Warhammer Fantasy: A Dynasty of Dynamic Alcoholism

GM NOTE: Holding to my commitment on faster updates so far, at least. Smaller updates, for now, hope that's all right. No Moratorium, Just Kinda Seeing If Momentum'll Help Me Keep Up The Pace.

There wasn't nearly as much organizing to be done compared to running the Army of Ostland, the Army of the Forest, and coordinating between them and all the thousands of mercenaries that his father had employed. On the other hand, there were other struggles that immediately came about. The maps that the Albionese tribesmen were able to offer were terribly crude things, and most of the time they apparently relied upon landmarks and oral communication to remember such things. As it turned out, they couldn't even necessarily rely on the 'Oghams', of which Magnus had not yet even seen, as being reliable landmarks. The ancient stones were apparently mobile menhirs, as best as they'd been described to them. It was the mobile part that was the sticking point for the wizards, as it turned out.

"What do you mean they move them," Magister Carlotta said, squinting as Chieftain Mardudd finished translating for his Truthsayer. "You can't just…move Waystones! They're meant to…I just…,"

Magnus had never seen the Jade Magister so flummoxed.

"'Waystones'," Mardudd repeated the word and then shook his head. "I don't know these words. These are Oghams. Different, eh?"

"The Winds of Magic blow on this island strangely," Magister Alric sniffed at the air. "Strong, too strong, and then weak. It is…chaotic, the flow sickly."

Mardudd wrinkled his nose and then spoke to the Truthsayer – or Druid, as Mardudd said they were sometimes called – and waited a moment before nodding as the Truthsayer spoke back.

"Lear says that because the Fimir have taken so many of the Ogham, the magic, it is stoppered, eh? Gathered. Clumpy. Bad," the Chieftan spat on the muddy ground. "Have to fix."

"And then the mists will become passable?" Mena said, wiping her rain-bedraggled hair off of her face once again. "Or at least fix the weather?

Mardudd looked at her and frowned.

"The Mists are ours, eh? Since long ago. They are to defend the island."

Magnus and Reinhardt glanced at one another and then back at the Chieftain.

"I doubt it, young Kessel," Magister Carlotta said with a shake of her head. "This…whole…land is swamped in the Winds. They have soaked it down to its bones, and beneath even that. The storms," she said, looking to Mardudd, "The rains. They are constant, I'll bet?"

"Yes, druid," the Chieftain said with a bow of his head, far deeper than he'd given to anyone else thus far save for the Truthsayer Lear. "This is how it has ever been, since the times of our ancestor's ancestors."

"You cannot see it," the Jade Magister said, glancing at Magnus before she began waving her hand towards the ever present clouds, "But the Winds, they're constantly being dragged down. This is…purposeful?" She said, glancing at Mardudd who then looked to the Truthsayer.

Magnus sighed and looked towards his friends and their ragged band as they finished assembling, letting the interrogation continue with an increasingly annoyed Chieftain being forced to be the go-between.

"It really rains like this all the time?" Mena said in dismay as she once again pushed her hair out of her face.

"It sounds like it," Reinhardt sighed as he walked over, waving at some of the remaining villagers who they had fought alongside as they headed back to their meager homes. "These villagers are likely going to be the most fluent we'll find on the island thanks to this being the point where the traders and supply ships normally come. They said that it's always like this," he gestured to the sky and ground, "But that it's gotten much worse lately – because of the Fimir."

The Heir of Nordland rolled her eyes and groaned. The annoyance, though, was only half-hearted to the ears of her friends. Magnus and Reinhardt could both see how light she was on her feet, the ripple of the muscles on her arms as she clenched her clamped fists on her arms, or on the hilt of her axe. Her eyes were bright, and darted this way and that, her breathing was just a hair faster and harder than that of the others, many of whom were still recovering from their hangovers. It was something they had learned well of their friend, as time went on in the six months leading up to this madness. She was excited for the chance at battle, the unfamiliar environs only heightening it further. All the sighing and rolling of eyes and huffing as the rain continued to drench them all would not change that.

"Are the troops ready, at least?" Magnus asked, rubbing at his chin. "Frankly, I'm amazed none of the ships burned down with Magister Smokewrought and his cadre on them."

"They're ready, such as they are," Reinhardt pursed his lips as he joined his friends shoulder to shoulder as they glanced out. "Two hundred Ostland Greatswords, five hundred Knights of Everlasting Light – but only a hundred of them have their horses, and all of the Blue Wolves accounted for."

"Our horses made it," Mena piped up, fingers tapping against the hilt of her axe as she uncrossed her arms. "Don't rightly know how we stuffed them on the ships, though."

In point of fact, no one could quite remember that fact. The horses were definitely stressed though, anyone who spent a small amount of time with horses could tell that. Even with the weather being what it was, they seemed extremely pleased with not having to be stuffed onto the various ships.

"We replaced a lot of the supplies for warfare with our own bodies," Magnus said, rubbing at the back of his rain-slick head. "Instead of a new batch of breastplates, halberds, crossbows, and so on. They got…us."

"Eh," Mena shrugged as she looked at the equipment of the Albionese 'nobility' that had accompanied Chieftain Mardudd, "They're better off for it."

Her words were unkind, though she clearly did not mean it in such a way. Rather, the climate of Albion seemed to favor humidity, moisture, and all sorts of conditions which could cause difficulties with normal Imperial equipment and tactics. The best efforts of the Albionese hadn't stopped rust from starting to speckle its way across their gifted plate armor, shields, and swords. The reports of the climate were understated if anything. In a land as swept by rain and wind as this, gunpowder would essentially be useless.

