Great Man Theory (Warhammer Fantasy)

You all like to live dangerously I see.

[X] Man
[X] Meissen did have its charms
[X] Asavar the Brute


You were not sure what was more emblematic of the Borderlands, a town that would be considered in a more civilized land mediocre, being the most valuable land for leagues around, or that tiny outcropping of something that was not awful was about to be razed to the ground.

Probably the second, this is the sort of place that is in a rat race to the bottom. Where good exists solely to be ripped down into the mud and turned terrible.

Luckily, that mirrored the place you were born almost to a T. If anything the Borderlands was a step up from where you came from, and no you were not just trying to desperately stave off becoming just another disaffected human stumbling through a meagre existence in the borderlands.

You run a hand through your hair, and admit to yourself that was exactly what you were doing.

The siege had been hard on your ever upbeat and sunny attitude. You were a big man, and with that came a big appetite. While the rations you were receiving as a mercenary was larger than the average citizen, they still left you with hunger pangs throughout the day.

Not that it was an acceptable excuse. You focus your mind, pulling together the hunger into mental manifestation, a monster of stick thin bone and glutinous stretches of unfilled, loose skin.

This was a technique you had learned from the writings of Fichte on the modes of human thought, an ability give form to one's subconscious issues to confront them in the higher mind.

Then, employing a technique you developed, you mentally stab it several times until you stop being hungry. Which was much easier than Fichte ideas about debating the manifestations you create.

Plus it gives you the satisfaction of brutally thought-killing something and feeling its thought-guts run through your thought-fingers. Which was almost as good as actually killing someone.

Which was not strange, or indicative of something deeply wrong with you in the slightest.

"Asavar, Rosmalen called another meeting. Prince Izek has awoken." You twist away from the view of Meissen, glancing over your shoulder at the guard. You give him a welcoming smile, and try to not feel too self-conscious when he flinches away from you. Your rations were fairly dry and sticky, did you have some stuck in your teeth?

As you follow the man through the richly furnished halls of Izek's manor, you prod at your teeth with your tongue. Quickly you find a piece of tough jerky trapped against your canine and pre-molar, and attempt to work it free.

No wonder the guard had flinched away from you, you had meat trapped in your teeth like some uncivilised barbarian. You duck slightly as the guard leads you into Prince Izek's 'throne room'.

"-ve to be realistic with what we have Egbert. We have huntsmen and farmers, men with a thousand times more experience with a bow in hand than a sword." It seems the meeting had started without you… again. Your mouth twists into a displeased frown, as you linger in the entrance to the large entrance hall.

"Bah, every man worth the name is born with a sword in his heart." Rosmalen's voice reverberates through the air, thick with a Tilean accent. It seems the argument of what should be done with Messien's meagre iron reserves raged on, and even Rosmalen's status as the 'commander' of Messien would not let him have his way. "Give me the iron as sword, my Prince, and I will whip your citizens into shape and send the rattlers and rotters back to the grave rather than wasting iron on every missed shot."

"Your excellency he's being ridiculous. We don't need more men fumbling over their sword more likely to cut themselves than the enemy. We need arrowheads strong enough to put the rotters down." A young Estalian Woman hisses at Rosmalen. Herminia de Moraza was the closest thing Meissen had to a seneschal, holding court in Izek's stead as the old Kislev merchant grew closer to the grave.

"And every time we would use those arrows, that iron is gone. I may not agree with Egbert in full father, but you are well aware we cannot waste any of our iron." The last of the triumvirate vying for Izek's attention speaks, Misha Bochkarer, Izek's last remaining son. "We need to stockpile it, carefully leverage it when the time is right, just like you taught me."

"We don't have time to wait for the time being right like dumb chickens with head in the sand. Nightfall the dead will crash upon the gates once more, we need something now." Well like the old saying said, when the angry Tilean started insulting people, stop lingering by the door to interrupt him.

Or something like that.

The moment you set foot into the room proper, it fell silent. Four sets of eyes clasping on you, three with deep mistrust and suspicion, and one with an aged joy.

"Asavar." Izek wheezed out, his old craggy face splitting into a near toothless grin. "I thought I heard you stomping over my poor floor." The old man takes a moment to breathe heavily, corpulent chest rising and falling weakly. "What did my… home do… to annoy you… so?"

"Well none of the door frames were built big enough for me. So I suppose it would have to be that." The old prince burst out in a deep rasping laugh, as if you had just told the greatest joke in the world.

You had not, but appreciated the old man's affability.

