The Good Prince (Warhammer Fantasy)

[Voikirium]

The Red Sands of Angazar Ankor

The red sun beats on the iron-tinged sands of the Badlands-- though it is late fall, still the heat is so great that you have tied strips of cloth around your armor to keep the sun from its iron; even so, it is still damnably hot. Augusta suffers in silence; the ride is quiet except for the clopping of horse hooves on the sands, lightly thudding and kicking up little bits of sand in clods. This is not the sallow whiteness of the beach, either-- this sand is baked as red as the clay.

"Prince, you didn't need to come."

"No, but I wanted to."

"The orcs are going to attempt some treachery-- and you have a family."

"Ouais. And that's why I came here-- when this all goes to hell, you're going to need some backup. If nothing else, two pairs of eyes should be better at seeing when the treachery comes."

Then, silence reigns again, as you can finally see the pit-- or rather, the cheap wooden dome, inverted bowel really, the orcs have placed over the ruined outer structure. "The Dwarfs, in their golden age, called it the Angazar Ankor-- 'The Realm of the Eternal Ironworks.' A place at the edge of their empire, where raw materials were pulled from the ground in vast quantities, worked to form beautiful pieces of art-- well crafted jewelry, fine bracers, strong arms and armor, by dwarfs working in unison, together, unselfishly. It was a small place; but its loss burns even my eyes.

Now?

It is a breeding pit of orcs and goblins. They live, subsist, in the ravaged ruins of the Dwarf Realm, eking out a bare existence in what was once a splendor unmatched, like the pests that have killed the peasant."

In any case you enter through the tattered leather doors and see a truly frightening number of Orcs and goblins. This is only the very highest level; there are, no doubt, more within, in deeper levels of the realm, in carved caverns.

The pit's inside is simple-- cheap stands on the floor for watching, as well as balconies crudely bolted to the stone. You can tell where the orcs did their work-- theirs is all covered in shit. There is a floor of dawi stone, with some lines resembling an axes harsh shape carved into the center.

You count at least three dozen greenskins of one kind or another--orcs, goblins, and gnoblars-- as well as innumerable snotlings. Racing under foot, one tries to peel off some of the fluting from your armor even as you watch, though a soft kick sends it away easily enough.

Augusta steps to the center of the ring, already pulling her hammer from her back.

"Do you plan to kill me of boredom, Grozgretar!" Her voice echoes through the caves-- and they come to life.

"I wuz plannin' on poppin' yer 'ead like a grape."

He comes from the crowd. He is massive, shod in roughly worked scraps of drawf steel. His face is a grated mass of scars and burn marks and raw bone; one ear has been torn straight from his head. His fangs are daggers, and in his hand is clenched a giant cleaver, made of scrap and and worked carelessly. One eye is pitted and milky, the other deeply set and piggish. He walks, calmly to the center of the ring, deeply menacing.

Why, if you hadn't seen Grimgor, he might scare you.

"You've not got the stones, orc."

"You sure about that, umie?"

"Might I introduce," A goblin wearing moth tattered silks interjects, "Grozgretar the Man-Eater!"

The crowd cheers, except for you.

"And might I introduce," You cut in, "Augusta the Unyeilding!"

And just like that, the two are off. Augusta moves first, roaring like a woman possessed, clearly the much quicker-- her hammer whistles as it moves, before slamming-- with a mighty thud-- into his cleaver, positioned barely in time to stop it. He whips the thing around in one hand and slams it down where she was seconds ago. It bites into the stone floor-- but before he can remove it, Augusta brings her hammer down in a two handed strike, leaves it bit too deep into stone to be removed.

Viciously kicking, the orc catches her in the ribs and sends her spinning away, slamming into the wall. He pulls out a dagger from a cheap scabbard strapped to his thigh and kicks away her hammer into the deeper pits, where no doubt some orc takes it for himself. Leaving it, she grabs her dagger from her belt.

The orc and woman circle each other.

"Hah! Mine's bigger, umie."

Then he leaps, massive bulk quick for his size-- but not quick enough. She darts under the assault, moving faster than you've ever seen her spar. Twice her silverine dagger plunges home, opens cuts that run deep, show bone, his arm and fingers. She moves, ducking and leaping over cuts and stabs that should have killed any lesser warrior-- that should have killed the girl that stood with you against Bandits.

"Maybe! But you don't know what to do with it."

What the hell?

You've seen her fight before, and she's always been good-- but that was not like this. This is beyond good. This could...well, not win, but survive for a time against Grail Knights. What, is she some kind of anti-orc weapon, sharpening herself specifically against them, allowing her emotions to build until it's time to fight green filth? It's terrifying.

Almost as terrifying as the glint of steel you see in the dark.

Reacting like lightning you move-- and cut-- and the thing falls to pieces at your feet, an arrow lying on the ground.

"Treachery! I call forfeit, on account of dishonorable conduct!"

"I call we kill 'em all, boyz!"

Augusta shifts her feet as she stares down the orc again. "Deal with the trash. This is mine."

And then the war is upon you. A goblin leaps at you from the balconies, only to end up broken bodied on the sands, blood pooling around him. A gnoblar spear scrapes your helm and so you split him in half vertically. Flowing from that like water, you grab an orc by the throat and slam him as hard as you on the ground-- collapsing his throat, and killing most of the snotlings too. Another gnoblar tries to attack, and this time you punch him in the nose, hard enough it shatters and he lies, bleeding.

It soon enough becomes a blur of green skin and gray steel, even as you hear, from the center the battle continue. Bodies pile, the sands are stained irrevocably green-- though some blood falls into the axe marks, fills it deep.

In the end, there is nearly silence-- as the foemen lie dead. Though the whooping of greenskins is beginning to fill the air from the lower levels, and there's...grinding, too.

Turning around, you see Augusta end it-- punch her knife through his good eye, and out his brain. She's been hurt too, of course-- but given she's alive, and he isn't, she clearly got the better of that engagement.

She falls to her knees, and lets a few tears fall. "My hammer..."

