The Adventures of an Unprepared Knight (Warhammer Fantasy SI/Isekai)

[Kara Valmeyjar]

Chapter 1: The Shrine​

My story began not with rescuing a child from being hit by a truck or by being sucked into a new reality by a magic book. One moment I sat at my computer desk playing Bannerlord, the next I was somewhere else.

I blinked and gasped, taking in air like a drowning man as I realized something had changed. I lay on my back on something solid wearing something that was not my usual gym shorts and t-shirt. Sitting up and looking all around me, I saw I was in a small chapel atop a bare altar. The place looked as though it'd been abandoned for a long time. Cobwebs hung in great patterns from the corners and a fine layer of dust covered everything. Dim lighting came from stained glass windows somewhat obscured by what appeared to be ivy and vines outside.

Looking down at myself, I found I was not wearing the clothes I remembered. Instead I was dressed in a real set of chainmail armor with leather and cloth padding underneath, complete with metal gauntlets with a soft leather interior and armored greaves over leather boots.

Despite my circumstances I couldn't help but slide off the altar and stand up to test my range of mobility. True enough, I was as mobile as I was without the armor. Oddly, despite the armor, I felt stronger and swifter than I'd ever been even in the prime of my youth.

Looking at the preacher's pulpit I found a plain looking sword and a heater shield painted bone white with the Fleur de Lys painted in gold as decoration. Resting against a large backpack, on top of which sat a crusader-style metal helmet. Unlike the rest of the chapel, they were clean and obviously well maintained. Sheer curiosity overtook me and I picked up the sword, drawing it from its scabbard. The blade shone from the warm glow illuminating the room. It looked sharp and keen.

I made to sheath the sword when a bestial roar filled the air. I froze, stunned by fear. Recovering somewhat, I tossed the scabbard to the side, donned the helmet, and picked up the shield. I remained in place, not sure whether to flee or find the source of the noise. As things turned out, the source came to me.

A thing with a man's chest and a goat's horned head and cloven hooves staggered through the doors of the abbey. It held a wicked looking axe in one thick knuckled hand and a tattoo covered its well muscled chest: an eight pointed star.

"Oh shit!" I gasped. A Chaos beastman!

The beastman heard me and looked to where I stood. Letting loose another bellowing roar, it charged at me, axe held high. It was on me in seconds.

Acting on instinct I raised my shield between it and myself, trying to not close my eyes in fear. There was a ding of metal-on-metal as I blocked the first strike, my shield arm practically vibrating. I stepped back a little too quickly and almost lost my footing. Lowering my shield I saw the beastman was rearing back for another axe strike.

Not knowing what else to do, I slashed a vertically at the monster. The sharp tip of my sword cut a bloody line across its upper chest. It bellowed in pain, staggering back a little. I pressed my attack, jabbing at its throat. The beastman ducked left and swung its axe horizontally at my side. I barely managed to block with my shield.

Something inside my mind snapped open and I saw an opening. I slashed down with my sword again and severed the beastman's axe arm at the elbow. It reeled back, clutching the bloody stump with a clawed hand. Pressing the advantage, I swung my sword in a diagonal arc that cut the beastman's head from its shoulders. Gouts of black blood spurted from its severed neck as the corpse fell over.

I dropped the sword and shield, suddenly feeling exhausted and nauseous. Falling to my knees, I barely managed to wrench off the helmet before I puked up my breakfast burrito from that morning. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision before I blinked them away. The coppery scent of blood filled my nose, and I dry heaved.

Gotta get up, I said to myself. Got to get away from here. Probably more beastmen nearby.

Rising on shaky legs, I had enough presence of mind to wipe the sword blade clean on the beastman's furry hide and sheath it in its scabbard. Then I grabbed the shield and helmet, then shouldered the backpack. Peeking outside of the chapel revealed a thick forest painted in golden hews by a setting sun with nary a beastman to be seen.

I was tempted to stay the night but my paranoia was too strong to ignore. Looking about revealed a forgotten dirt road with deep divots dug in by wagon wheels long ago. With seemingly no other recourse, I left the abandoned shrine behind and followed the road in hopes of finding answers.

* * * * *​

I walked until the sun finally disappeared and night fell. I turned left and walked a short ways from the road and found a small glade. Weary, hungry, and thirsty, I just collapsed against a tree and closed my eyes.

When I opened them again I found a blazing campfire in front of me. On the other side of said fire sat perhaps the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen.

She wore a silk and satin dress of earthy green and royal blue that showed off her shoulders and bosom. Her skin was pale as ivory and flawless as marble. Chestnut brown hair fell in curling waves down to her elbows, and her eyes were a pale blue like a summer sky.

Those blue eyes looked at me and I froze up. Every thought and instinct I had was caught in place as I beheld the woman, and she me.

"Uh," I said eventually, dumbly. "Hi?"

"Hello, Alexander," she said in a low, melodious voice with what sounded like a faint french accent. "Welcome to Bretonnia."

"Bretonnia?" I repeated. "That's where I am? Oh fuck me. I'm in Warhammer!"

"That is the name for our world in your home realm, yes," she affirmed.

"What the fuck am I doing here?" I demanded, exasperated.

"You are here because my Lady saw your true self, and wished to see it flourish."

I felt dumbstruck by her words. Despite using plain english it was like she was speaking in tongues. In desperation, I latched on to what she said about her lady and focused on that.

"Your Lady," I repeated, slowly. "As in the Lady of the Lake? That'd make you a grail damsel, right?"

