Warhammer Fantasy: The Hollow Crown- A Border Princes Quest

If you are to fulfill your obligations to the hold of Barak Varr and exchange your lead for dwarven silver, you cannot continue to tolerate Norscan raids upon your caravans. Considering your lack of knowledge of your opponent's forces and the relative sparsity of your own troops you elect, rather than spreading your military dangerously thin protecting many small caravans to concentrate your forces on a singular, large caravan. To lead this expedition you send Krorod, trusting his expertise with overland caravans and mercharies (and also that he cannot eat the lead). The better part of your military force goes with him, Swordsmen from Estilea, Crossbowmen from Tilea, Outriders from the Empire. As you watch them depart you feel confident that they will prove more than capable of defending your trade goods from light norscan raids, and whatever the Norscans might be capable of bringing to bear. This confidence turns out to be ill founded as the tattered remains of your mercenaries return lead by a badly wounded Krorod, whose massive body is covered with severe burns.
He manages to cough out "Thought it wuz go'n ter be an easy peasy battle, de norscans drew themselves up fe a laughin pitch battle so we did de same. dun their ranks parted and their leader, called 'imself grand warchief kraki sigewinesson stepped forward. ay thought "wonderful, we get to win a fight and kill de prince. but dun 'e pulled out this creepy terme and started ter chant. next th'n we kun de sky's opened up and its rain'n fire. I mean i've seun a firebelly throwin' magic around and i've seun volcanos but this wuz nasty magic, de fire didn't stop, juss didn't stop bn'n. de lads shattied every which way and dun de norscans charged. ay rallied as a gewd couple as ay could and got outi thuz. sorry 'bout dat boss." before falling unconscious. Hastily you call for a Shallyan to treat the wounded. The bad news is only exacerbated by word sent from the dwarves of Barak Varr. Your continued failure to fulfil the trade agreed upon has overtaxed the patience of the Dawi. The deal is off.

Still not all news is poor. Your attempts to enlist new forces among your subjects bears fertile fruit. Without proper knowledge of how many subjects you actually have you quickly abandon the idea of calling upon levies or attempting conscription. Instead of force you draw upon two of the other great levers of human activity: fear and money. Though the wages you promise are hardly generous in the borderlands, a steady source of income is nothing to scoff at, and a military career is not significantly more dangerous than anything else. And for folk of imperial extraction, the specter of a horde of norscans led by a foul sorcerer is a potent symbol to drive men to take up arms and rally to banners.

Amid all these efforts you make time to visit the garden of Morr. Unlike the Temple of Sigmar it shows no sign of ravenging and looting but clearly shows the inherent wear borne from prolonged neglect. Manfred Schubert, the highest ranking priest of Morr in Akendorf, meets you in a humble cottage inside the garden's grounds. The drawing room is lit by flickering lanterns and far colder than it has any natural reason to be. On a simple wooden table lies a Morr dial, and at your arrival Manfred begins to light various braziers of incense throughout the cottage, filling the air with a cloying scent. "Morr is god of dreams and prophecy, not just the dead you know. Tell me of your dreams then boy" The old man is pale and gaunt but with a kind smile. Slowly, with increasing openness you relate the nature of your dreams of late. As you explain his smile fades. "Robbed any graves in your life then boy? Don't fear to answer, Morr may frown upon those that disturb the dead, but what could I do you? Call your guards upon you?" He laughs bitterly. "Besides, what is coming is far worse than anything I could arrange with my own humble resources. You have awoken a wight boy, and filled it with terrible anger. It has been hunting you, it has been coming for you, and being dead it will never, ever stop. It is very very close now. Armor will do you no good against it. You could use your army against it, but I do not know if it will stay dead if killed in a way that does not satisfy it. But then again locking blades with an ancient hero of the Empire one on one is a course of action that is truly reckless. Good luck" With that he ushers you out of his garden and shuts the gates in your face with a definitive slam.

Protect Caravans: Critical Failure
Recruit Subjects : Great Success
Dream consolation: Minor Success


There comes a time in every prince's reign where he faces setbacks, where fortune does not smile upon him. The truest measure of a ruler is not his luck but how he deals with it. At least that's what you tell yourself. The good news is the loss of income from the failed trade has been made up for by the loss of expenses in the death of much of your mercenary force. Your newly raised forces mean that your military has not collapsed and indeed is in some sense stronger. It's larger at least, time will tell if quality has slipped. You get the feeling that you have come to a deciding point. If you survive the threats now in front of you none will doubt that you are at last established. But that's a big if. Still you're clever and lucky and you're not alone. Maybe you can find a way to handle this wight, maybe you can find a way to handle a rival prince with a norscan army and powerful magic. Maybe your advisors have something useful to say.

Malzana as usual is cooking when you arrive, mixing bread crumbs, egg yolk, cheese and butter in an iron bowl while toasting bread over the fire on a poker. "I told you about pie week. Never fails to lift people's spirits. If I'm telling you the truth, your princeliness, the secret about pie week and there is no pie week. Esmeralda does not have a set festival, but when people's spirits are low? Hey! It's pie week! Never fails. Now then, you know you've raised a lot of people to be your soldiers but in doing so you're drawing away fighting age people from their homes. If you ask me you ought to stand down some of those troops, let them form the core of local militias. Then they can defend their own homes. Sure it'll shrink your forces but it will make people safer and hey if you don't need to send your troops to protect people the force is really smaller.?"