"Come, I need my head priest's opinion. These are dark times are they not? We all need faith to resist the undead." You nod, and approach the large table that had been dragged into the centre of the large entry room with a map of the surrounding area laid across it. You eye it for a moment, it seemed your contemporaries had started to use cutlery to represent various enemies.

"Faith does have a noticeable improvement on people's ability to kill undead." You comment idly, trying to figure out if spoons represented the packs of dead-dogs that roved the now fallow south fields, or the terrible beast that rattled the walls each night. "The Grand Theologinst Kurt the Third was so faithful that he could undo an entire legion of undead with his words."

"And we all know your kind's faith does." Misha's mutter was too low for his ailing father to hear, but it was loud enough for the rest of them, if Egbert's snort and Herminia's smirk was to be judged.

"A shame you cannot replicate… that feat." From anyone else in the room, that would have been a veiled insult, but Izek was being entirely genuine in that remark. "This night will… be more dangerous… I feel it in my bones."

"Then we will make sure we are prepared for it." And someone would need to wrangle the other three into not having an argument over iron that would take at least a week to be melted into something usable.

-

Personal Wealth: 1000 Gold

Messien:
Wall Status : Ramshackle, Several Openings.
Food Status: 7 days of rations
Morale: Low.

Forces:
Rosmalen Swordsmen (49): The remnants of Rosmalen's once mercenary company, that settled down when their captain took on a permanent contract with Prince Izek. Prior to the siege they acted as guards and police for Meissen. Training: Professional (+10 to combat rolls) Morale: Medium Loyalty: Rosmalen. Equipment: Chainmail, Standard Quality Estoc.

Messien Militia (432): Conscripted abled bodied adults. Though Messien lacked the weapons to fully equip its people, there was enough ramshackle equipment to put together a small army. Shame that it's up against a large army. Training: Untrainted (-10 to combat rolls) Morale: Low. Loyalty: Themselves. Equipment: Makeshift weapons

Messien Hunters (31): Though Messien has sustained itself on the wide fields of farmland around it, there still existed many hunters in and around the town. Both dealing with pest animals ruining crops, and for their own sustenance. Training: Untrained (-10 to combat rolls) Morale: Low Loyalty: Themselves. Equipment: Assortment of various quality Bows

Known Enemy Forces:

Southern Dead-Dogs (200+): While they had nothing on the hulking beasts you grew up around, these packs of mangy dead were deadly enough to rip a man apart in seconds, and fast enough to rip apart any riders that you had sent out for help. Currently they rove about in the southern fields using the unharvested crops as cover.

Roving Beast: For the past three nights a massive creature has rattled the wall with terribly powerful blows. Each night it grew closer and closer to breaking down the wall, however it would always flee long before the first light of dawn. Unfortunately no one had laid eyes on it yet, so you had no idea what you were dealing with, and all you could do was hope it was only one creature, and not many.

Rattlers (700+): The rattlers form the core of the sieging forces, often nothing more than decrepit bones with thin strips of leathery skin still hanging off of them. The rattlers were hardier than they looked, often requiring their bones to be fully snapped before whatever was animating them gave up.

Rotters (1000+): The meat, ha, of the sieging forces. The rotters in a very real way, meatshields for the rest of the enemies forces. Slow and clumsy sure, but able to take a distressing amount of punishment. While a single Militiaman could deal with one of the creatures, they usually found themselves faltering under the sheer number, or worse leaving themselves open to the faster rattlers.

You have Three actions. You may attempt to convince other 'councillors' to do something, or convince Izek to order them to do so. But the more you attempt to do that, the less likely any of them will follow your requests.

In your plan please put in brackets after an action a Characters name to represent attempting to get them to do the action, and if you are trying to convince them or have Izek order them.

As a note, this is your day action. Some of them may bleed over into the next day, but tonight you will vote for what you do during the assault.

Martial: While you had not come to Meissen as a warrior, you were still the product of a rather tumultuous youth. You'd be willing to wager that you were one of, if not the clear best warrior in this town and maybe the best commander to match.

[] Organise training (militia):

Meissen's militia were hardly able to tell the pointy end from the blunt end, and more often than not ended figuring that out, when the undead stuck their own pointy end into them. (Train Messien Militia to training: Trained (-5 to combat rolls). Cost: None. Time: Variable (40/60/80/100)

[] Organise training (Hunters):

Meissen's Hunters were borderline incapable of managing a proper volley, and most hardly able to hit a broadside of a very large building. You were not that good with a bow, but it could not be that hard. (Train Messien Hunters to training: Trained (-5 to combat rolls). Cost: None. Time: Variable (50/70/90/110)

[] Break the siege, and attempt to cull the undead's numbers before nightfall.

