Springtime in Estalia

Please use this thread to issue proclamations, threats, and grossly exaggerated tales of your own prowess.

As the storms lashing the Estalian coast subside, armies consolidate beach heads and strike out. Lightning quick, the Dark Elves plunge deep in to enemy territories. The Malefactor's forces reap a bloody toll on Duke LaFontaine's forces as they make their way through the mountain passes. But have the murderous Elves overextended themselves?

Watching the twisted skeins of fate, Skrillix seizes upon the future of his choosing, and claims a piece of the Dark Elf lands before they can react. Andros the Astromancer tricks his rival into antagonizing the Dwarf King Olaffson, who ambushes the Chaos forces in the high mountain passes of central Estalia.

Meanwhile, the foul Fimir pillage the lands outside Bilbali. Although they capture a fine strand of beach outside the city, their drunken antics enrage the populace who rush to the defense of their reclusive overlords, and repulse Bishop Seamus of Caer Bannog, while also holding the line against the Dark Elf reavers.


Springtime: As rivers rage and beasts awake from hibernation, dangerous terrain becomes even moreso! All dangerous terrain tests are failed on one "pip" higher than normal.

Also- the Wind of Ghyran flows strongly anew. All casters of Life Magic gain +1 to cast.

"I shall hunt the largest game in all the known realm." "Lord Draschite" Lord of the legend killers and hunter of anything.

Duke Lafontaine is sitting at his desk, looking over a pile of paperwork. In front of him is a map of Estalia with markings on it. Markings which indicate the location of potential mines, relics and other items. The duke just shakes his head “We’ve got no clue what we’re going run into” the Duke mutters to himself as he realizes that map making is not a Bretonnian strength. This map is certainly no exception to the rule. As a people Bretonnians treasure artistic “flourishes” over accuracy, which is fine trait with artwork but a rotten one for mapmaking.

The Duke points to a large river, painted gold and named “The Most Puissant River, for it flows solid gold and rubies for the pure!”. “Solid gold doesn’t flow… it’s solid. If this thing is remotely accurate, I’ll be impressed.” The Duke mutters to himself.

Knock, knock. The Duke turns his head. One of his servants stands before him. “The host is almost ready, my Duke.”

“Good, we leave in the morning. I’m not going to do a damn bit of good just sitting here, waiting for gold to just shower upon me from the heavens.” The duke pauses, he spies his wooden markers. Three markers, one for each force. The Duke sighs, “Are my guests ready?”

“Grail Knight Morikhi has been yelling at the peasants for looking at him again.”

The Duke rubs his head “How impressive is the honor of our most blessed knights is… Send him in.”

WHAM! The door opens and Grail Knight Morikhi strides into the room as if he owns the place and stands next to the Duke. His magical aura fills the room as his eyes nearly glow with supernatural intensity. Morikhi turns to the servant. “Your betters are speaking. Leave.” The servant has no problems obeying this order and scurries out of the room.

“Usually members of my household wait until they are called, but that’s moot at this point… Are you ready to campaign, or do you prefer screaming at peasants?”

“I do not campaign for money, such concerns are beneath me.”

“Do I need to remind you who’s household you’re a member of? I would hope your highly refined sense of honor would serve to remind you of your basic obligations.”

“I am honor.”

“Is honor coming or not?”

“A great evil is stirring in Estalia. I shall smite that evil as my gift to the Blessed Lady. I shall slay a 1000 demons in one day for her. No orc, dwarf, elf, undead, or man shall stand before glory. For I am glory.”

“I’ll take that as a yes… Would you like to discuss tactics? I’ve noticed you banned all men-at-arms, archers, and pretty much everybody else who’s not a knight from your war party. Care to tell me what you plan to do?”

“I am glory.”

“The days of shattering infantry like glass are behind us. How do plan to adapt?”

“I am glory.”

“You’re an asshole, that’s way more accurate.” Prophetess Liliane, surrounded by a glowing magical light, walks into the room. She walks over the couch and sits down on it. “Have any wine Emeile? I think I’m out, again.”

Grail Knight Morikhi slams his fist against the table, enraged by Liliane’s behavior. She just looks up at the Grail Knight. “Don’t you have some peasants to mistreat, that always makes you feel better.” Morikhi storms out of the room, unable to withstand Liliane’s commentary. Peasants scurry out of the way as an enraged Grail knight screams most un-honorable oaths at the top of his lungs.