"Okay!" Mardudd boomed, startling them as he stalked away from the magic users. "Empire men! And lady," he said with a nod to a bemused Mena. "We must go to fight, eh? Longer the Oghams are held by Fimir, worse things get, eh?"

"I understand completely," Magnus nodded. "Our troops stand ready to fight."

Mardudd glanced over at the heavily armored Greatswords and Knights before sniffing and looking much more appreciatively upon the Blue Wolves.

"Your men," he pointed at the former two groups, "They must take that off. Some of it, at least."

"Excuse me?" Reinhardt jerked his head back. "Those are Knights of the Everlasting Light, they-,"

"Will sink like stones in the muck if they don't take some of that weight off," Mardudd interrupted before slapping at his own half-plate. "Your armor, is good, eh? But loud and heavy. Not too much, if strong," he said with a shrug, "But in the murk, one wrong foot, too much pressure in just wrong spot, you go down, down, down, eh?"

The Chieftain shrugged.

"We came to village to pick up supplies, but you…," he gestured at them, "Were in the ships instead, eh?"

All three flushed as Mardudd guffawed.

"You…you never fight in Albion before. We?" He waved towards the rest of his group. "This is our home, all our home, forever. You listen, you live, you not, you die. Simple as, eh?"

Magnus grimaced before nodding.

"I understand, Chieftain Mardudd."

"No you don't," the man shook his shaggy hair, the woven gold in his beard clinking with the motion. "But you will. Soon. You learn fast, here, or you die."

He then pulled forth a thick roll of leather covered in numerous small punctures. Rolling it open in front of them revealed it to be what looked like a map, though one with very few notable features besides the punctures.

"Oghams," Mardudd said by way of explanation before he tapped a slightly differently colored portion of the map with a small symbol in it. "Glyldŵrlyr," he tapped, which signified what was at most a small barony's equivalent of land before moving to another. "Matholwyr," and finally he moved onto the furthest one, this one to the far south, "Nudd. Nudd are safest, furthest from Fimir. We," he thumped his hand proudly against his chest, "Closest, eh? These nearest Oghams held by Fimir. No giants to move new Oghams, or old Oghams," he grunted, "Druids bade them return to Causeway."

"Hold on, what-,"

"No more questions!" Mardudd boomed over Reinhardt's question. "Longer Fimir hold Oghams, worse! We go, yes! Take off some armor, and follow! We go to rally the villages, gather up my tribe, clear my lands of the Fimir."

Mena and Reinahrdt looked to Magnus, however.

"Well…?" Reinahrdt said, making Magnus blink at him.

"Well what?"

"You're still in command, dummy," Mena snorted, "S'what we decided during the campaigning, remember? Campaign might have gone off course, but still."

"I…okay," Magnus inhaled deeply, "Okay."

"Empire man, you fight, or no?" Mardudd looked down at them all, scratching at a scar on his cheek.

Decision To Be Made For The Troops Before Heading To The Nearest Fimir-Held Ogham? Choose One:
The lands of Albion are exceedingly dangerous. The flora has been altered by the endless torrent of magic energies which flood into it, transforming swathes of the land into bogs, marshes, and fens. The forests are choked with thorny shrubs and poisonous plants. Quagmires exist where men who do not step lightly and carefully enough can sink out of sight within seconds, leaving no trace behind. The torrential rains are daily things, and the winds - both mundane and otherwise - are chaotic. Chieftain Mardudd explains that wearing the full plate that the Greatswords and Knights are accustomed to might well be death sentences in certain times. They are, however, unrivaled in protection. It is the decision of the commander to follow the recommendations of the locals, however. The Blue Wolves wear light armor, and as such are far less of a worry in that regard. Their abilities at stealth, on the other hand, may not quite reach the standards of the Albionese. After approaching the Ogham, more planning can be done, but this must be decided before marching due to the time involved.

[] Refuse, March Upon The Most Solid Ground Possible, Committing The Blue Wolves If Necessary: This place might not be fit for modern Imperial Warfare, but blocks of hardy troops might yet prove of good value against the Fimir. Prove this to the Albionese.
[] Strip To Half-Plate: The forges of Ostland have been supplying these three tribes of Albion with heavier armor, chainmail, and fine steel weapons of various sorts. They have taken the plate and such, but apparently have made the choice for this most immediate fight for only half-plate, reducing their weight and encumbrance.
[] Strip To Chainmail And Leathers: If speed is of the essence, then so be it.
[] Something Else: Write-In

Imperial Forces On Albion
Magnus Redfist, the Screaming Bull, Heir of Ostland, wielding Runefang Brain Wounder
Mena von Kessel, the Blue Wolf, Heir of Nordland, wielding enchanted items Flammenfaust (Gauntlet) and Flammenwulf (Axe)
Reinhardt Hertwig, the Silver Manticore, Heir of Ostermark, wielding standard issue Imperial Zweihander
1 Amber Magister Alric, 5 Amber Journeymen
1 Jade Magister Carlotta
1 Jade Journeyman Boris
1 Bright Magister Casparan Smokewrought
1 Bright Journeyman Henry
1 Bright Journeyman Nicolas
1 Bright Journeyman Luthor Feuerstag
1 Bright Journeyman Helmut Cinderblade
1 Bright Journeyman Jovi Grabner
2,000 Blue Wolves, Lightly Armored Cavalry/Skirmishers (Melee Equipment Varies Heavily. All Possess Shortbows, 500 Possess Crossbows)
200 Ostland Greatswords
500 Knights of the Everlasting Light (Only 100 Have Horses)