She nodded. "My name is Eleanor."

"Hi," I said again. "So, Eleanor, would you please explain what the hell is going on?"

"My Lady saw your anguish and your strength, and decided it was wasted in your world. So she has brought you here to fulfill a truer destiny."

"And that destiny is?"

Eleanor's blue eyes seemed to pierce through my mind and into the very core of my being. She said, "To become a Seeker of the Grail and Knight of Bretonnia."

"Okay hold up," I said, hands raised up. "I didn't agree to become a Knight of Bretonnia. I'm not capable of it. I don't know the first thing about Bretonnian knighthood and I need a lot of things from my world to survive."

"You've been relieved of your weaknesses of mind and body," Eleanor told me. "You have also been given a gift to bring you to equal footing with the other Questing Knights. Your sword, shield, and armor is just one part of it."

Memories of the fight with the beastman came to me, and I asked, "Did you put how to sword fight and stuff in my head?"

"Among other skills, yes. It will take time for them to become second nature, but you know what any Knight Errant would know."

"Okay. Thanks for that, but honestly I'd like to go home. Pretty sure my family would miss me."

"Time is untethered between realms," Eleanor said. "You have my Lady's assurances that when your quest is finished you will return to your world with nary a moment passed since you left."

"Well that's convenient. Send me back now, please."

Eleanor's eyes seemed to gain intensity. She asked, coldly, "You cannot leave until you have supped from the Grail. That was the terms between my Lady and your God."

"My God?" I repeated, incredulous. "Wait. You mean-?"

She nodded, and I nodded as well, muttering, "That one eyed bastard does exist then. Good to know."

A small smile came to Eleanor's lips. "Then you know that this pact is binding, though not cold. Will you swear the Vow?"

"Like I have a choice," I grumbled.

"You do," Eleanor said. "You could leave for the Empire and live a relatively normal life. Perhaps you will even be happy, but you will not have the chance to return."

"Like I said, no practical choice."

Eleanor stood up and walked around the fire to me. By instinctive knowledge I knew I had to kneel before her and offer my sword to her. So I assumed this position and spoke the words, trying to be truthful and committed as I could.

""I set down my lance: symbol of the duty. I spurn those whom I love. I relinquish all, and take up the tools of my quest. No obstacle shall stand before me. No plea for help shall find me wanting. No moon will look upon me twice lest I be judged idle. I will give my body, heart and soul to the Lady whom I seek."

There were no obvious signs of magic at work, but the hairs on the back of my arms and neck stood on end as I spoke, and I doubted it was just nerves.

"Rise, Sir Alexander," Eleanor said, "and stand with pride as a Knight of Bretonnia."

 

[Kara Valmeyjar]

Eleanor left me that night after the vow taking ceremony, but not before pointing me in the direction of civilization. She left me the fire to sleep beside and a reminder to check the backpack I took from the chapel.

Inside was what amounted to an adventurer's kit, including several water skins and ten days worth of rations. Glad of the food and water, I actually slept rather soundly despite having only a long, heavy cloak to serve as a bed and blanket. It was probably the last time I would sleep soundly for a long time.

So with my quest in mind and an open road before me, I set out the next morning. I walked and walked and walked, encountering nobody but birdsong and spotting the occasional fox or rabbit in the roadside underbrush.

By mid-day the forest opened up somewhat and I found a road leading north. I spent a great deal of thought pondering how I was going to "prove myself worthy of the Grail" and assembling a fictitious history to explain why I didn't speak or act like a native Bretonnian. Mostly, though, I missed my audiobooks and youtube playlists that helped me pass the time.

The sun had partially disappeared into the east when I happened upon an inn. Or at least what I assumed was an inn. It stood two stories tall and was made of timber, but otherwise seemed rather plain and in some ways ramshackle.

I walked up to the front door and found it unlocked, so I let myself inside. Within were a few tables with benches, mostly empty save for a group of whom I presumed to be peasants hunched over their meals, and what passed for a bar with a scrawny looking man standing behind it. All eyes turned to me and suddenly I felt on the spot.

"Welcome, sir knight!" the barkeep proclaimed, practically exploding with eager, joyful subservience. "Welcome to the Foxhollow Inn! How might I be of service to you? I shall send my son out to tend to your horse immediately."

I gave him what I hoped passed for an easy-going smile and said, "I don't have a horse, but some food and wine would be nice, and a bed to sleep in if you have one open."

My attempts to put the man at ease seemed to go completely over his head, as he again said with that obvious servility, "Of course, my lord! I will have food out for you in just a moment! Fresh bread and cheese and the finest wine this side of the Arden!"

I put down my backpack next to the edge of a long table and sat down on the bench. My back was to the wall and I could see almost the entire first story of the inn with ease. The innkeep had food and a wine jug in front of me faster than I could unbuckle my sword belt and lay the sheathed weapon across my lap. I offered my thanks but he insisted it was no problem, or charge, for a Knight of Bretonnia.

My mouth was full of cheese and bread when the door opened again and trouble walked in. A real Knight of Bretonnia, standing tall and proud in red-and-golden livery. He had with him a half-dozen other knights, or at least I assumed they were knights. They all wore heavy looking plate armor and carried swords or maces on their hips.

"Innkeep!" the lead knight bellowed. "Your best wine and food for me and my fellows!"

The innkeeper scurried to acquiesce the knights, who proceeded to claim a table in the middle of the room. The peasants quietly relocated about as far away from the knights as could be. They also made sure to give me a wide berth, which I was fine with. I just wanted to finish my meal in peace then go to bed.