“Wine, My Lady?”

“Absolutely, none of that Empire swill either. Those filthy sausage eaters would drink a warm cup of piss from a Beastman and call it glorious.”

The Duke goes into the cabinet and pulls out a bottle, he wipes the dust off it. “I’m afraid that this (shakes bottle) is the last of my dear brother’s collection. From now on, you’re on your own.”

“You really are that broke?” Liliane walks over to the table and looks through the papers. The Duke opens the bottle and fills her glass.

“Let’s just say this kingdom was quite a hollow prize. One that I am honor bound to fill.”

“You don’t have to do this crusade, Emilie.”

“Your concern for my welfare is a new development.”

“I’m the one who’s supposed to mock people, knight.” Liliane downs her glass in one fell swoop. She motions to the Duke, who attempts to fill her glass. She snorts and grabs the entire bottle and starts drinking straight from it. The Duke folds up the papers and starts to put them away, preparing for the long trip.

Liliane puts the bottle down, she looks over Emilie. “He’s right you know… About Estallia.”

Emilie stops putting the maps away, he looks at Liliane “This land has been in my family for 400 years, if I don’t do this we will lose everything. This is my duty.”

“Your brothers don’t seems to think the same way.”

“I am not them.” Emilie holds forth his knightly crest. “This is why I fight, I owe my allegiance to my King and to my lands. Thousands of people, noble and peasant rely on me. My oath demands it. ”

“It’s just an ideal! You idiot!” Liliane yells, making Emilie take a step back. Nobody like beast mages when they’re angry… Especially this one… Magical energy cascades through Liliane, she SHATTERS the solid oak table with HER FISTS. Splinters fly everywhere. Liliane looks around… servants are cowering… Emilie is in back of room shaking pieces of wood of his tunic.

Anger flows out of Liliane as she looks around at the wreckage… Emilie steps towards her, moving over broken table parts and a cowering pageboy. “I know it’s dangerous… But we’re still going.”

Liliane sighs… “Well, if you’re going to go… I… um… hired some mercenaries. Some light cavalry… Do you know how hard it is to get decent light horse in this blasted kingdom?”

“What? With what money?”

“I found it, they aren’t going to miss it… I swear. I wouldn’t steal.”

“Oh no…” Emilie buries his head in his hands… “Is there anything else?”

“Well (pause). Yes…” A servant enters the room and hands Liliane a package. She hands the package to Emilie, who takes it warily. Emilie unwraps the package. It’s a solid Gromril Helmet covered in Dwarven runes and rubies, covered in priceless runes and flawless golden etchings which cover the entire helmet!

Emilie takes a step back, he’s flabbergasted. Liliane looks a little embarrassed… “It’s something I found abandoned, it’s not much…”

“This is a Gromril great helm! This is a priceless artifact of the Dwarven people!”

“Really? Oh…. Um… It’s yours, just don’t get yourself killed, ok?”

“I will do my best… Where did you get this?”

“I found it abandoned by the river…. Near a log.”

“You found a priceless Dwarven artifact abandoned by a river, near a log.”

“Yup. I’m a Prophetess.”

Emilie bows before Liliane “The word of Prophetess is pure and knows no falsehood. The Dwarven people have indeed abandoned this artifact. (pause) As a token of your generosity I shall wear this item to battle… may I never need it.”

“You will, Emilie…” Liliane suddenly turns dark “Trust me.”

¡Viva El Jefé! ¡El Jefé Viva!
-Inscription found after a guerrilla raid on dwarf king Egilson's mines

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by kiwidru

Greetings dwarf lord,
I, Andros the Astromancer, newly established leader of the NWO (New Warrior Order), wishes to send thanks for dispatching the previous one. As thanks, Im offering to overlook your treacherous encroachment into our lands. El Jefe's corruption began with his devotion to the dark gods, I do not have his weaknesses and am more interested in improving my homeland than carving out a larger one. Having already divined your imminant demise, and not wanting to expend needless resources, I propose a cease fire for the rest of the season. Should you agree, I will send an ale cart unit-filler to commemorate this breakthrough in dwarf warrior relations.
-Andros the Astromancer

P.s. Beware the ides of March

---

Corrupt Manling,

For the insult of assembling an army on our borders, we claim the grudgeprice of these mountains, in perpetuity and for all time. For the blood of our fallen we claim the heads of every ogre in your armies. One was running away much too fast for us to follow. Send him back this way, please.

