Warhammer Fantasy: Honor is all, Chivalry is all (Bretonnia CK2)

Araby

"Fetch for them water, and bind up their wounds, and give unto them my silks; for that which we do for the least, we do unto the Most."
-Sultan Ikram Nejem


(Source)

The lands of Araby have long been disunited, split apart by strife and internecine conflict, brother betwixt brother. That is changing, however, for a man has risen up to put right what he sees as wrong.

Named Ikram Nejem, this warrior-- descended from Suliman, the companion of Odo-- he once served in the armies of the ruler of Ka-Sabar, but that changed when he was one day split from his band on patrol. Rescued by a band of tribesmen, despite his allegiance to their oppressors they watered, fed, and sheltered him.

With the routes between the city and the tribe cut off by a mighty sandstorm, the Sultan had only one thing to do: read of the One. And read he did. And as he did he was visited by an angel of the his God, who sent him a warning: the dead rulers of Nehekara were rising once more to strike the lands of the living, and heralded by the hated Arkhan the Black.

The storm eventually passed, but when it did and the Sultan's men came to reclaim the soldier, they found him much changed. Clad in armors and wielding a flaming sword, he spent the next four years banding together the nomadic peoples of Araby into an army-- and when the time was right, he struck.

Bursting into the city, the Sultan took control and killed the tyrant. The man's many sons were placed under house arrest, the slaves freed, and armies built up to hold onto the city no matter what.

Now the Sultan has declared that he will be ruler of a unified Araby, the first Caliph they have seen in centuries. He would prefer by peace--and has indeed managed so in a few cases-- but he is ready to drag his kinsmen together to face the Tomb Kings by force if necessary. And so the Sultans have prepared their armies for the great war they know is to come.

Wedding Bash pt.7

The sun is down. The stars are dancing their merry dance under the Lady's gaze. Your wife has arrived by now, no doubt, and is waiting for you.

You do not want to deal with this flim-flammery; and yet, here you are.

You simply glare at Godfrey. Religious inclination (Lady above did parenting get simpler after you became a Grail Knight), dutiful nature, and inclination together means he spills like sieve:

"Annick and I were walking the streets together when we met with the rest of our group. By fortune, or chance, we happened to meet with Abal there, who spoke most fervently with Kurt on several matters. Minutes of waiting eventually saw the whole of us head out to the merchant's district, looking to buy gifts for our fellows.

For about an hour we did that, until we grew thirsty; and being so, we decided to head in to a tavern for a drink. When we went in, I and Annick went to procure wine-- for you, I should add-- and as were speaking with the bartender, a Reiklander Engineer--" You are going to burn that school to the ground one of these days, Lady willing-- "groped Annick. She did not seem to notice, but I did; and gripping the ruffian by his collar lifted him. He then proceeded to launch into a diatribe during which he called me, you, and us... what was it? Ah, yes.

'A bunch of psychotic opressors, the hounds of the Wood Elves; your she-whore of a goddess could not stand up to a single glimmer of Sigmar's hammer, and one day we will bury you and your whole damn nation of inbred savages under a tide of lead and steel and iron, you wine-drinker, you Marienburg bitch-' which is rather when I noticed out of the corner of my eye some very large man covered in wolf skins. He leaped over tables, and socked me a good one. That's when I lost my tooth.

I was...indisposed as the Reiklander who fell to the grounder began trying to strike me while I was-- I will not lie-- on the ground, though fortunately Annick managed to engage the man in combat."

"Down right son-of-a-bitch," she smiles at the pun, "But he had a hell of a hook."

"In any case, I easily as you might imagine dispatched the Reiklander, then looking up saw a scene out of damned play. There were at least two-dozen Ulricans, and they seemed to be advancing on Justine most of all; for she had two men lifted by their throat.

Just as I was about to deal with the matter and leap in, a dozen High Elves burst into the room and stopped the whole bloody thing."

Wait. Wait, wait, wait.

Very large Ulrican. Many Ulricans; that's roughly the number of them you heard went to the Borderlands when the Dark Elves came. Capable of getting into a fist-fight with your get and their spouses without being beaten like a gong.

Oh good Gilles, Annick just punched the Ar-Ulric. Oh...

Oh Thulsa is not going to be happy about that.

"Alright. What's the bail, Sir Elf?"

"Owing to the service your son has done for the Asur," oh that's right he saved a prince and an Old World once, "and to the unique circumstances, nothing. But if it happens again..."

"It won't."

Their cuffs released these shameful Lords and Ladies of Bretonnia rubbed their wrists, only to quail as you glared at them. "What were you doing? Are you the honorable scions of chivalry, or a band of drunken blacksmiths? Things are tense enough betwixt the Empire and the Kingdom; we do not need this sort of damnable foolishness from our heroes! Return to your inn, recover, and if you so much as breathe of something as stupid as this again, I'm going to be there to knock some sense in to you!"

