Thread: Springtime in Estalia

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

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…

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...