"We don't have the time-"

"It was a birthday present from-"

Thoomp!

The axe at the center of the floor-- is beginning to pull apart? You leap off, and so does she, as it grinds open. It is not an exit, you can tell that much already-- but, what is it?

Then the slow grinding kicks up about ten paces and opens all at once. Laid, in immaculate repose, is a hammer. But not just any hammer.

The head is made of bright shining gromril, the same as the Beast Mace. Its threaded shaft is carved of immaculate bronze, still gleaming centuries after its creation. A manticore tooth is set as the thing's spike at the back. Mighty runes are carved into it, still lightly glowing; a faint light is cast by it.

Augusta grabs it reverently and the two of you flee, chased by greenskins all the way to the river.
--
Got this squared away too, just have to get the missing options from last turn and Old World News once the vote is called.

 

[Voikirium]

Old World News Turn 5

Bretonnia:

A Matter Settled: Duke Alberic has been granted, by the prince, the right to conquer and settle the lands of the Forest of Chalons-- expanding, greatly, the lands of his realm-- should he succeed, that is.

Einhard Returns: Einhard, son of Tancred II-- Mightiest warrior of Quenelles-- has returned after a decade lost, on his great grail Quest. It seems that, when he passed from the lands of Bretonnia, he was captured, taken as a slave by the Skaven. He escaped, and for ten years did lead a one-man war against the skaven within their own burrows; slaughtering their breeders, their leaders, their filthy assassins. In the end, he left behind him a carpet of dead rats. As he made his final escape, battling at the very heart of Skavenblight, he slew the leader of Clan Pestilens in single combat-- throwing that motley into disarray; no doubt soon enough civil strife shall engulf the Ratmen.

A Grim Turn: For long months the forces of Marienburg and the Couronne Lords have battled, trading blows, grinding each other down slowly but surely-- the Bretonnians outnumbered but well-led, while the Marienburgers have numbers and wealth-- but leadership like snakes eating snakes.

It seemed, finally, that the war might end with your sister's invitation to discuss terms-- but no dice.

For the Marienburgers poisoned your sister, slaughtered her entourage, under sacred right of negotiation. Their treachery has bred universal condemnation-- and now Dukes Folcard and Cassyon, who had been passively supporting Sir Roland's war with supplies and safe passage through their lands, now march to join him to avenge your sister. Their armies are numerous, well supplied, all steel shod and well-apportioned. It is bitter, bitter to see those jewels of the South joined together for this purpose, and not something nobler, such as to claim the Massif with Quenelles.

There are only two saving graces in this whole sordid, bloody affair, which has already cost so many men their lives: Your sister may recover, with time; and the Empire, too, is so disgusted by the lack of Marienburger chivalry that they have abandoned that cause, too unpopular for even their pragmatism to accept.

Still, it is a bitter thing. Only that your father tenderly cares for Cécile protects Marienburg from a lion's fury-- and that shall soon enough pass, one way or another.

Lisanor, Pregnant: Your wife, Lisanor, is pregnant-- with twins, she thinks.

Estalia

INVASION: The damned duke of Mousillon, Mallobaude, has arrived on the shores of Estalia, with an army of mercenaries, mutants, the undead and worse. The defense was an absolute catastrophe, by all accounts-- avoiding the lands aided by Bohort de Bretonnia, he landed in Magritta, and swiftly brought half that country to heel-- though even now a counter attack is prepared, solely by the king of Magritta, who has refused to call for aid.

Still, without those preparations, things may have been much worse-- half the Peninsula, rather than half a country.

The Return: Many Estalian mercenaries, held on contract in the Empire or in Marienburg, or ten-thousand countries aside, have returned home to battle for honor, glory, and the Estalian way. Though they may be somewhat rough and crude, all are at least trained soldiers-- who shall no doubt be needed in these trying times.

Carcassonne Comes: The knights of Carcassonne have longly been friends to the lords of Estalia-- their languages alike, their skills at arms equal, their love of honor and wine the same. They have bred together, bled together, warred against and with each other-- they are too bound together to leave the other to die. And so the most warlike of your people do march to the aid of your neighbors, come what may.

A score of other knights head south, too, but not near so many as march at the side of Duke Huebald.

The Empire

The War Ceases: For the moment at least, the war in Norsca is over. Eathward's won-- she has what she wanted, reinforced by the Junkers and the noble brats who turned from Marienburg to aid a different cause with their idle time. Much of the coasts are now patrolled by Imperial ships, controlled by Imperial hands. There will come a reckoning soon enough, but for right now it seems the wolf has won the day.

Expanding South: The Barbarian Queen and the Imperial Prince have begun pushing her fief outwards, slaying the greenskins and laying forts where they can. It has been slow going-- but it does go.

Internal Colonization: The colonization of Imperial forests goes apace-- the beastmen fall against the Empire's might, reinforced with the veterans of the war in Norsca. Villages, towns, even cities-- small ones, but still-- spring up as these soldiers are given their land, their due as they see it.

Tilea

Peace in Our Time: For the very first time you can remember, there are no bushfire wars in Tilea. This is mostly because 9/10's of their mercenary population has headed to Cathay, lured by the promise of lucrative paydays from the Imperial treasury. The rest are heading to Estalia, to make that lucrative payday. Put simply, there are not enough soldiers to wage war on the peninsula.

Disease?: An all together minor outbreak of a mild disease has broken out in Luccia, not all that much worse than the common cold; but, these things are always frightening to see, and so there is some tension in the city.

Treasures Returned: The dwarf navy recently battled a small fleet of Druchii ships, which was escorting a few treasure ships back to frozen Naggaroth. Ultimately, the dwarfs won and reclaimed the treasures-- one ship of which was filled with Tilean coinage, swiftly returned to the city which it was stolen from. The Remans do thank the Dwarfs for their aid.

Misc.

Scarce Victory: The good news is, after months of long travel, the seventy-thousand strong army of Yusuf Ibn Sabbur and his allies faced Atil in the Eastern Step and won something of a victory. Casualties were great, and the Horde did not wholly disperse-- but it did, faced with such resistance, make a path more suited for Ind, rather than to face even stiffer resistance.