For the insult of having to read your missive, we accept a grudgeprice of one ale-cart. But should that ale be anything but the finest available, we will drive you to the sea!

Your cease-fire is accepted.

-King Olaf Egilson

P.S. Nothing bad ever happens on the Ides.

King Egilson,
I noticed that during the events phase the honorable estalian people decided that your brand of totalitarian military industrial complex wasn't their cup of tea, and opted to raise the Warriors of Estalia flag. I am pleased to see that you have left a contingent of troops there to ensure a peaceful transition of power. One of my advisors questioned if you were planning on using your military might to ruthlessly enforce your will upon the resisting population, citing your previous months activity as evidence of your coldblooded methods. You will be pleased to know I had him buried alive (in a sense) under an asteroid for implying you were capible of such an act after just giving your word that no military engagements would happen for the remainder of the season. As per the blood in the badlands tablets handed down from on high to Moe Zess you are allowed to remain in my friendly territory, but should you break your oath and claim that provence prior to the equinox, history will forever know you as Egilson Fork-Tongued, the Jester King.
-Andros the Astromancer

-Andros the Undeserving of Any Title

We have recovered our mine from the foreign fighters posing as the free Estalian peoples. It wasn't especially difficult as most of them appear to have perished from the worst case of the runs imaginable. This whole thing stinks (quite literally) of El Jefe. I will not shame myself by attempting to describe the state of the lower levels of the mineworks. Needless to say, we will be sending you an itemized copy of the cleaning bill for your prompt payment.

If you see El Jefe, please ask him to go drown himself in the excretions of a hundred incontinent mountain goats (of which, unfortunately, our territory is now in great supply).

-King Egillson the Eternally Wise but Not-So Much Merciful

Emilie is sitting on the hard earth, propped up against a rock, looking over the wreckage of what was once his army. The legends told him that Bretonnians were unbeatable, his knights were without fear, and the wicked would scatter before him like grains of sand touched by a powerful wind. There are few foes who ooze wickedness as much the Dark Elves. Slavers, torturers, perverts, cultists, drug addicts, blood drinkers… and those are just the men, the women are even worse.

There’s not much left of the once noble host. The Men at Arms were killed to a man, slaughtered by rapid-fire crossbows. The only consolation is that there are few slaves for the Dark ones to return to Black Keep. He could hear the Elder Witch howling at the crossbowmen, perhaps telling them to leave some alive. Emilie smiles, those Elves got theirs though, run down by Pegasus Knights. Knights who all died blocking the horde of Corsairs from slaughtering Emilie and what was left of his host.

The archers fled the field and could not be found… “When they fled at the first shot, I guess they kept on running…” Emilie mutters to himself. “Who could blame them…” Emilie groaned has he pulled his battered body off the ground and started to walk through the camp.

“It appears that the flower of Bretonnia has tasted the bitter drink of defeat.” A voice announces behind Emilie. The camp awakens, somebody has penetrated their camp! Emilie, instead of responding to the comments, draws his sword and turns around to face the speaker.

A host of Grail Knights, all mounted, stands in the middle of the camp. Emilie buries his the tip of his sword into the ground so deeply that it sticks up of its own accord. He looks up at the host “If I am the flower of Bretonnia, then our people are truly lost.” Emilie walks up to the Grail Knights, “If you’re looking for Morikhi he’s off raiding the countryside… Looking for a Demon Prince, I believe.”

“We’re looking for you.”

“If you’re looking to berate me over my defeat to the Dark Elves, you should just leave now. I don’t recall you charging gloriously into the horde of Corsairs for the honor of Bretonnia. Perhaps they would crumbled like dust when faced with your magnificent lances.”

“They would have killed us to a man. Pointless death is hardly glorious.”

Emilie stops. His jaw drops nearly to the ground.

“You are not the only one who sees world as it is, young knight.”

“You’re… You’re Grail knights?… What about Morikhi? All I get from him his endless speeches about Glory and killing 58 demons for the Lady.”