The undead only attacked at night. Whether this was because they were weaker in the day, or they knew Meissen was more fearful in the night you were not sure. Either way if you had a better chance to kill them during the day, you should take it. (Cost: Variable (20/40/50/60))

• [] What forces will you attempt to convince to come with you?

Diplomacy: You er… didn't word good very often. But you worded enough to be passable in the field of wording. Though it is likely that both Misha and Herminia would talk rings about you.

[] Convince another councilors to cooperate with you:

You and the other councilors had a rocky relationship. To start, all of them were unreasonable bigots and hated you for being a Norscan. They seemed to think that any moment you could snap and BURN!MURDER!KILL them all. If you convince them that you were not so bad, this siege should get a lot smoother. (A councilor will no longer be actively hostile to you, and will be easier to convince to do things. Cost: Variable (50/60/100).)

• [] Which councilor

[] Lay down the law of conscription:

Not every able bodied adult in Meissen is carrying a weapon. Some of them had tasks too vital to risk, some of them simply slipped the conscription net. All of them may be needed if Izek's premonition is true (Conscript as many able bodied adults into militia as possible.)

[] Let them eat… stale bread.

Meissen was in terrible spirits, death loomed on the horizon and each night brought new horror and more corpses. Soon enough the people will spiral into despair and become listless and easy pickings for the dead at the gates. An extra food ration or two might go a long way to stave that off. (Double rations will be consumed to improve morale 60/80/100 Costs: 2 days of food.)

Stewardship: You did not have the head for an economy. But you did have a head for knowing how much food you need to take to ensure that you made it back to shore without wasting weight which could be used for sacrifices or treasure. Which was… basically what being a quartermaster was right?

[] The walls are cracking:

The walls of Messien were faltering under nightly attacks, and there were now many gaps in the walls which the Rattlers and Rotters poured through. Attempt to do what you can to patch up those holes (Restore Messien's wall status to Intact)

[] The walls are made of fire, they just don't know it yet.

At the beginning of the siege, Rosmalen used firetraps to great effect against the undead, but quickly ran out of usable material. You however, were well aware that when you ran out of kindling, it was because you hadn't ripped apart enough buildings (Start tearing down Messien's homes to use for firetraps. Messien reaction 40/80/120)

[] Food is an issue, and it's in the fields.

Meissen was placed under three days into harvest season, and it does not have the food stores to deal with the siege. The southern fields to be exact. The north and east had been trampled by the undead. While that was a pain to deal with in the future, if you could get enough labourers out there you could reap a harvest that could stave off starvation for a long while yet. But anyone unprotected out there would be ripped apart. (Food situation will improve. 40/60/100)

Intrigue: You were a six foot five Norscan wall of muscles. The idea that you could be subtle was probably terrifying to anyone who knew you. So like a very subtle person, you don't let them know you could be.

[] The Messien calls for aid.

Any rider spotted by the Dead-dogs were run down and ripped apart, the only way someone was going to get out of Messien was being snuck out. It may need a distraction, and you were relying on the Borderlands of all places to have a charitable soul willing to come to your aid. But you might make it work. (Find someone willing and able to not just get sneaked out of Messien but bring word of your situation. Cost 200 Gold. (70/100/110)

Piety: You were called to Meissen to tend to its flock, and while there were few Verenese faithful's in the Borderlands, you knew how to support other faiths, and how to change that.

[] Fanatics:

When it came down to it, faith was a fire that must be tended to, and like all fires with the right fuel it could become a wild blaze, as dangerous to itself as it was to everything else. Whip the people of Messien into a religious fervour that would see them throw their bodies against the dead with maddened faith. (Convert 100 Militia into Fanatic Militia, who cannot break.)

[] A time of faith in a sea of darkness

In a time like this, people needed the hope that the gods had not glanced away. Needed desperately reassurance that the sun will rise and that faith is still rewarded. You were brought to Meissen to tend to the people's faith, and you will do your job. (Reassure Meissen through religious ceremonies, increasing their Morale. Cost 400)


Learning: You were not dumb. But that was more a matter of effort than a matter of natural capacity. But like being good, is it not more moral for an evil creature to turn away from it's nature, than a good creature to naturally be good? One seeks to improve itself despite it's nature, and the other simply does not know evil. These are the thoughts of a true Verenan Philosopher.

[] The mother of invention was Verena, but the surrogate was necessity.

A clever trap, material for kindling, a solution to the food situation, - something - to help Meissen out of its situation. A big think might not do anything, but it might do something (???)

Lets also give a twenty minute moratorium, so people can discuss what they'd like to do too.