Yusuf has returned home a hero, well loved in Araby; and now his gaze turns north, to the Badlands.

A Proposition: An envoy from Amìlcar has arrived, with an offer from your old friend. You cannot use the gun shop in your lands at all, however he can-- and he does have a need of even the archaic weapons it offers-- not that your aid has not been invaluable, but he will need every advantage he can get his hands on.

While he can not pay you near the full price you could ask of the Imperials, there is much less-- negligible, even-- shame in aiding a friend in his time of need-- even if that means allowing him to use dastardly weapons such as these. Pot-de-fer, gunpowder arrows, culverin and more such ancient, wicked things-- but they'll still suffice when faced with something like Mallobaude.

[] Take the Deal (+250 Gold, Estalian Army strengthened)
[] Nope

 

[Voikirium]

The Sale

It is an evil place, this workshop. It smells of rotted things and dying things-- fetid and foul as the Nurglite camp among the Norscans. Thick black chains hang from hooks on the ceiling, suspending half-complete blacksmithery. Barrels of noxious concoction fill the whole small space, on every table and counter. Racks of grey, viscous liquid held in a complicated array of glass tubes and cups and beakers and--well, even more complicated constructions. There's an oak bookcase with hundreds of journals from the former owner, all of them the corrupt scribbling of a mad man tinged with genius-- or perhaps vice versa.

"I'll take the lot," the Would-Be king of Estalia says with an altogether sunny look. "The journals especially should be helpful in my research."

Around you, burly Estalians are moving everything there onto hardwood carts, stuffed with straw. There are at least three-dozen archaic cannons, five Fire-Makers, and a few hundred handguns in various states of assemblage-- even more shoddy looking and distasteful than the advanced equipment of the Empire.

Of particular note, the cannons are strange things. Coated in wrought iron, they resemble-- as the name implies-- giant pots or vases, attached to bronze stands by great screws. They can be moved to fire in 270 degrees, rotating surprisingly quickly for its size-- each is at least 50 pounds. It kind of looks like there's some sort of carving inside the barrels, covered by soot-- but you can't really care.
---
Marsiarno

Duchess Magali Plantagenet

Traits:???
Stats:???

(But give me like five seconds and I'll have something up)

Tithe: 150 Gold A Month

Levy: 25 Knights of the Realm

100 Knights Errant

150 Yeomen

200 Villein

1000 Men-At-Arms

1500 Bowmen

(Can be called on once a season (i.e. every three-ish months)

 

[Voikirium]

Turn 6

It is the final month of the year, the end of what has been by far the longest year of your life. The long trek through Norsca, the battles with the orcs, the great movements of men. It seems that some peace has finally come-- that order has been reestablished.

It is not, though. There can be no true peace, no end to the chaos, no end to the suffering-- until the orcs are defeated once and for all.

Until Grimgor lies dead at your feet.

He has the blood of millions directly and indirectly on his hands. Every people on the planet have gone to war against him, for good and for ill-- the Skaven, the Northmen, the civilized people, other greenskins-- all have fallen against him.

And now he turns his machinery against you. There had been a little hope, in your own mind, that the orc would seek to regather his forces by some long war to unite more of the foul greenskin under his banner. Perhaps, even, to turn against Skarsnik and try to subjugate those goblins under him-- that would have been ideal.

Instead, the Orc has called up as many tribesmen as he can-- all of the Badlands, the Southlands, the mercenaries-- they are all coming. Thousands, if not millions of them. They shall be numerous, and terrible. And led by the greatest warlord the Orcs have ever known. It is, at most, months before they come against you.

So you shall be more than terrible. You shall be a force of nature, of Order-- you shall be the Lady's right hand, a scourge, a pox, on the Orcs. And Grimgor will die, in the name of your people.

For now, though, you must unite the Borderlands.

Sir Leroche has also already paid massively.

Martial: Your army must be grown. The retinues must swell, the forces arrayed at your side be made flawless. Grimgor comes-- nothing less is acceptable.
(Pick 2)

[] Fortarc: You'd be dead if that orc had brought another wyvern rider. You need some way to ground such beasts, that you might face them in honorable combat instead of having them gang up on you like common bandits. A hundred bolts of silverine-tipped, armor-piercing death roaring through the skies would probably suffice. Training an Arbalest isn't that hard-- you'd estimate a month? Particularly considering there are Tileans now in the city, who can both fill the ranks and help train your men. You'd say by the end of the month they'll be green, but still-- workable.
Cost: 400 Gold

Reward: 10 Units of Arbalests

[] Contract: You can call up thousands of archers, sure, but the number wobbles and varies and...ulgh. It's annoying, particularly considering what your greater duty out here is. Which is when one of your Khyprisian subjects gives an idea: contracts. Specifically, hire a small core of men-- say, 500-- to be, at least, regulars? Training on the seventh day and so on, in return for extra wages-- higher, even, than the usual offered to Bowmen-- coming with you on campaign no matter the season-- and too, there are other niggling thoughts in your head.

It's new, and different-- but also, certainly, bold.
Cost: 400 Gold, permanent Upkeep

Reward: 50 Units of Bowmen with Villein Officers

[] Basilius Bashing: The deposed Basilius has gathered an army of warriors to attempt to reclaim his crown. He has sworn he will tear down the walls of the city. He accuses you of being a war-and-whore monger. He accuses you of being a foreign invader-- ignoring, of course, that he was educated in the Empire, fought in the Empire, spoke Reikspeil in his court, and all but worshiped Sigmar. He accuses you of being bewitched by Lisanor-- perhaps the closest thing to accurate among every burbling word that has come out of his mouth.

All of these you could forgive-- it is, after all, expected that lesser men should rant upon failure.

He has threatened Lisanor. By no means, with a quick death.

This, you might overlook-- for Lisanor herself has asked you to, in the name of peace.