The lead knight noticed me and yelled over, "How now, sir stranger? Why do you sit in the corner like a rogue?"

Damn it. No such luck tonight. I swallowed my mouthful of bread and cheese, then replied, "What's wrong with where I sit?"

He fixed me with a discerning look. "Your accent is strange, sir stranger. I've never heard it before."

"Then you've never been to the Border Princes, I take it," I replied back, attempting to throw off his suspicion with an easy-going smile.

"Hah! Spoken well enough. Come join my company, sir stranger, and tell us your name."

The knight had one of his companions move, clearing a space for me on his right. I saw no way to decline without seeming rude, and rudeness towards the Bretonnian nobility was not something I wanted to become a habit. So I picked up my food and gear and moved over to sit with the gaggle of knights.

"Thank you, good sir," I said as I sat down. "I am Alexander Finnstark, son of Charles Finnstark. Might I ask for your name now?"

"I am Aldrad, son of Duke Adalhard," the knight proclaimed proudly.

Thoughts came unbidden in my mind, making connections on the names and titles.

Oh crap. I'm in Lyonesse, and this man is heir to one of the greatest Dukedoms in Bretonnia!

My thought must have shown on my face, as Aldrad gave another bellowing laugh. "My name travels even to the Border Princes, eh? Good!"

The other knights cheered on their lord. I remained silent and wished for a ring of invisibility. Aldrad accepted his underlings' supplication with all the grace and humility of a noble's son, which is to say he seemed like a spoiled child being emboldened.

To my great thanks, the innkeeper, and whom I presumed to be his wife and son, came out with trenchers full of food and several jugs of wine. Aldrad and his knights dug in and I quietly gave thanks for an end to the questioning.

It didn't last long. One of the crony knights, a young man with a short, wispy blonde beard said, "You're a long way from the Border Princes, Sir Finnstark. What brings you to Bretonnia?"

Not trusting myself to lie or mislead, I replied, "I have come to Bretonnia to seek the Grail."

The entire party stopped eating and stared at me like I'd just unceremoniously farted.

"Not many foreigners seek the Grail," Sir Blonde Beard said.

"I am not so foreign," I said, smiling again. "My mother's family is descended of Bretonnian nobility, though most of my blood and my name comes from Sigmar's Empire."

"Aye? What's her family's name?" Aldrad asked.

"It doesn't matter anymore," I replied, voice becoming quiet and hard with resolution. "I've given up my family history and my lance to seek the Grail. Honor and duty is all, now."

"Well spoken!" Sir Blonde Beard proclaimed, raising his wine mug in salute. The rest followed suit. I raised my own mug in reply and we drank heartily of the watered down spirit. The innkeeper's wife came around to replace our jugs with fresh ones. Sir Blonde Beard, now deep in his cups, eyed the woman with a dark hunger.

As she bent over to grab the jug in front of him, he pulled back his hand and smacked her hard on the ass. She yelped and jumped. The knights laughed bawdily.

"Bastard"! I snarled, practically jumped off the bench. My sword was half-way drawn before my rational brain caught up and stopped my impulsive self. Sir Blonde Beard fell on his back and fumbled for his own sword, a look of shock and anger on his face.

"Hold!" Aldrad yelled, and all eyes were on him, including mine. He looked at me with scornful fury. "Sir Finnstark, you dare draw your sword at one of my companions? After I invited you to sit at my table and take of my food?"

"Your man assaulted a woman!" I snapped. "Where I come from, that's a crime!"

"She's just some peasant wench!" Sir Blonde Beard protested, and I shot him a withering look. Our eyes locked and I swear you could see lightning sparking between us. My grip on my sword hilt grew tighter.

"Enough of this!" Aldrad yelled again. "Sir Finnstark, sheath your sword! I'll not have bloodshed over peasants tonight."

"An abuse of power is never excusable," I told Blonde Beard, but put my sword back in its scabbard. I looked to Aldrad and said, as politely as I could muster, "With your leave, my lord, I'll return to my own table."

"Granted, Sir Finnstark," Aldrad said coldly. "Lady's blessing go with you on your quest."

I took my cup and gear and left the Duke's son and his party for my original table. The innkeeper came with another trencher and jug in hand. He said in a whisper-quiet voice, "Thank you, Sir Finnstark, for defending my wife."

"It's no trouble," I said.

"I have little means to repay your kindness," he continued, "but there is one way. If you wish I will offer you our bed for the night. With Lord Aldrad's party present we're out of rooms."

"I couldn't. I'll sleep in the stable. It's probably for the best that there's as much space between me and Lord Aldrad's party as possible."

The innkeeper smiled and nodded. "Thank you, good sir. Truly the Lady is smiling on us tonight."

* * * * *​

I pulled the ladder up after me, securing myself in the hayloft. The stable was half-filled with horses no doubt belonging to Lord Aldrad's party, and it had that organic stink of animals. Somehow, it was a bit comforting. It reminded me of home and my probably-too-many cats.

With nothing but hay to serve as bed and pillow and my cloak as blanket, I tried to drift off to sleep. The events of the past twenty-four hours had been tiring enough I didn't bother taking off my armor. That and my D&D Adventurer paranoia had kicked in, and I didn't want to be caught flat footed if I could.