“Morikhi was asleep for 200 years in the forest of Athel Loren, he is a Grail Knight… but a knight that belongs to a different world… and he will die.”

Emilie walks over to his sword and yanks it out of the ground, he cleans the dirt off the blade the sheathes it. A small crowd is starting to circle around the Grail Knights, what is left of the camp is watching the host. Emilie, after sheathing his blade, turns back towards the Grail Knights. “Why are you looking for me?”

“We watched you fight. You did better than you thought. You killed many, many Dark Elves. You slaughtered the harpies, shades, and crossbowmen… The Dark Elves may have broken your army, but they took few slaves and left many of their own on the field.”

“A lot of good men died this day, Grail Knight. Died under my command.”

“A lot more would have died if you were a fool for glory. The Dark Ones attacked you, you had little choice but to fight them.”

“I cannot deny that… What do you wish of me?”

“We need knights who understand the new order, the new way of things…”

Emilie interrupts “Personally, I find the unbreakable horde of Skaven slaves to be a rather revolting development in the new way of things.”

“Skaven…” The Grail Knight groans to himself. “By the Lady, I loathe those rock eating rat-men.”

“They eat rocks?”

“It’s a long story… (pause) We need a young knight who is willing to bring glory to our people, to show them how to fight.”

Emilie looks around at the shattered remains of his army. Half-dead peasants hobble around, bloodied from waves of crossbow bolts. His archers are nowhere to be found, for they fled the field when the first shots were fired. The remaining knights are laid about, wondering what was the name of that angry boulder that just ran them down.

“I’ll need an army first.”

“I think we can help with that, young knight…”

----Meanwhile------

Liliane is leading a substantial host of mercenaries back to her camp, Tileans, wayward Estallians and others who can be bought for Dwarven gold. The men follow her into camp, there the sergeants start to gather the large host of fighting men into camps, reading them for the upcoming battles that will surely follow.

Liliane ignores all of this as she rides slowly back to her tent. She seems deeply distracted, not even noticing when a young runner strides besides her and starts yelling. “A message! A message for the lady.”

She keeps riding, the young man, not used to the ways the magically inclined runs in front of the horse, attempting to give his message. A large bear suddenly smacks the young man out of Prophetess’s way, and she rides slowly away, not even giving a glance to the young runner.

The tent is now close, Liliane get off her horse and walks into her tent…

Only to see Konor, one of her knights who went missing, hog-tied on the floor completely naked, beaten half to death, and surrounded by members of the Estallian Inquisition. Nobody expects the Estallian Inquisition. These black robed fanatics are the keepers of the “order” of the Holy Faith, and they take their jobs very seriously indeed.

“Veo que tienes tanto respeto por tus siervos como lo hace para nuestra fe!” Says the Inquisitor in the front, clearly the leader of this violent crew, as he pulls his cowl back to reveal a shaved head, a strange tattoo on his right cheek, and large black beard.

Liliane sighs. “I have no idea what you are saying.”

The Inquisitor snorts, he steps forward, his movement revealing a black crossbow beneath the folds of his robes. “Fein, werde ich sprechen Imperial, da dies die Sprache, die zu Ihnen passen scheint. Du Freund hier ist schuldig, unzählige Verbrechen gegen Gott. Wie passt das zu Ihnen passt?”

“Bretonni. Try that one. Unless you want to test out your Orc.”

The Inquisitor laughs, he puts his foot on Konor’s head and pulls out a piece of paper. “Do you know what this says?” the Inquisitor asks as he shows the pamphlet to Liliane. She looks over the paper quizzingly. She shakes her head. “I don’t read Imperial, sorry.”

“Neither did any of the peasants he gave it to… which saved his miserable life.” The inquisitor takes his foot off Konor’s head.

“Right, so you just didn’t kidnap and beat the tar out of my second in command for fun than?”

“This Imperial dog was handing out leaflets, telling the noble commoners of Estallia to ‘throw off their chains!’, as if an Imperial would know anything about us! The Holy Faith pisses in the face of your ‘Republic’, you Imperial hound! The King was chosen by the Gods to rule!”

“He’s from Marienburg! Things are different there! I’m sure that whatever he did… He’s sorry and will now refrain from trying to educate your people on concepts of government. I’m sure the King, the Inqusition, and the Holy Mantle…”

“Holy Faith!”