But then...he threatened your son.

For this, he will not see the dawn.
Cost: 500 Gold

Reward: Decisively deal with this...pretender. (No miniturns)

[] A Tight Watch: Your knights represent a potent force-- their levies form the backbones of your army, their retinues being the infantry line and more. They must be held to the highest standard possible. Edwige, bless her, knows much of this combat on foot, being most practiced from her days aboard the long ships of her father; have her see to the training of these infantrymen in battle.
Cost: 150 Gold

Reward: Improved Man At Arms/Foot Yeomen Training

[] A Fine Tourney: While the infantry line has never been as weak as the Imperials would have you believe, the strength of Bretonnia has always been in its cavalry-- in the pounding of hooves on the sand and the crash of lance through leather; in the braying of beasts in the air and the hippogriffs cry in air. Why meddle with a good thing?

Instead, throw constant tournies, to both sharpen the skills of your knights to the highest level-- and to act as recruitment for new knights seeking their fortunes in your land.
Cost: 300 Gold

Reward: Knightly Recruitment Drive, +Improvement to Knight Quality

[] Beasts of the Sky--Hippogriff Riders: Fine beasts, terrible beasts-- as wrathful as you could ever desire, ever ravenous for Orc flesh, unwilling to flee from any battle, and more vicious than 10,000 Dragons, the Hippogriff is a frightful beast indeed. Your father has entire retinue of knights trained in riding them, and more are born every day from his menagerie. Honor is getting long in the tooth for battle-- your father has already nearly lost one child; he would not desire to lose another.

You will ask him to send a full contingent-- 160 Knights-- as well as a suitable beast to tame and train.
Cost: 1 Royal Favor

Reward: Royal Hippogryph Contingent (160 Royal Hippogryph Knights), 1 Hippogriff Hatchling

[] Beasts of the Sky--Pegasi Riders: Lisanor does find Hippogriffs a somewhat frightening beast--particularly when she is with child. More than that, she and even you feel some companionship with Pegasi, much the nobler beasts. Smarter than Hippogriffs, if not quite as strong or as savage-- or for that matter, as terrifying-- this is made up for by said Pegasi being more even tempered, easily trained, and easily fed.

On the other hand, Hippogriffs do make cleaning up after the battle easier...
Cost: 1 Royal Favor

Reward: Royal Pegasi Contingent (480 Royal Pegasi Knight), 1 Pegasus Hatchling

[] You can suggest something else, though Edwige might not like it:
Write in, -Opinion, Gold decided on later

Diplomacy: Your wife, being ambitious, decisive, and well-known for having your ear, has, obviously, traveled in many the same circles as other ambitious, decisive individuals. This is, in fact, part of why the Tileans came to you-- it seems many of their generals were once healed in the same temple as Lisanor volunteered in, and as such they know at least a little of her...as do many other movers and shakers throughout the Old World.
(Pick 2)

[] Southland Sons: Ouati, the Southlander prince, has been tight lipped about his home country except that it is a mighty empire, perhaps even rivaling that thing of Sigmar's to the east. You could ask him about it; or some of the traders?
Cost:???

Reward:???

[] Imperial Tendencies: You are not an Empire-- that is to say, you don't want to stick your flag on bits and pieces of land just because they exist. However, the Borderlands are yours. The Lady has told you to unify them, and you will not fail. Making this more clear to the other Great Power in your neck of the woods, the Empire, through their princess currently in your city would probably help make things at least a little bit more pleasant.
Cost: 50 gold

Reward: Empire less inclined to try and Empire in your neck of the woods, for at least the time being

[] Albion Conference: Albion is...well, eight years of war has somehow made the place more pleasant than when you all first arrived. You have no great interest in the place. That said, apparently a coalition of Breton and Albion warriors has been making life hell for the other powers on the Isle, greenskin, dark elf, Norscan, Firmir, and the Empire alike. If it doesn't in a skirt or on a horse, they've been killing it (except the lizardmen, because the lizardmen usually kill them).

You don't particularly want to conquer Albion. But they don't know that. The Imperials do want to conquer Albion, and you can be sure of that-- it's one of their only sources of various metals, gunpowder components, and at least three gold mines. Therefor, having you swear an oath not to, say, parley that Breton warrior and his band of misfits into an attempt to take the isles is probably worth some concessions. At least a tit-for-tat, of them promising not to attempt to meddle in the borderlands.

Only problem is, your father may not be thrilled by the thought of this promise. Still, he owes you enough to, at least, accept it.
Cost: 1 Royal favor

Reward: Some sort of treaty with Empire (North), undoubtedly slanted in your favor.

[] Breton-Caliphate Alliance: Widely known is your name-- the bane of Mallobaude, the doom of Orcs, the Norscan Traveler. All lands west of the Mountain of Mourn know (Of) you. Including the new Caliph of Araby, Yusuf Ibn Sabbur, bane of the Wandering Horde, Enemy of Chaos, Friend of Bretons. He wishes to expand into the Badlands, to bring the humans there under his umbrella-- but must fight the orcs.

Coincidentally, you will also have to fight the orcs. Perhaps the two of you can...work something out?
Cost: 1250 Prestige

Reward: Anti-Orc Alliance with Araby

[] The Republic's Reputation: The Republic of Remas may be small-- but it has many soldiers, and is friendly to you. Though much of its military is currently in Sartosa, there may be something they can do to help you-- the same way you are helping them.
Cost: 50 Gold

Chance Of Success: 50%

Reward: Aid from Remas

[] Asur Trade: The High Elves have longly considered Bretonnia-- and longly been considered by Bretonnia-- friends.. They like pretty shit, you like pretty shit; they have wizards of unimaginable power, you have wizards of unimaginable power; their navy is number 1, yours is number 2, with both fulfilling much the same purpose; so on and so forth. However, trade between your people has been limited, at best, due to the Marienburgers being Marienburgers.