So I laid back and tried to close my eyes to sleep. My brain had other plans, though. It dissected the events of the day and I found myself awake and figuratively kicking myself for almost starting a fight with a Bretonnian knight in service to a Duke's son. Quite frankly, I was damned lucky things hadn't escalated to violence. I kept asking myself why I'd immediately gone for my sword. Why, for the love of God, did I do it?

Alas no inspiration struck from on high and no moments of clarity came to light. Maybe I was just feeling edgy from being transported to a fantasy kingdom I didn't particularly care for. Bretonnia had too much injustice and oppression for all its claims to nobility and valor. Might for right was my philosophy. The strong should protect the weak, not oppress them, and tonight I'd gotten a firsthand taste of what to expect in this damned kingdom.

Turning over to my side, I closed my eyes again and tried to sleep. A dreamless slumber overtook me that was cut short by the panicked whinnying of horses. I startled awake and remained starkly still, trying to listen for what had disturbed the horses. I heard what sounded like heavy footsteps and animalistic grunting. The scent of blood filled the air.

Carefully, I practically crawled on the hayloft's floor to the opening leading down and peaked. A beastman stalked the alcoves, slamming a large and crude axe into the necks of the horses to silence them.

"Oh shit!" I stammered without thinking. The beastman looked up at me and roared. I shot to my feet and backed away from the opening just in time as the beastman leapt up into the hayloft.

My sword and shield lay too far away to grab easily. If I turned my back I'd be cut down by the monster. So, lacking any other option, I shot forward and tackled the beastman. With a surprised shout it and I fell to the hay strewn floor of the stable. The wind was knocked out of the both of us, but I recovered faster thanks to having the beastman as cushioning.

Pulling myself up to be face-to-face with the momentarily stunned beastman, I punched it in the nose. It roared in pain, and I punched it again. I struck it four times before it managed to get an arm under me and throw me off with a powerful shove.

I landed on my back and quickly scrambled to my feet. The beastman was slower in rising, giving me a moment to look for anything I could use as a weapon. I saw a pitchfork lodged in a hay bale. Hoping it was sharp enough to pierce the thick hide of a beastman, I yanked it out of the bale, leveled it at the beastman, and charged with a wordless cry. The beastman gave off a porcine squeal as I skewered it through the gut. Black blood gushed out of the wounds as I yanked out the pitchfork and thrust it into the beastman's throat.

The beastman died choking on its own blood, which suited me just fine. Better than me drowning in my own vital fluids. As the rush of adrenaline lessened, I heard screaming, both human and inhuman, and the sounds of battle. The inn was under attack by more than just one beastman.

"Damn it!" I swore. Part of me, a large part in fact, wanted to grab one of the horses and get out of dodge as fast as I could. I didn't know how many beastmen were around and I didn't want to end up as some ungor's dinner.

Unfortunately, I'd said that stupid vow that basically amounted to throwing myself into danger for the sake of others. Plus, as much as I hated to admit it, I couldn't bring myself to leave these people to fight alone.

I tried picking up the dead beastman's axe and found it too heavy and unwieldy for someone like me to use. Looking back up at the hayloft, I saw I'd done too good a job of hiding the ladder. I could probably make it up there but it'd take too long and probably tire me out. So, with my trusty pitchfork in hand, I went towards the noise of combat and death.

Peeking from outside the stable, I saw the door to the inn laying in pieces around the door frame. Upon investigation it was Sir Blonde Beard, his pants around his ankles and his head caved in. The hearth fire was still burning inside, casting vague shadows of the combatants within. I checked around what passed for a courtyard for the inn. There was one dead body, too small to be a beastman, laying in the dirt. Otherwise there seemed nobody around. So, not knowing what else to do, I entered the inn with my pitchfork at the ready.

Dead bodies were scattered everywhere, forming a small sea of blood that covered the floor. In the far corner eight or so beastmen gathered and tried to get at something, or someone. I saw the glint of steel and glimpses of red-gold livery.

I charged the closest beastman and stabbed it through the back with my pitchfork. As it fell over and died I stabbed another. I misjudged my attack and it only became embedded in the thick muscle of its right arm and shoulder. The beastman spun around, yanking the pitchfork from my grip, leaving me to face the club-wielding monster with my bare hands.

I clenched my hands into fists and bared my teeth at the beastman, ready to die on my feet at least. The beastman came at me with an overhand strike. I side-stepped to the right, the kudgel whistling past me to slam into the floorboards. I threw a left hook at its face and was rewarded with the wet crush of a broken nose.

The beastman batted at me with its club and got me in the stomach. I went flying back into a table with the wind truly knocked out of me. I barely had enough presence of mind to roll to the right as my enemy brought down its club on the place where my head used to be, smashing a large hole where the table used to be.

Desperate for options, I kicked out at its knee but missed, bouncing off the thick muscles of its calf. This was enough to stagger it, giving me time to get to my feet, interlock my fingers into one massive fist, and smash down on its head. The beastman fell to the floor, stunned for the moment. Seeing my pitchfork still embedded in its back, I grabbed the impromptu weapon and yanked it out. I stabbed it in the back again, this time succeeding in piercing its heart and lungs. It squealed pathetically as it died, and I stabbed again just to be safe.

Looking up from my fallen foe, I saw the battle was over and we had won. Aldrad and four of his knights stood in the corner around a few cowering peasants.

"Lord Aldrad," I said, panting from adrenaline and leaning on my pitchfork. "You alright?"

"Aye, I am fine," he replied. He wiped the blood off his sword using the furry hide of a fallen beastman. "You seem well, despite your choice of weapon."