They go, under your gaze. Sainthood has its perks.

Sighing, and rubbing your temples, you walk to the inn, Lady-granted senses letting you cut a swift path through the city even lacking Eclatant. The main hall is none too fancy itself-- only worked stone and mahogany benches, layered around which are works of art and stolen Druchii banners from the battle.

But it is the quarters themselves that you are most fond of. Layered in plush silks, pristine whites and blacks are the bed-spread, placed on the simple matress. On the right wall is a tapestry of the Lady, clad in the regalia of an Elven Queen and opposite her Martrud bearing golden arms and armor against the foul Greenskins. In the center is a table of marble on which there is a small, but rich collection of wines and crystalline glasses with which to enjoy them.

It's a rather blatant attempt to butter you up for one thing or another, or at least to try and sway you. It might have worked when you were a younger man, a more foolish one; but the Grail rather burnt away pride and desire for easy living.

Besides, you care a lot more about the beautiful woman laying on your bed. She is clad in a red velvet dress so dark that if one did not look carefully they might mistake it for black. Bandages the same color hold shut the wounds she received in bringing you the information about the beasts and in her escape; expertly placed they seem more like decorative ribbon where they can be seen. Her black tresses have been tied up in a long pony tail that falls to the small of her back.

"Dearest, why didn't we get to go somewhere so nice for our honey-moon?" There's a false whine in her voice, betraying the lack of seriousness to the words.

"As I recall, we went hunting goblins for a month, as you requested."

"Hm. Do you still have the shaman's head?"

"Farthest back of my trophy room, hidden in a glass case to preserve it."

How does Phillip spend the next day? (1 of 7)
(Pick 3)

[] Speak with the Ar-Ulric, man-to-man, and try and apologize for your children's...misbehavior.
[] Spend time with Morgyan.
[] There's a training yard that's sprung up, a sparring area where warriors from around the Old are practicing against each other. Might as well.
[] Go to the Blacksmiths Quarters so you can watch somebody deal with a dismounted jouster instead of doing it yourself.
[] Go to the Merchants Quarters, so you can buy gifts for your grandchildren to thank them for not starting fights with major religious figures.
[] Spend time with Justine and Kurt. What were you thinking? (Also, what's with the Elf)
[] Spend time with Leliana and Grègoire. What were you thinking, and how'd you of all people avoid getting hit?
[] Spend time with Godfrey and Annick. What were you thinking, and how have your campaigns gone?
[] Spend time with Charles and Melisende. Okay, you two are the only ones with anything resembling an excuse, but still, WHY?

The Cataphracts of Khypris

"Unity, loyalty, fraternity. You can pay a man to fight for you, but you will never pay him enough to show those traits."
-Cataphract Commander Akakios Argyris


(Source)

Once the capital of vast Khyprian Empire, the city of Khypris has long held its independence from the other city-states of the Borderlands and the other, greater kingdoms of the Old World. When Sir Norman d'Artois came he was forced away in blood; when Prince Amerigo tried to conquer the good land he was slain; when the Achaetic Trade Leagues came, their boats were set afire and destroyed.

For of all the Borderlands, only Khypris has a true army, loyal to it and it alone, instead of the mercenary hordes that serve the lesser kingdoms. William of Tell succeeded in taking control of the city only by marrying its ruler, and even still there are those who consider her the superior within the City.

Rugged, and disdainful of what they consider the plebian hordes of mercenaries, the Cataphracts, being some of the wealthiest figures of the Kingdom, have long horded the mightiest technologies for themselves-- they are the first to make great use of the Fire-Lances of Michelangela di Tobaro, long gunpowder weapons that deliver a great bang and can punch through armor, usable from saddle, and only once its shot is spent grabbing their maces and swords-- and their successes against the mercenaries of the other kingdoms reflects it, with tales of many companies, earlier splendid, fleeing from the field against the gleaming lamellar of the Cataphracts. A new right of passage since the Battle of the Borderlands is a stint of service in Arnheim-- raiding the dread Druchii foe to prove masculinity and skill as a soldier.

But this hording of technology has come at a great price: They are the only soldiers worth a damn in anything but a shooting contest-- and their number is few, around 5,000; it is oddly, perversely common to see mercenaries from Kislev and the other nations of the Old World bulking out the numbers of their forces and offering them a melee corp worth a bit of spittle.

Still, it is they, and they alone who let King William keep even his loose grip upon the kingdom he has wrought-- without the threat of their Fire-Lances on the horizon, it is likely he would face constant rebellion from the other kings of the Borderlands that he has wrought into Confederation.

The King's son was in training to become a Cataphract, and thus it is twice to their shame that he is held by the Druchii; for beyond a hundred of their number serving as his body-guard, their generals each have sworn an oath to their fellows that never will they be left behind while they breathe. They would be pleased-- beyond comparison-- to have their missing brother-in-arms returned to them.