Fortunately, they are unlikely to be relevant very soon, the lawbreaking dipshits. Send an envoy to make contact with Ulthuan.
Cost: 125 Gold

Chance Of Success: 80%

Reward: Start Trading with Asur

[] Asrai Trade: The Wood Elves are much the kinder than the Empire claims-- but that does not make them friendly. Shrouded in mystery, they say the Wood Elves and Bretons once were allies, strong and fast-- but if so, that has long faded. Your neighbors are a fearsome bunch-- but there is a benevolence to them.

In any case, even they must desire something. However, they trade with noone on a large scale-- only a few merchants, plying the larger cities; what they might desire is not obvious to you or to anyone, though with your luck it will be something utterly innocuous and obvious in hindsight.
Cost: 250 Gold

Chance Of Success:40%

Reward: Trade with Wood Elves

[] Securing the Holdouts: Cabanal and Mentreda are both native cities of the Badlands. Unfortunately, their current rulers have little love of you and of Bretonnians now, for the actions of your brother do sully all good names.

Fortunately, there is a legal challenge for the title of Arconte: Trial by Combat. You can beat them, take control, legally and above board-- and bind them to you, here and now. It's inelegant, and far from your preferred position, but it must be done.
Cost: 250 Prestige

Reward: Take Cabanal and Mentreda, Edwige Approves

[] You can suggest something else, though Lisanor might not like it.
Write in, -Opinion, Gold decided on later

Stewardship: The cities must be repaired, and prepared, for Orcish aggression. While they must recover from the body blow you handed them, when their vengeance comes it will be...terrible.
(Pick 2)

[] Hon-Hon-Hound: This new armor Asger has invented is fantastic-- but he needs to teach others how; to build forges; and to ready the logistical trail necessary for large-scale production. Though the starting cost will be huge, it is worth it: imagine a whole charge of Bretonnian knights, clad in plate, bullets bouncing from both steel and mystic love. You could shred a dwarf gunline like cheap parchment, never mind crashing through orcish nonsense-- it would be a slaughtering ground of green bodies and broken stone, a feast for crows never before seen at the hands of Breton men.

And to think, all of this started because you couldn't stop getting stabbed.
Cost: 800 Gold, 4 Months

[] Protecting the Sick: Lisanor and the Physician's Guild have prepared a tag-team response to help heal the sick in your lands. While normally the two bicker, here and now they see burned out warehouses and homes and have decided to fight no longer.

In this version, you would be handing off leadership in this regard to Adelhard de Grenouille, the head physician, and the Physician's Guild.
Cost: 50 gold

Reward: Healing for town's people

[] Repairing the Roads: The Empire of Myrmidia laid down roads that stretched from the Howling River to Quenelles, such was its grasp in the south. This is the only reason why you can repair the roads so quickly, now that you have control over so vast the swathes. Good for trade, but it will be even better for moving troops-- which will be important in the days to come. Grimgor is coming, after all.
Cost: 150 Gold, 3 Months

Reward: Income from Trade, can call on Vassal Levy more often

[] Heldegrad Repairs: So it turns out the letters you received before you left for Norsca were from Heldegrad, a small city to your west. It seems a Tong Warlord had taken overlordship of the town, old and withered enough to be afraid of a true warrior, a true challenge-- but not so old and withered that the town could defeat him without terrible losses.

However, Sir Leroche could. The damage, though, was still severe-- better, in the long run, then feeding their children to the thing, but bad. The city has pledged itself to you, taken Sir Leroche as its knight. It requires...rebuilding.
Cost: 150 Gold, 3 Months

Reward: Heldegrad Rebuilt

[]Farm Improvements: While you were out, Lisanor and Robert helped reestablish the agriculture that had been damaged so terribly-- you are at, at least, at an acceptable level. You can do better, however-- expand the food supply, farm more, found more hamlets, on and on.
Cost: 100 Gold

Reward: Expand Farms

[] You can suggest something else, though Robert might not like it.
Cost: To be decided

Piety: Emma no longer sees on this lowly temporal plane-- rather, her sight, now is defined by the winds of magic and the blessing of the Lady.
(Pick 2)

[] Shallya Protects the Sick: Lisanor and the Physician's Guild have prepared a tag-team response to help heal the sick in your lands. While normally the two bicker, here and now they see burned out warehouses and homes and have decided to fight no longer.

In this case, Lisanor would take the lead.
Cost: 50 gold

Reward: Healing for Citizens

[] Don't You Lie: Tielo Von Untergard, an Imperial explorer, reports that he has found, in the ancient city of the Amazons, some sort of Bretonnian artifact. You doubt it, but it's not impossible-- just, at worst, quite nearly so. Even if it isn't true, it may be an interesting piece.
Cost: 100 Gold

Chance of Success:???

Reward: Artifact

[] Imperial Artifacts: The Empire once extended its reach even this far south, though they are long gone now. While you have no love of the Empire's gods, you do not think there is anybody on the planet who deserves to have their sacred places plundered and kept of them (Greenskins and Norscan don't count, on account of they have no sacred places). Beyond that, it will help you make friends with these imperial Braggarts.
Cost: 100 Gold

Chance of Success: 50%

Reward: Improved Imperial Opinion, Potential Minor Imperial Favor

[] Breton Artifacts: When the Empire expanded, it also expanded into Bretonnia-- and much of your people's culture and artifacts were brought here, their symbols of the gods. Plenty of these artifacts made their way into the former Lichtenstein, then abandoned once the Empire retreated into the Imperial Core. While most artifacts in the core have been recovered, few Bretonnians have maintained as long lasting a grip on so much of the Borderlands.

Your father would be grave happy if you were to recover some of these artifacts. As would Emma, which is also probably a good idea.
Cost: 100 Gold

Chance of Success: 60%

Reward: 1 Royal Favor

[] Lost Treasure: Marcel de Parravon, of the Ducal Family of Parravon (Surprise of Surprise), died about thirteen years ago against the Lizard Beastmen of Lustria while attempting to colonize a land for your people there, Bregonne. It was a stupid plan, a bad plan, one utterly unthoughtthrough and dishonorable. However, he had with him one of the artifacts of your people, an enchanted shield once borne by Agilgar into battle.