“My apologies… Holy Faith… (pause) are simply wonderful. But you’re in my camp, so I’m going to ask you why you’re here. You could have just dropped Konor off at the gate.”

The inquisitor steps back, his holy anger subsided. “Normally, we would have killed him slowly… but under our laws one must actually spread sedition to earn a death. Nobody we questioned could actually understand the pamphlets he handed out, for he saw fit to write them in a language few in Estallia could understand… which saved his miserable hide.”

“And now you return him to me.”

“Indeed… We also have a question for you.” The Inquisitor holds out a drawing, a drawing of a Gromril Great Helm. “Our guests, the Dwarves of the Mountains have been looking for this item. Last seen it was with a well-guarded baggage train which was attacked by a Mountain Chimera. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Me?”

“You are a Beasts Mage, are you not?”

“I don’t like where this is going.”

“That’s a lot of mercenaries for one woman to hire, especially since the Bretonnians are not known for their great hoards of gold.”

“Tell your Dwarven friends that I don’t have their stupid helmet… and you should leave before this gets really ugly.”

The inquisitor smiles, he nods to the Lady. “Of course, but I think you should tell them yourself. I think the young Junior Engineer would love to hear what you have to say… He’s just a couple miles away… (pause) With his army, Prophetess…”

Liliane’s jaw drops as the faint sound of bagpipes wanders through her tent…

Individual scenario introductions are distributed. Check your email!

The mists coil towards you invitingly as you approach...

Los Pantanos Diabolicos!!!

After the Battle: Morikhi (Warriors of Chaos)

Field of dead. Morikhi stands in a field of corpses, his army killed to a man in a battle against a Daemon Prince who could see possible futures. Of course, that foresight didn’t help the Daemon… but that’s another issue.

“Where is the Daemon? I must take his head and mount it in my tent, for I am the greatest living knight in all creation.”

Totally ignoring his horrid defeat at the hands of the Chaos warriors and the Khorne infighting the allowed him to escape, Morikhi props his foot upon the corpse of a Dragon Prince and surveys the land.

“Truly, I am glory.”

Wings flap behind him as Glorosio, the Grail Knight, sets his steed behind Morihki. “Nay my brother” states Glorosio, “It is I who is truly glorious and your foot is mounted upon my kills.”

Morihki laughs and buries his foot deeper in the skull cavity of the Dragon Ogre. “Nay, my brother, the Daemon was destroyed by the flower of Bretonnia, by my hand. I am beyond glorious.”

Glorosio looks around and notices that out of the army, only he and Morikhi are still alive, and just over the ridge that he just flew over, a large host of still-alive Chaos Warriors are using the skulls of their former comrades as gravy boats. “It appears that our glory has not been bestowed on our comrades, my brother.”

“It is the Duke’s fault, for his knights were not glorious enough to be under my command. They spoke of tactics and other foolish concepts. Only glory matters! I exposed my flank to the Chosen Chaos Warriors of Khorne to show how weak they were in battle!

Glorosio bows his head slightly, “I couldn’t agree more, only the weak-willed men of the Empire babble such nonsense!"

“We are glorious beyond belief!”

“Glorious beyond compare!”

“Now that the chaff has been drained away I will raise an army that is the very definition of glory! I will not allow this talk of “flanking” to cloud our minds! We shall smite all our foes head on!" Morikhi bellows as he walks around the corpses of his knights. Chaos warhounds are munching on human body parts nearby… but that is ignored for the sake of ranting.

“For the Lady!”

“For the Lady Indeed!”

Some people never learn.



After the Battle: Liliane

“You want your gold back, you rock-humping overgrown goblin? Come get it!” WHAM!! Liliane throws a massive Amber spear into the Organ gun, SHATTERING the ancient Dwarven war machine into little metal slivers. The crewmen, stalwart as ever, stumble around the broken machine singed and confused.

Crack! A Dwarven pistol blasts a hole through Liliane’s dress. Now you got them mad. Liliane looks around, her army is worse for wear, save for the Grail Reliquary behind her.

“Return to base! Now!” Liliane commands to her army. She turns towards the oncoming Dwarves “Let’s hope this scares them away, this time…”

Suddenly Liliane turns into a massive Mountain Chimera! Blocking the Dwarven advance towards the rest of her army. Does it work?

