as I will it. Wristguard ford on my hands, bands on my ankles, a golden loincloth only on the front attached to hip pauldrons, a strapless bikini for my breast with a golden ring in the middle, then finally a fur cloak for the entire back. (Basically the fanfic pic but without the black cloths whatever it is called)

Now sowhat presentable, I fly to the border of my domain. Also carrying my horn as this might be the best ti to give it to Valeria. She should be near or within the Moot by now. But first, I have a eting with two Gods.

—

anwhile in an inn in Averheim in Averland province bordering the Moot.

“Beastn? Farming with the halflings? What alcohol or drug are you imbibing? I want so of that.” So inn patrons mock the innkeeper then laughs. Followed by the rest. But those who are laughing are the ones from Nuln. The Averlander however are not laughing but slightly concerned. They have tried reporting to the Count but their reports are dismissed as a good joke at most or prank or nuisance at most.

“Yeah? Why don’t ya visit the Moot now eh? See for yourself.” The Innkeeper taunts

“Bah! Won’t fall for that.”

Then business as usual within the inn. While they won’t ever admit it, quite many Averlander are silently afraid of the halflings. First they ta so ogres and now beastn. It is good the halflings are content in their part of the empire.

—

anwhile in the Moot

Hooves stomps, giant foot stomps. A minotaur, an ogre, and a halfling are served another pile of freshly baked pies. The stomping grew more fervent as the trio started chomping down with equal savagery. This is a pie eating contest. And Furlong the Fat have been the back-to-back winner of the pie eating contest. He is so fat that he never bothered to button his shirt anymore, showcasing a large gash scar on his stomach. This is not from battlefield wound, instead this is from his innard bursting out from his stomach in the three years prior pie eating contest. Fortunately the attending priestess of Rhya quickly heals him. Furlong’s na is legendary in the Moot since then.

Now if you are curious on why this happens, this is due to Valeria and her herd arriving in the last week of Sumr Solstice festival. The festival should only last a week, ten days at most but in the Moot it is a month-long event, and can be longer depending on the circumstances. This is due to their unbelievably good harvest from Rhya’s blessing as halflings are her favorite. This ans the unbelievably good harvest is every harvest. The halflings have exported vast quantities of food outside their provinces and still they must build new warehouses for almost every harvest. So they decided to have a month-long festival every Sumr Solstice where free food is available for everyone instead. The exports and the month-long free food of course made the halflings quite rich but they didn’t know that. Already content in the farming and the bountiful harvest that follows. Making new warehouses excluded.

When Valeria arrives, her herd almost decides to make the halflings and the ogres as their feast. But Robadel, the halfling cook explains why it is bad and to whom the festival is for just in ti. He accidentally omits Rhya’s na. After all, who didn’t know who Rhya is in the Moot. He describes a goddess of golden wheat, where everything grows abundantly, of fertility, and nature. As Valeria translates this to the entire herd, they of course relate it to the closest being they know, the Golden Mother. She is gold, everything grows abundantly in her domain, and nature obeys her. This prompts a misunderstanding that the herd believes that the festival is for their Golden Mother and decides to join. The halfling, seeing more mouths to feed and more food to be cooked so as to not waste their harvest readily welcod them. This welco is due the halflings that never leave their province very rarely to never et a beastn due to the very scary knight order in Talabecland in which every knight rides a Demigryph, Taal's Fury. This is also exactly what happens when ogre raiders first enter Mootland and how imperial ogres are a thing.

A cheer erupts from the halflings. Furlong won again and kept his winning streak. The golden minotaur stopped on the last three pies while the ogre could not finish his last one. But still Furlong’s hand moves to the two other competitors' unfinished pies. “Must… not… waste… food.” The ogre laughs and hands him the last pie while the minotaur could only watch in disbelief. Furlong finished the last four pies then let out a big burp worthy of Greasus’ court. “I won.” Then Furlong dropped dead.