You find your beloved brother Iancu in the Temple of Sigmar on a Wellentag evening, when the temple is all but empty, gazing in satisfaction at his own work. "Not bad eh rad? You know I think that the fresco is going to be the art form of our age. I mean mosaics are nice but frescos? Frescos really show the spirit of this modern age. I mean the Empire is united again, chaos is defeated forever, it's really a new age." But then his good mood fades. "You know I've been thinking. People can labor ages to make a work of art, or parents can labor ages to raise a child, and it all can be gone in a moment. Do you think that the sword is mightier than the paintbrush? Death is always so terribly close. I mean look at Krorod it was just a moment ago he was leading a big army now he's terribly wounded and the army is gone. All gone like that. Maybe we should get a wizard of our own. Maybe some of those magisters from the Empire might be willing to come help us. I mean we're not part of the Empire but evil norscans throwing massive firestorms around ought to be the kind of thing they care about, right? Alternatively maybe we start looking into getting a spy network. I mean if we knew that he was a wizard we could have been prepared for it. And no wizard can cast when there's a knife in the small of his back." Iancu seems suddenly embarrassed. "Or at least so I've heard"


A veteran of countless battles and a notable example of a mighty people, it takes a great deal to leave Krorod Goldmight at death's door. But a great deal was provided courtesy of a Norscan sorcerer and now when you meet with Krorod it is at the temple of Shallya where three beds have been lashed together to accommodate his frame. In one of his moments of consciousness he offers you his advice on the present situation. " I've beun think'n. dat battle wuz bad luck, real bad luck. now in all me career as a maneati i've known bags o' generals oo'd pay more than its weight o' gold ter recover an empty paychest a foe 'ad capted. it wasn't about de money it wuz about de symbol o' th'n. us paychests wuz stolun and we've done nowt about it. ay think we've beun cursed. dun know by oo dough. do yous 'umans 'uv a mercenary god?" He wheezes out from charred lungs. Then the sisters adminters to him a great jug of milk of the poppy and he fades off to sleep.


Bratret meets you atop the main gate to the city. He points out at the horizon towards blackfire pass. "There's money to be made in that pass manling. Oh, certainly a toll gate could be the most lucrative, but there's dangers there, it could be a challenge to other princes or even the lords of Averland might decide to object. We could also start trading with Averland, they're a prosperous enough people. If these pilgrims keep coming here to retrace Sigmar's steps we could always try and make money off them. The sun's rotted their fool heads, I'm sure parting them from some gold wouldn't be too hard."


You find Fulberto, as always, in his sumptuous chambers. You can tell that he is greatly distrubed for he is dining upon nothing more ornate than bread and water. "Radu my boy this is a disaster! Just as we've won good will with the dwarves by the strength of our arms, the weakness of our arms have lost us it. The dwarves have long memories and they remember slights far more than good turns you know. But worry not! I have a plan to put us back in their good books and keep us out of their other books if you know what I mean. At blackfire pass the orc boss got away despite your best efforts. His name is Crargig Facegouga, and he's still active in this area. The dwarves want his head and they want it bad. Nothing says "I'm sorry" to a dwarf like the gift of dead black orcs, not to mention it'll show that we aren't weak after all.

You encounter Diomira on her way to the Shallyan hospice, carrying an armload of handspun bandages. "I can't talk long dearie, I'm no Shallyan but I know my way around a needle and thread and I'm not squeamish. I must say though what on earth did you say to dear Manfred to get him so upset? He's such a kind man, I've rarely seen him so angry? Whatever you did it might not be a bad idea to try and make amends if you want to get back on his good side. He does so love that garden, its current state breaks his heart.


Actions: (Pick Three)
[] A census of Akendorf
[] Raise taxes
[] A tollgate at blackfire pass
[] The hunt for Schulman's tomb
[] Print coins with your face on them
[] Ride around on a very fancy horse
[] Attracting Culture
[] Hunting down the treasury
[] Acquire a copy of "The Border Prince"
[] Centralize the Law code under your purview
[] Localize the Law Code
[] Investigating the nearby Princes
[] Repairing Morr's garden
[] Consecrating the Waterfall
[] A house for the pilgrims
[] In search of the monastery
[] Counteraid the occupied village
[] just hang out with your brother for a bit
[] Hire more mercenaries
[] Create local militias
[] Sell Lead to Averland
[] Collect donations from the pilgrims
[] Find Crargig Facegouga
[] Attract a wizard from the Empire
[] Try and hire a spy/assassin
[] Drill your new troops with what remains of your old


Dealing with the Wight (Pick one action)
[] Train for the duel of your life
[] Prepare your soldiers for the frightening visage of the dead
[] Screw this stupid prince buisness, grab as much gold as you can and get on a ship to Lustria
[] Try and get some undead fighting experts/heros/useful idiots to save you