I felt abruptly self-conscious at my current weapon, and proceeded to squash it like an ant. I replied, "Was either this or death. I think the Lady will forgive me for taking up a lance-like weapon this one time."

Aldrad smiled and gave a grunt of a laugh. "Well, you have my thanks for your aid. I doubt we'd have survived if you hadn't drawn off their leader's attention."

"Leader?" I repeated, then glanced at my feet. The beastman I'd pitchforked to death did seem bigger than the rest by a fair margin. I doubted it was a true warlord as its kind judged things, but it'd given a hard enough fight all the same. "Huh."

"'Huh' he says," Aldrad laughed. "As if slaying beastmen were as simple as tossing hay."

I gave a grunt of a laugh myself. The humor died on my tongue and I asked, "Are there any injuries?"

Aldrad shook his head. "Beastmen rarely strike to wound, and we were caught without our armor. Half my companions are dead. It will make the journey to La Maisontaal more dangerous. Damn it all, this region is supposed to be safe!"

The innkeeper emerged from the kitchen and, upon seeing the dead beastmen, threw himself at our feet. He thanked us profusely for our aid and praised the Lady in our names. After getting him back up, he and I set about carrying the bodies outside. The beastmen we tossed in a pile to be burned later. The peasants we laid out as respectfully as circumstances allowed. The innkeeper told me that he'd take care of their mortal remains.

Satisfied, I went back to the stable and managed to retrieve my gear. The dawn was beginning to break, so that meant I had to be going on my way or I'd break one of the tenants of the Vow. As I slung my backpack over my shoulder I heard someone enter.

"Seems the beastmen weren't content to just kill us," Aldrad said, looking over the bodies of the slain horses. "I'm surprised any survived."

"Guess it was good luck I was sleeping in here," I replied.

Aldrad nodded, saying, "I take it you have no horse of your own?"

I shook my head, replying, "I never had a horse to begin with."

He walked up to one of the living horses; a blue-gray destrier who whinnied at him. He said, "This steed's name is Torrent. He belonged to Sir Calloden. Now he belongs to you."

I blinked in surprise. "That is most gracious of you, my lord, but won't Sir Calloden object?"

"He would, were he still living. As is, his skull was bashed open."

"Ah," I said. So that was Sir Blonde Beard's name. I looked at my new steed, Torrent, and smiled. I walked up to him and gently patted his muzzle. Torrent nudged my hand and looked at me with those large, glass-like eyes.

Guess it's official, I thought. I really am a Knight of Bretonnia now.

 

[Kara Valmeyjar]

"You're lucky those beastmen attacked," Eleanor said. "Otherwise you might have made an enemy of a nobleman and possibly his liege lord."

"Yes I'm aware," I replied. "What does it matter? Not like I'm ever going to meet Aldrad again."

She sighed with tested patience. The two of us rode down a well trod carter road, myself on my new warhorse and Eleanor on a pristine white mare. She'd joined me soon after I was out of sight of the Foxhollow Inn, just riding out of the forest like a ghost. I shared my night at the Inn, and she didn't seem happy at my conduct.

"You could have made a powerful ally last night," she told me. "Instead you only succeeded in marking yourself as a foreigner in his mind."

"So I broke even," I retorted. "It's not the end of the world."

I'm pretty sure Eleanor silently counted to ten before saying, "Regardless, my Lady has a special request of you. If you accomplish it, you will gain considerable progress in attaining the Grail as well as a measure of her favor."

"You have my attention."

"There is a village in the Arden Forest not far from here. It is under threat from the Ruinous Powers and they need a gallant knight to come to their rescue."

"Sounds like my kind of gig. Where do I need to go?"

"Your steed knows the way," Eleanor said. A smile touched the corners of her mouth, making her whole face light up. "Trust him, and he will not lead you astray."

"Does he have some kind of magical horse GPS or something?" I asked.

Eleanor's delicate brows creased as she frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"Huh? Oh. Right. Sorry. It's a 'my world' thing."

She sighed and shook her head slightly. "Pray keep such idioms to yourself. No need to give the peasantry reason to think you speak in tongues."

"I'll keep that in mind. Anything else I need to know?"

"You have everything you need," Eleanor said. "Trust your instincts."

With that she spurred her mare into the forest and was gone.

"Goodbye," I said after her, a little annoyed at her sudden departure and needlessly cryptic words.

* * * * *​

I rode through the Arden, letting Torrent lead the way. Sometimes I sat on his back. At others I walked to stretch my legs and give him a chance to rest. We followed an overgrown road through winding paths blocked in by thick limbed trees. Sunlight barely filtered through the tightly packed canopy. At night we were cast in darkness.

I didn't dare risk lighting a fire in the forest lest I attract attention from marauding beastmen or more conventional predators. Thankfully, nothing attacked me in the middle of the night, though a few times I was awoken by the distant howling of wolves. Or at least I hoped they were wolves.

On the fifth day of the journey I found traces of civilization. One moment I was riding through a thickly packed forest, the next I emerged into a wide man-made clearing where only tree stumps remained of what used to be wild territory. At the center of the clearing was a village surrounded by a stockade wall. Said wall had men patrolling on it, and they saw me almost immediately judging by how they suddenly burst into activity.

"This must be the place," I said aloud, if only to Torrent. The horse snorted and glanced over its shoulder at me. I dismounted, took him by the reins, and we approached the village.