Though the trek be dangerous and the Lizardmen foul, reclaiming that shield would be a great deed.
Cost: 100 Gold

Chance of Success: 35%

Reward: Recover Shield of Agilgar

Personal: Grimgor is coming. This you know, undoubtedly and without question. You, not the Generic You but You, Bohort de Courronne, son of Louen Leoncouer and foe of evil, must be ready for what is to come.
(Pick 2)


[] Lead More Raids: Slaughter more orcs. Drive deep into the Badlands, save as many as you can, burn and liberate. Much loot, much glory, and much renown awaits you and your body of handpicked men there! You have already stung his ugly face-- it's not as if he can become much more wrathful. Hell to him-- you're going to fight him, weaken him, more, here and now.
Cost: 50 Gold

Chance of Success: 90%

Reward: Much glory, much loot, much renown

[] Publishing It: You made plenty of notes on how to carry out your Chevauchee-- dozens of pieces of parchment, journals, and inkwells were sacrificed, plotting out logistical trains, tropp numbers, maneuvers, and so on. The Imperial War College, Myrmidian Academy in Carcassonne, and even a collector from Nippon-- are all interested in purchasing a collated edition. It should also be considered that looking back over said notes may sharpen your grasp on war even more, as you compare what happened in the field-- where mistakes were made-- with the purest theory and sharpen that theory.
Cost: free

Reward: Gold, slight chance to increase Martial

[] Curious About Cathay: Shui Tu, one of the explorers/court officials the Emperor of Cathay has sent to hire an army of mercenaries, is currently traveling through the Borderlands. Why not see if he would like to stop and chat? It is not often, after all, that someone from that strange land makes it so far west.
Cost: 100 Gold

Reward: ???

[] Spend Time With Lisanor: She is your wife. You were gone throughout her whole pregnancy. That simply is not kosher, does not fly, and aught not be left unchallenged. Spend extra time with her now.
Cost: Free

Reward: Spend More time with wife, ???

[] Training: You have a fancy new magic sword. While, by most qualities, it is simply a fancy magic sword, it feels as though there is something you are not understanding, do not comprehend, some hidden power within that you have not grasped.

More time spent wielding it in training might help.
Cost: Free

Chance Of Success:???

Reward: Greater Grasp of the Sword???
--
I need to update the front page, will do that tonight

 

[Voikirium]

Meanwhile, In Albion

Heavy rains fell on the dark forests grand, misting the ground-- shaking the leaves of the trees as the thick fat droplets fell in waves and sheets. The muddy ground underneath was churned to a thick black foam, except for the few bits anchored by grass or trees. Even the thick leathers of the Imperial tents sagged under the downpour, despite the thick wooden props holding them up. Guns had to be waterproofed, toiled over, day in and day out. The cannons were even more labor intensive sons of a bitch, round the clock crews protecting them from even the slightest bit of rust.

Six months. Six months, Kai von Schwartzhafen-- sixth son of the baron of Schwartzhafen, General of the Empire and of Reikland in Particular, master marksman and scholar-- had been in southern Albion. In that time?

It had been sunny three days.

"Join the army, he said. You'll make something of yourself for once, boy, he said. You'll spread the Imperial glory, he said." He ran his hand through fiery red hair, letting the copper fall back in place. "I should have gone to Norsca. At least there were no Bretonnians in Norsca."

Oh Sigmar, the Bretonnians. Oh Sigmar, the Bretonnians.

He'd be fighting but winning without them here.

Instead, he was wasting men and materiel that might have gone to slaying the last of the Firmir, or removing the Dark Elves, or slaughtering the greenskins, or in irony of irony, destryoing the Norscans here instead of there-- all things which had been leveraged, in past, to gain the allegiance of these perfidious Albiona-- on wasteful, stupid assaults against the Horselords.

At night, when the beer was drunk, he might admit that the Albiona opposition was more threatening than he'd thought it would be when he'd arrived on the island six months ago, bright eyed and bushy tailed-- and so naive. They'd managed dangerous, Pyrrhic victories. Drained his morale. But they were unsustainable.

But stone-cold sober he could admit the winedrinkers might win. As they'd done when they'd reclaimed the West Province, as they'd done until Helborg's treachery, as they'd done against the Skaven and the Orcs and the Dark Elves.

There were losses for them too, against Franz, after Helborg's treachery, against the Skaven that first time with the Red Pox. But not enough. Not enough losses, here in Albion, where things had only held on by a thread after the Civil War in Nordland.

Not enough. Sigmar, wasn't that the refrain? Not enough supplies. Not enough men. Not enough money. Too much blown on an absolute vanity project in Norsca, not enough consideration for the much more worthwhile target. What was there in Norsca? Mutants? Savages? Murderers? Snow? There might be an answer, but never a good enough one.

Meanwhile, here? Tin. Saltpeter. A convertible populace. Iron. A land not howling with madness. Gold. If it was ports the Emperor considered so essential, Albion was certainly not lacking-- easily positioned to build ships-- to resupply them-- to patrol the waters of Norsca, without having to set foot on the cursed, twisted rock of evil.

But no. For the wolf-queen's vanity and northern ambition, the Jewel of the Sea of Claws-- a coarse jewel, yes, but a jewel-- was ignored. 150,000 State Troops, in grand regiment, were sent to Norsca, a third of that in native auxiliaries. 10 years of Imperial taxes from the North, donations from rich men the Old World over seeking to break the power of those raiders. Mercenaries, as well. Knightly Orders by the dozen founded and marching to the north. For frozen tundra and troll.

For a much easier deed? 40,000 State Troopers. 20,000 native auxiliaries through the isles-- not a pretty balance of power, by any means. Not even a year of taxes from Nordland nor Ostland nor Hochland, only just a few scattered donations from benefactors hoping to make a profit. Mercenaries all gone to Cathay, land-hungry idiots-- ignoring, of course, all the wholly unsettled land here. Knights refusing to battle the Bretonnians, claiming it dishonorable after standing against the Storm of Chaos. No investment in what could be the richest province the Empire might posses-- rich with iron, with tin, with lumber, with fertile land. Neuland might provide everything the Empire needed to once and for all secure itself against the Old Night, and it was underfed.

