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…