A delegation met us outside the stockade wall consisting of a small peasant militia armed with spears and bows. Leading them was an old man with a bald head, long white beard, and dressed in patchworked robes done in warm earth colors.

They all bowed their heads with reverence and the white bearded man said, "Honored greetings to you, my lord. I am Caddoc, Elder of this humble village. Welcome to Ambravale, sir knight."

"Greetings to you as well, Elder Caddoc," I said in my best formal voice. "I am Alexander Finnstark, Questing Knight in service to the Lady. I heard your village was under threat and came to render aid, such as I can."

Elder Caddoc raised his head and gave me a gapped-tooth smile. He said, "The Lady is most gracious to us in our Hour of Need. The cursed Beastmen of the forest have been preying on our herds and slaying our folk. I fear an attack on our village is nigh."

I opened my mouth to speak but was cut off as a horn sounded through the clearing, coming from inside the village. Elder Caddoc's militia guards rushed inside the stockade wall.

"Come quickly!" Caddoc said, gesturing for me to follow. "The foe comes!"

Caddoc and I, plus Torrent, passed through the stockade gates, which closed behind us.

I looked at Torrent and said, "Keep out of trouble, okay?"

The horse shook its mane and looked at me with a haughty gaze. Satisfied with his answer, I ran for the stockade wall, climbing the ladder steps two at a time before I was on the walk-way. From there I rushed to where the village militia gathered at the far end.

Standing among the defenders, I looked out over the clearing. A small horde of beastmen charged from the forest towards the stockade wall, axes and clubs raised as they roared a savage battle cry.

"Men of Bretonnia!" I cried, drawing my sword. "Hold firm! The Lady is with you! Stand and be brave!"

A ragged cheer went up among the militiamen but they still seemed shaky. They weren't professional soldiers, I knew. I'd have to throw myself into the thick of the fray to keep them from breaking.

Militia archers notched arrows to bowstrings. Hails of arrows rained down on the charging beastmen. A few of the Chaos monsters fell, either dead or too wounded to stand. The rest just ignored their wounds or managed to block with crude shields. I pulled my own shield from my back and reaffirmed my grip on my sword.

The Beastmen threw themselves on the stockade wall, actually climbing up its length. The archers loosed arrows down at them but the beastmen threw crude javelins and spears up at the defenders, skewering more than one poor soul through the upper body. The militia spearmen and archers fell back and seemed ready to bolt. I stood my ground and waited.

The first beastman to rise above the parapet I stabbed through the throat. I grimaced with bared teeth at the stench of the beast, and yanked my blade free. The beastman fell and I turned to face the next one, slashing it across the stomach. It fell to its knees, trying to keep its entrails within its body. A militiaman slew it with his spear. The rest of the militia leapt into the fray, using what little training they possessed to establish a thicket of spears, punctuated by volleys of arrows, against any beastman who tried to haul themselves over the parapet.

I fought and slew those beastmen who did manage to get under the spears. Yet they kept coming and more managed to get through. The rich scent of blood clotted the air as the militia hacked into the beastmen with lumber axes and large knives, and as the beastmen chopped and smashed militiamen with wicked edged axes and large cudgels.

A large beastman with the head of an ox leapt over the parapet and simply batted aside the spears thrust at it and cut down those militia within its considerable reach. Its presence seemed to give the other beastmen more confidence. They pressed the attack.

Oh fuck. A champion. I gulped, knowing what that meant. The oxheaded beastman saw me and bellowed, pounding its chest with the flat of its axe in challenge.

"For the Lady!" I bellowed back, raising my sword in answer. A small space on the walkway was cleared for our fight, and we closed on eachother.

The Oxheaded beastman slashed downward to split my head with its axe. I raised my shield and redirected the strike into the wood of the parapet. My sword slashed at its lower stomach but only succeeded in sparking off the crude metal cuirass it wore.

It threw a punch that barely missed smashing my head, only clipping it. The blow was still enough to send me reeling. I kept my footing but it gave the beastman champion time to yank its axe free and swing it again. I narrowly avoided having my head cut from my shoulders, jumping back then charging into its personal space.

I thrust my sword up to skewer it through the throat. The monster grabbed my sword by the blade with its off hand and stopped the tip bare inches from its collar bone. Not waiting, I yanked my sword back and was rewarded with a bellowing roar of pain as its thick fingers went flying. It wound up for a downward, overhead strike. I side-stepped it, pressing my back into the parapet as the axe bit deep into the wooden planks serving as a walkway, putting it in a perfect position for a coup-d'etat.

With a diagonal swing of my sword I cut into the thick, muscled flesh of the monster's neck. It actually whined in pain and fell to its hands and knees. I yanked my sword free and brought it down again. The beastman champion's head rolled on the walkway. I grabbed it, held it high for all to see for a long second, then chucked it over the wall.

The surviving beastmen still outside the wall broke and ran for the cover of the forest. Those on the wall died with spears and arrows sprouting from their backs. The militiamen cheered in earnest now, praising the Lady of the Lake. Several near me just bowed deep in near-religious reverence.

It was like that all the way from the stockade wall to the village proper. The women, children, and elderly emerged from their hovels and acted like I was the Second Coming. Elder Caddoc looked like he would cry as he said, "Thank you, my lord knight! Truly you are a blessing from the Lady on to us!"

"It was no problem," I said rather lamely as I sheath my sword and shouldered my shield. Needless to say I felt supremely uncomfortable with the amount of praise being thrown my way. "Hopefully it'll be a long time before the Beastmen come bother you again."