The worst part? It might have been enough, except for the Horselords. Sigmar damn them-- wasn't Bretonnia verdant enough for them? Weren't rolling hills and the clear plains sufficient? Never mind the whole Borderlands, the Bretonnian Core would be enough to outearn anything the Empire could make.

The only thing even close to goods news was the end of the War in Norsca, finally. Thousands of veterans might be freed to fight here-- if they could make it. If the Colony wasn't undone between now and then. If. If. If.

Things had been going so well when he'd first arrived.

Then the Breton had arrived. Bertrand de Grandcouer. According to rumors his parents were hippogryphs. According to rumors he had discovered the mighty blade of Landuin, a moon-white thing of war and woe. According to rumors he can shoot lightning out of his eyes. Whatever the case, rumor or no, every time reports of his band of knights entering the area arrive, within a fortnight the local bases and forts are destroyed.

All one man.

The general's brooding was disrupted by the tent flaps sliding open. His aid de camp entered, followed by one of the green pistoliers, all covered in mud and blood. "Tell the general what you told me."

"I-- we were out scouting, a regiment of Outriders and Pistoliers, when we heard a snap come our way. One of the Albiona, sir, came out of the woods. He had with him this." The pistolier pulled a small chunk of parchment from his belt and handed it to Kai. On it was a short, sweet, simple sentence:

"Meet us in the center valley."
--
Update will be up soon.

 

[Voikirium]

Turn 6

It is the final month of the year, the end of what has been by far the longest year of your life. The long trek through Norsca, the battles with the orcs, the great movements of men. It seems that some peace has finally come-- that order has been reestablished.

It is not, though. There can be no true peace, no end to the chaos, no end to the suffering-- until the orcs are defeated once and for all.

Until Grimgor lies dead at your feet.

He has the blood of millions directly and indirectly on his hands. Every people on the planet have gone to war against him, for good and for ill-- the Skaven, the Northmen, the civilized people, other greenskins-- all have fallen against him.

And now he turns his machinery against you. There had been a little hope, in your own mind, that the orc would seek to regather his forces by some long war to unite more of the foul greenskin under his banner. Perhaps, even, to turn against Skarsnik and try to subjugate those goblins under him-- that would have been ideal.

Instead, the Orc has called up as many tribesmen as he can-- all of the Badlands, the Southlands, the mercenaries-- they are all coming. Thousands, if not millions of them. They shall be numerous, and terrible. And led by the greatest warlord the Orcs have ever known. It is, at most, months before they come against you.

So you shall be more than terrible. You shall be a force of nature, of Order-- you shall be the Lady's right hand, a scourge, a pox, on the Orcs. And Grimgor will die, in the name of your people.

For now, though, you must unite the Borderlands.

Sir Leroche has also already paid massively.

Martial: Your army must be grown. The retinues must swell, the forces arrayed at your side be made flawless. Grimgor comes-- nothing less is acceptable.

Basilius Bashing: The deposed Basilius has gathered an army of warriors to attempt to reclaim his crown. He has sworn he will tear down the walls of the city. He accuses you of being a war-and-whore monger. He accuses you of being a foreign invader-- ignoring, of course, that he was educated in the Empire, fought in the Empire, spoke Reikspeil in his court, and all but worshiped Sigmar. He accuses you of being bewitched by Lisanor-- perhaps the closest thing to accurate among every burbling word that has come out of his mouth.

All of these you could forgive-- it is, after all, expected that lesser men should rant upon failure.

He has threatened Lisanor. By no means, with a quick death.

This, you might overlook-- for Lisanor herself has asked you to, in the name of peace.

But then...he threatened your son.

For this, he will not see the dawn.

-It is good you have finally moved against the former king. Greatly grown was his army-- 8,000 or so, you think, though with little more room to expand.

To defeat it without great losses would have been difficult, so you moved to a good stratagem, one the Grail Companions themselves made good function of.

The harsh terrain of the Hvargir forests does not well suit cavalry, being filled with thick, low lying growth. No merely mundane force of horseriders could ever hope to attack in it. And your infantry alone would not have stood well against the veteran soldiers of the Baselius-- that much, at least, you are willing to offer him.

You arrayed your infantry in the forest as though preparing once more for an expedition, a thick wooded area, and let his spies and gossips spread the news. He came, his army whole, in warlike repose, grand blocks and dull against your men, themselves in thin but sturdy lines and armed in bright livery. They were entirely unarrayed for a cavalry charge, preferring instead protection from the cold and armor more fitting for battling infantry or at most, uncharging horsemen.

Aided by the Lady, your knights pounded through the foliage, and fell upon them like death, themselves shocked and broken. The sons of Courronne accept no-one their greater as horsemasters for a reason-- any one of you, from the slightest matron to the greatest knight, can outride Ungol, Kurgan, or the Arabyans-- your horses, too, are the finest flesh in the world.

And so it was that you, leading them, simply maneuvered past or crushed the trees under hoof, slamming into soldiers entirely unprepared for the charge. They faded swiftly, the sun suddenly glinting into their eyes as your mighty horn roared death-- and dismayed, they killed only a few before breaking.

The Basileus died on the field, your sword plunged into his heart.
Reward: Removed Basileus as threat, -25 Knights

A Tight Watch: Your knights represent a potent force-- their levies form the backbones of your army, their retinues being the infantry line and more. They must be held to the highest standard possible. Edwige, bless her, knows much of this combat on foot, being most practiced from her days aboard the long ships of her father; have her see to the training of these infantrymen in battle.