“Kill the beast! Bring it down!” Bellow manly Dwarven voices as every Dwarf capable of fighting rushes the beast. Gun, crossbows, axes, even rocks are being thrown at the monster. Naked, red haired/bearded dwarves are now streaming like slow lava towards Liliane.

“What the Hell is wrong with these people!” Liliane yells, which comes out as a ear-splitting roar towards the Dwarven lines. “Why are they naked! Put some damn pants on!”

Liliane’s army, aware of the tactic flees the field, leaving her alone to deal to ward of their escape.

“For Clan Grudgebearer!” “For clan Ironbrew!” “For Clan Bronzebeard!” An endless stream of oaths are uttered as bolts, cannon balls and maybe even a kitchen sink fly towards Liliane.

“I hate these people. I HATE, HATE, HATE DWARVES! Everybody else would just run away! But no. Oh no. You have to scream your clan name and attack! What’s wrong with you!!”… This comes across as more roaring and the occasional gout of flame.

The Slayers make it to the battle. “I am Daemon slayer Mordin and I shall redeem my name by dying by your hand!” Screams the red-haired, totally naked Dwarf as he leaps into the air with axe in hand.

WHAM! Liliane SLAPS him away, turning the Slayer into a fine red mist… and giving him exactly what he wanted. Liliane turns back, her people are away, safe for now.

“It’s been fun, it’s been real… but it hasn’t been real fun.” WHAM! Liliane flattens a small host of eager slayers. “I’m out.”

Liliane flaps her wings and leaves the battlefield, leaving behind dead slayers and a decent horde of angry Dwarves...

Emilie stands above the corpse of a Dark elf cultist, a peasant's arrow buried in his skull. "And this is how your immortality ends, elf. One would hope that with a thousand commoner lifetimes, you would have found something better to do with it. Pity."

A Mercenary horseman rides up aside Emilie, his Tilean finery slightly tattered by the battle. "Duke, the dark ones have withdrawn from the field. We've taken the battle."

Emilie nods his head. "How are the losses?"

"Us or them?" The mercenary reponds with an uncommon cheer for a sell-sword.

"Us."

"The bloody harpies took out the war machines, the Grail Knights are mostly wiped out and Henri... the guy with the banner... Right, he ate some magic and it melted him like wax... But that's it."

"The peasants are unfortunate but their sacrifice saved the lives of many others. As for the grail knights... I'm begining to think that death to them isn't what it is to likes of you or I. (pause) Is that all?"

The mercenary looks around, something is bothering him... Emilie looks up at him. "For a sell-sword, you're a rotten liar. Spit it out, man. I don't pay you to be pretty and tell me only good news."

The mercenary sighs. "The Prophetess is drunk again, she's wandering around as a big monster... Scaring men like crazy!"

"She does that... Ignore her."

"She's eating, Duke."

"Eating what?"

"Elves... sir... She's eating the corpses of the elves..."

Emilie stops dead in his tracks, he looks at the mercenary... "I see... we will have to deal with that... when she's sober and less life threatening. Is there anything else horrible that you have to tell me?"

"There are a bunch of Dwarves in our camp... They look mad."

"Dwarves always looks mad.... It's the itchy beards... I'll talk to them."

Emilie walks off... He spies a giant fire dragon devouring naked female elves , while slapping around the remains of a large pot with her tail. "Nothing good is going to come of this..."

Liliaine is sitting under a tree, looking out onto what was once the battle-field where her and Emilie fought the Dark Ones. All the bodies have been cleared out, the only reminders that a battle took place are the divots and bare earth were soliders all engaged in combat... and a patch of earth where a massive fire dragon vomited acidic elf parts onto the ground. Polluting the soil for only a mere generation, or two...

Emilie walks up behind her, she doesn't move, still fixated on the field.

"It's oddly peaceful, isn't it."

Liliaine stirs slighly, Emilie stands next to her.

"This isn't what you expected at all, isn't it?"

Liliaine doesn't turn her head.

"When we talk to the Errants about battle we call it, 'seeing the dragon', because no words can prepare you for what warfare will bring, what it'll be like... You have to see dragon for yourself."

Lilianie is unmoved "I am the dragon."