Caddoc nodded in agreement. "Please, let us show you our gratitude and give thanks to the Lady."

"I don't need a reward other than your thanks," I said. "Though if it's not too much trouble, I'd gladly accept any supplies you can spare."

"Of course! Of course!" Caddoc beamed.

Elder Caddoc and a whole flock of villagers guided me to the heart of their little settlement. Already there were pipes playing and people breaking out barrels of what I presumed to be the good wine. For the first time since arriving in this world, I felt almost excited.

The center of the village was a roughly square-ish space of even ground. The villagers were already setting up tables for a feast.

At the very center of the village was a life-sized statue of the Lady. I did a double-take at it. The statue seemed to be made of a pale, vaguely violet shaded stone that seemed as smooth as marble. The woman it depicted was perfectly formed and practically naked save for a dress so diaphanous it might as well not exist. It was so finely detailed down to the smallest aspect I knew it couldn't have been carved by mortal hands. She was also quite plainly a hermaphrodite, and that sent up red flags in my mind.

It wasn't some Moral Panic setting me off. This was Warhammer, so purple coloring plus supernatural perfection plus non-heteronormative features mean't I wasn't staring at a statue of the Lady of the Lake. By all accounts, I was standing in the middle of a village full of Slaanesh worshippers!

 

[Kara Valmeyjar]

​

"Are you well, sir knight?" Elder Caddoc asked. "You seem pale."

"I'm fine," I lied, putting up a false smile. "I'm just tired."

"Of course! How feckless I am! I offer you lodgings in my home for as long as you are with us. If you desire it, I can have a bath prepared for you."

"That would be good, thank you."

I went through the motions of a grateful knight being cherished by a grateful village. Within myself I walked through lines of logic to avoid screaming like a madman and running for the hills. Eventually I accepted they weren't going to immediately kill me slowly for the Dark Prince or try to turn me into a brainwashed servitor of some daemon.

Elder Caddoc left my side, leaving me in the company of a young woman who guided me to Caddoc's home. I remained silent the whole way, trapped in my own head and thoughts.

"Here we are," she said as we approached a hovel that seemed a bit sturdier and bigger than the rest.

"Thank you, miss..?"

"Elyna, sir knight," she said, all cheerful smiles and beaming warmth. "Might I ask your name?"

"Alexander," I replied.

"Well, Sir Alexander, I'll have a tub and water prepared for you as soon as I can! Don't worry about your horse, either. He'll be the happiest steed this side of the Arden!"

"Thank you, Elyna." I said, genuinely glad to have a chance to rest. I didn't plan on resting just yet, however. As soon as Elyna left I gave the one room hovel a quick once-over. There was a straw mattress bed with a simple bed frame, a small bookshelf with some old looking scrolls and leatherbound journals on it, and two wicker baskets both half-filled with clothing.

I investigated the bookshelf. All I found was ledgers and records. A quick look in the baskets revealed no secret Chaos idols or sinister black robes. The bed was a simple, straw packed mattress with homespun sheets covering it. Given the floor was just hard-packed earth there were no floorboards to hide secrets under.

"God damn it," I muttered. Looks like I'm going to have to do some actual work. Or try to, and hope I don't end up dead for my efforts.

So, with nothing better to do, I removed my armor and exchanged put on a spare set of clothing from my backpack. It felt odd, being out of my kit for the first time in a week. Like I was walking around without my skin. I put my kit back on after changing. No sense going unprepared when I knew there was still danger around.

A knock came at the door and I almost jumped. Instead I answered, "Yes?"

"Sir Alexander, it's Elyna! The bath house is ready for you."

"I'll be out in a moment," I replied. I took one last look around the hovel for any signs or hints of Chaos-related duplicity, found none, and left with Elyna.

"So, that statue of the Lady," I said as we walked. "I haven't seen anything like it in Bretonnia. Who made it?"

"One of our huntsmen found it," Elyna said, cheerfully. "It was buried in some ruins not too far away. It's kind of our good luck charm. Ever since we brought it here it's given us nothing but good fortune. Our herds are strong and plentiful and life has just been kinder to us. Until the beastmen began attacking, that is, but then you came and saved us!"

"I see," I replied. My initial paranoia had died down. It seemed certain to me that I wasn't dealing with a secretly evil cult village. Despite my mission I felt my guard lowering and libido rising, eyes glancing over Elyna. She was somewhat slight of build from the hard life of a Bretonnian peasant but she had a cute, freckled face and chestnut brown hair that seemed to fall into natural curls around her shoulders.

As we passed through the village center I cast a glance at the statue. Elder Caddoc was leading a group prayer with several of the older villagers around it, heads bowed. There was nothing obscene or even vaguely disturbing about the prayer ceremony, but that damn statue was putting my hackles on end.

I considered just going up and smashing it to pieces, but that was likely to get me hung from a tree by a mob of angry villagers. Plus I had no guarantee that would ultimately solve the Chaos infestation problem.

"Here's our bath house!" Elyna said, gesturing with an open hand towards a round building. "Clean water and soap awaits you, sir knight!"

The comment about water made something click in my mind. I entered the bathhouse and emerged with a bucket filled with water.

"Uh, Sir Alexander?" Elyna asked, following behind me.

"Stand back," I commanded. "This could get ugly."

I placed the full bucket on a table near the prayer congregation and asked, "Is anyone here ordained to give blessings?"

The peasants looked between each other, eyes fearful and unsure as if I was speaking in tongues.