"You're a mage who can turn into a dragon to scare caravan guards away to steal their plunder. You're no dragon... and you're better off for it. Would you like crazy Sigmar fanatics shooting cannons at you for the rest of your life? How about being enslaved by Dark Elf magic to be ridden like a horse."

Liliaine laughs a bit, he turns to Emilie "I didn't think it would be like this... so much death."

"Nobody does. I've been fighting since I was a boy, this is my life... To you this must seem like madness."

"I'll be fine, Emilie... I agreed to come with you for reason... If don't stick around, I'll never find out why."

Emilie takes a step back. "What?"

"The Lady works in mysterious ways, brave knight.... And, I need to keep an eye on you, make sure you don't give any more of my gifts away to those nasty, drunken, no-good Dwarves."

"Once the campaign is over Prophetess, we'll discuss the "helmet" incident... Suffice to say, I think I averted a major war, or at least more screaming from angry bearded ones."

WACK!! Liliaine playfully tags Emilie in the leg with her staff.

"Discuss! There's nothing to discuss! I am a Prophetess and my word is beyond reproach!"

"Your acidic elf-laden vomit is what is truly beyond reproach, Milady."

WACK! She hits him again...

Suddenly a rider comes up to both of them... "I got news!" He bellows "Morikhi has declared that he's going to kill all the vampires in the world!"

Liliaine interrupts "I heard a man who was covered in his own piss claim he was Sigmar reincarnated."

Emilie continues "Half the damn Empire thinks they are Sigmar reincarnated if you get them drunk enough..."

"Milords!" The rider continues "Grail knight has taken all the forces and moved north! To kill all the vampires in the world!"

Emilie stops mocking, now its serious.... "What? I have a campagin to run! he just can't run off with the entire force to chase some Damn Vampire around!

"Well... that would explain why isn't been so quiet lately... Let's pay our Grail Knight friend a visit, shall we?"

"Yes. Let's"

Emilie and and Liliaine head off to see just what happened to our fair Grail Knight...

Emilie looks over the battlefield... He sees's a massive Dark Elf host slowly advancing on what is left of Grail Knight Morikhi's army, coming to consume what is left after the Grail Knight's failed attempt to "End Vampires" ended as all rational people expected it would. At he head of the army strides a massive, seven foot Dark Elf. Shirtless with a massive magical axe. Behind him are his slaves, dragging trophies from his previous victories. Liliaine rides up next to Emilie, she spies the Hunter.

"Wow... That's one mean looking Elf."

"He's going to add Morikhi's head to that collection if I don't cut him off."

"Is that a Wyvern head?"

"Yes... with an Orc's arm still holding on. It's next to the jar of Fimir's testicles... I think that's what it is..."

Liliaine leans in close to Emilie... "You don't have to do this."

"He is under my protection I don't have a choice..."

"That's what men always say... You have a choice."

Emilie kicks his horse and rides off to meet the Hunter in the field.

For their failure to hold the line against the human monkeys the Ivory Pillars will under go the following disciplinary actions effective immediately.
Decimation there number shall be dropped by 1/3. Those removed will be beheaded by their own men to show the price of failing to hold the line. Next the unit standard will be driven into the ground and melted down into a mound of metal sump. The sump will be consumed by the unit standard bearer as a sign of failure. If he survives the process, then maybe next time he will know how to inspire proper presence so that his lordship The Hunter does not loose his quarry. Lastly this process will happen at the highest summit. In the area in front of the army for all that can see to see, and detailed message relayed to all other forces active on the field and of course the Dark Ark Malevolence that sits off shore. We are the superior race failure is not in our blood. Vengeance at all cost.

Emilie is laying on the grass, his helmet is off and black ooze slowly pours out his mouth. Crossbow bolts stick out of Emilie’s armor, reminders that he was in a battle with the treacherous Dark Elves. Emilie spits out the last of the black ooze, a vile concoction of Dark magic, bile and his own blood…

He passes out…

Emilie wakes up, a massive shirtless Dark Elf is standing over him, holding the head of a Grail Knight. The Hunter’s slaves surround him, holding heads and other body parts as trophies, silently giggling… It would be a louder giggle, but the Hunter had all their mouths sewn shut and sealed with wax.