Caddoc approached me and said, voice full of reverence and fearful hesitance, "That would be you, my lord. You are a Grail Seeker and thus more worthy to give a blessing than any of us."

"Alright then," I said. I put my hand over the surface of the water, hands spread out and palm facing down. I said in my most official, reverent sounding voice, "By the Lady of the Lake, I do bless this water. May it cleanse the wickedness from this land and allow wholesome life to return again."

Then I picked up the bucket and threw the contents at the statue. Immediately I heard the sizzling of burning flesh. Smelled the ripe porcine scent of it. Smoke emanated from every patch of stone where the apparently blessed water touched it.

A hideous shriek filled the air. I leapt back from the statue as it moved and swiped at me. Tossing the bucket aside, I drew my sword and shield as the image of the Lady of the Lake transformed into the claw-handed, horn headed form of a Slaaneshi Daemonette.

"By the Lady!" Caddoc gasped, falling to his knees. Peasants screamed and ran in all directions.

"Meddlesome outsider!" the Daemonette snarled at me in a voice that was too husky to be considered feminine but too high pitched to be masculine. "Thou hath taken from me mine rightful prey! I will take thy life from thee as mine recompense!"

"Shut up and fight!" I shouted back.

The Daemonette slashed at me with its massive pincer-like claw. I blocked with my shield and was rewarded with a great gash through the metal, almost severing my forearm in the process. Tossing aside the now ruined shield I pressed my attack with a slash of my own. It deflected my strike with a backhanded swipe with its claw arm. The Daemonette overextended with the blow, allowing me, and by extension it, to recover.

"Pretender Knight, I see through your deceptions," the Daemonette said as we circled each other, looking for an opening. "I see through your falsehoods. Thou art no Knight of Bretonnia! Your Lord hath abandoned you here! Surrender to the Dark Prince and be counted among his loyal followers, or die as his plaything!"

"You talk a lot of shit for a bottom bitch," I spat. I watched the Daemonette's movements. It moved with the languid sensuality you'd expect of a daemon of Slaanesh, but it was wounded. Its flesh was akin to melted wax at all places where the blessed water had touched it. This was a fight I could win.

Taking my longsword in a two-handed grip, I struck at the Daemonette with a diagonal slash. It blocked with its claw arm and riposted. I managed a parry and attacked again. Back and forth we fought, striking and defending and counter-attacking. The Daemonette was fast and fluid with its motions despite its wounds. I had my preternaturally gifted swordsmanship to rely on.

Then I made a mistake. I stepped in close and thrust my sword at its heart. I must have telegraphed my attack, giving the Daemonette the chance to grip it in its claw appendage. The sword blade snapped in half, leaving me with only a bit of jagged metal to call my weapon.

The Daemonette smiled wickedly and opened its mouth to no doubt taunt me. I didn't give it the chance. I threw myself against my enemy and we tumbled to the ground. The daemon's claw was trapped between our bodies. Its free arm gripped my throat in a vice-like hand and began to choke the life out of me. With all the strength I could muster, I stabbed the broken sword into the Daemonette's neck.

The pressure on my neck slackened. The Daemonette gurgled as its blood choked it. I withdrew the jagged sword edge and stabbed it again, and kept stabbing until the Daemonette disappeared in a cloud of pink-purple mist, leaving me coughing on the ground.

I rose on shaky knees and hands to my feet. Looking at the still kneeling Caddoc, I said in a rough voice, "If it's all the same to you, Elder, I'll take that bath now."

* * * * *​

I did end up staying the night in Ambravale in the Elder's hovel. I slept like a rock through the night and woke with the dawn. Most of the villagers rose about then as well to tend their flocks. Elder Caddoc met me at the barn where Torrent was being kept.

"T-thank you again, Sir Alexander," Caddoc said, still clearly shaken by the day before.

"You're welcome," I replied as I ensured the saddle straps and baggage was properly secured. "Though next time someone brings an odd looking statue into town, don't worship it, okay?"

I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. He returned it with a weak grin. He said, "Are you sure we couldn't convince you to stay one more night?"

I shook my head. "No. There are other places in need of a Grail Seeker to aid them, and I am committed to not resting more than one night in a single place."

A more genuine smile came to Elder Caddoc's face. "Good. You are a pious servant of the Lady, so it's only appropriate I give you this."

I turned from Torrent to look at Caddoc, now noticing the long, blanket-wrapped bundle he held in his arms. He presented it to me. I unwrapped it and found a beautifully crafted sword and scabbard within. Just by looking at it I felt power radiating from it and the itching urge to take it in hand.

Suppressing the immediate responses, I looked at Caddoc and asked, "Where did you come across a sword like this?"

"I was not always a village elder," Caddoc replied. "Once I was a pilgrim walking the Lady's path, fighting the good fight in the wake of a mighty Grail Knight. When he died, I managed to save his sword and committed myself to protecting it until I could find a new, worthy hand to wield it."

And I guess that's me. I asked, "Does it have a name?"

"I do not know, truthfully. Perhaps you will discover it?"

With the reverence of a priest holding a blessed relic, I took the sword and scabbard out of the wrapping. I couldn't resist the urge any longer and drew the sword. It was lighter than my original weapon by a large degree. Pseudo-celtic glyphs were etched into both sides of the blade and filled with gold. The crossguard was fashioned like vines twisted into a swirling pattern. The pommel was the Fleur de Lys, cast in gold. A word came to me and I voiced it.

"Valor," I said. "This sword's name is Valor."