“You are not worthy of death by my hand, monkey.” The Hunter utters as he tosses the Grail knight’s head onto Emilie’s chest. “You have deprived me of my rightful kill, now I will kill 1000 slaves to redeem my axe’s honor.”

Emilie watches the Hunter walk over to a pen where over a 1000 naked, beaten, slaves are. The slavers beg for mercy, for these slaves will replace those lost in the flood… The Hunter’s men knock out the slave guards and the slaughter begins…

Black…

“He’s alive? Emilie! Emilie!” Emilie opens his eyes and sees Liliane running up to him on the field. “Get Help! He’s hurt! You can’t die now! That’s not how this is supposed to end!.. You haven’t found it yet, Damn it!!” Men at arms are running towards Emilie..

Black…

Emilie wakes up, he sitting in a bed, his wounds have been bandaged up. Morikhi and Liliane are standing next to him… Emilie turns his head towards Morikhi.

“You have one chance to explain yourself, just one. I sent my army against a vastly superior foe to prevent your skull from becoming a gravy boat for a Dark Elf mass murderer.”

“I think the gravy boat treatment would be a fitting end..”

“You’re not helping Liliane…”

“I must deeply apologize for my act…”

Emilie cuts Morikhi off “I don’t give damn if you’re sorry! You didn’t spill a pitcher of milk on the floor! You violated my standing orders and took an army on an idiotic quest and got them all killed for your personal glory! Then I had to throw more men to the butcher to save you from your own stupidity….”

Liliane interrupts “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes I did.”

Morikhi looks up at both of them “Yes he did… and I did what I did to redeem our people.”

“Bull****! Redeem my ass, you stupid glory addict! I’m not going to sit in this room and listen to two knights talk about honor all damn night!” Liliane storms out of the room.

Morikhi watches her walk away. “In my day, my Lord, we did not allow women to speak to us in that matter.”

“In your day you would have been hung for treason on the spot.”

Morikhi pauses… he sighs. “That’s… probably true. I do owe you an answer… Did what I did because we, like I, have slept for hundreds of years while the armies of our enemies have grown stronger and more advanced.”

“Go on.”

“We used to laugh at the toys of the Empire, at the way they used to march around in formation… Like some comedy. We used to laugh at the Goblins, the Skaven… even the Dark Elves. (pause) Nobody laughs at them anymore. They have grown stronger while we have done nothing but talk about honor and hold pointless jousts! I wanted to prove that we were a force to be dealt with.”

Emilie sits up “You violated my orders, stole a host of men for your own personal quest because you felt that we were inferior? Are you mad?”

“You asked for my reasons, My Lord. As per my oath I shall accept any punishment you deem necessary for this transgression.”

“You will, at your own expense, build our saintly and impeccably pure Prophetess Liliane a massive wizard tower. You will build it to her requirements and demands and she will be in charge of all aspects of the design and construction.”

“I’d prefer to be hung, my Lord.”

“I’m not letting you off that easy. Get cracking, Grail Knight, you’ve got a Lady’s Waiting Room to build.”

End…

Emilie is standing in field surveying his victory over the bizarre Fimir people from the Island of Albion. He rides over to what is left of their camp and sees three casks of Bretonnian wine sitting on the ground, left behind by the Fimir. One of the advisors was looking over the caskets and holding some paperwork taken from the camp.

“It appears that our diplomatic offering was not met well…”

The Advisor looks up “No Milord… it was not… It appears that the Fimir were offended by the offer of our fine wine and decided to attack… Or they were bored… Or somebody lost a bet… It’s hard to tell with that race.”

“I see. Why would be they be offended by our wine?”

“Well… See those peasants going through uncontrollable spasms near the beer garden? Emilie looks over and sees half a dozen peasants going through uncontrollable spasms of vomiting, screaming, and other bodily fluids too varied to mention.

“By the Lady? What happened to them?”

“Fimir Beer Milord. Fimir beer. It seems that Fimir beer is so strong that they thought we were mocking them with our wine.”

“Really?”

“Maybe… or they thought we sent them barrels of our own urine as a way to poison them… Or, they didn’t even open them and just fired comets at us for fun. They walk around naked, so you never know what they’re like… Damn man-nudity.”

Emilie sighs “As always, your understanding of the situation makes everything clear.”