-Despite having only one eye, it seems Edwige sees everything. Including where knights have fallen short in their training. When she is not busy helping to repair her own fief of Sonnetal, she travels, reprimanding those knights who need it, educating others as well. Whatever the men-at-arms bare in their varied liveries and forms, she trains them in its proper use-- having been forced into wielding those weapons herself, more than once. Spears-- Viktoria helps here-- swords, axes, hammers-- Augusta helps there-- she trains these men into a force capable of taking a charge and dishing it out, as well as generally standing against the foe.

Reward: men-at-arms trained to high standard

Diplomacy: Your wife, being ambitious, decisive, and well-known for having your ear, has, obviously, traveled in many the same circles as other ambitious, decisive individuals. This is, in fact, part of why the Tileans came to you-- it seems many of their generals were once healed in the same temple as Lisanor volunteered in, and as such they know at least a little of her...as do many other movers and shakers throughout the Old World.

Breton-Caliphate Alliance: Widely known is your name-- the bane of Mallobaude, the doom of Orcs, the Norscan Traveler. All lands west of the Mountain of Mourn know (Of) you. Including the new Caliph of Araby, Yusuf Ibn Sabbur, bane of the Wandering Horde, Enemy of Chaos, Friend of Bretons. He wishes to expand into the Badlands, to bring the humans there under his umbrella-- but must fight the orcs.

Coincidentally, you will also have to fight the orcs. Perhaps the two of you can...work something out?

-Between your peoples, there is a river of blood. The Arabyans invaded Estalia, conquered near the whole peninsula-- brought that fine country to heel. They marched as far north as Sibourne, plundering as they did-- only the King himself, brave Louis the Righteous, did battle them, force them to stop and come to the aid of invaded Estalia. If he had failed, there would be no more the love of Lady.

Your crusaders went south. They lost the way. They slaughtered women and children, dishonored themselves in battle. Aided the Empire in its crimes. Turned against the laws of both man and faith in the name of simple lucre, like basest trader.

But Grimgor...Grimgor is larger than either of you.

Suffice to say, it is not a popular move to call upon the Arabyans for aid. No doubt the same is true for the Caliph-- a risk for one so newly empowered in state.

But essential. Elsewise all die.

These Arabyans are odd monotheists, but in their darkest, most terrible hour, they could not match the savagery of these orcs.

The alliance itself is simple enough. He desires command of the Badlands, and so an oath that you shall not claim it-- you've no thirst for it either way, so it was an easy enough deal to make.

In return, the two of you have formulated two points for the plan:

1. Coordinating raids-- you on your chevauchee do deeply plunder the lands of the orcs of what meager wealth does exist, and he on his razzia does much the same, growing in scale as you weaken the ages old foe. However, this has occasionally led to inefficiency, the two of striking already picked clean areas-- or else he expands north towards the forest of Bralagor and the Heliopolis. By sending him maps of your route and he yours, you can both do much more damage to the orcs-- as well as concentrate your efforts.

2. Mutual Aid-- If the orcs invade your lands, very swiftly an army of Arabyan soldiers will strike at him from the south, and if Grimgor should invade the lands of Araby, you will come from the north. Either Grimgor must split his force in twain to face both of you, or else present a weakened face to one or the other.

Further, this treaty represents the first formal cooperation between the Arabyans and Bretonnia in a very long time. Which may, itself, in time prove to be the best reward; it's a dangerous world, after all-- everybody needs friends.
Reward: Defense Treaty with Araby, coordinate raiding efforts

Securing the Holdouts: Cabanal and Mentreda are both native cities of the Badlands. Unfortunately, their current rulers have little love of you and of Bretonnians now, for the actions of your brother do sully all good names.

Fortunately, there is a legal challenge for the title of Arconte: Trial by Combat. You can beat them, take control, legally and above board-- and bind them to you, here and now. It's inelegant, and far from your preferred position, but it must be done.

-The lord of Cabanal was a vicious old warrior, a hoplite-- but past his glory days long ago; and youth and vigor are far the superior of age and cunning. You defeated him honestly, and he has gone to Estalia to battle the forces of Chaos there, seeking glory in death.

Mentreda was more...interesting.

A pirate was king there, lord of a mighty brown water fleet. He almost gutted you half-a-dozen times, if not more, though the Lady's grace did you guard you of harm. Eventually you cut the bastard's head off his shoulders, and that seems to have been the end of that.

Said navy has disappeared. Coincidentally, a small riverine flotilla has arrived in Estalia to fight against Chaos. Utterly unrelated, surely.

Stewardship: The cities must be repaired, and prepared, for Orcish aggression. While they must recover from the body blow you handed them, when their vengeance comes it will be...terrible.

Hon-Hon-Hound: This new armor Asger has invented is fantastic-- but he needs to teach others how; to build forges; and to ready the logistical trail necessary for large-scale production. Though the starting cost will be huge, it is worth it: imagine a whole charge of Bretonnian knights, clad in plate, bullets bouncing from both steel and mystic love. You could shred a dwarf gunline like cheap parchment, never mind crashing through orcish nonsense-- it would be a slaughtering ground of green bodies and broken stone, a feast for crows never before seen at the hands of Breton men.

And to think, all of this started because you couldn't stop getting stabbed.

-Though Breton chain can be crafted finer, and at least as, if not more protective than any plate-- capable of turning aside arrow and sword alike, and more the flexible as well. It's expensive in man hours and resources though-- as well as money, though you don't give a damn for that.

This new sort of armor, this Breton plate and hound helm, is still expensive in resources-- but compared to the fine metal threading required for the heaviest chain? It is nothing, as far as time goes. Which means more armor. Which means more knights. Which means more Chivalry.

The best damn feedback loop you've ever heard of starts here.

First, though, you have to actually train numbers of blacksmiths in how to build the stuff.

You also probably shouldn't expect it to replace all other sort of armor-- there are plenty of cases where a good set of chain is more than sufficient.

Heldegrad Repairs: So it turns out the letters you received before you left for Norsca were from Heldegrad, a small city to your west. It seems a Tong Warlord had taken overlordship of the town, old and withered enough to be afraid of a true warrior, a true challenge-- but not so old and withered that the town could defeat him without terrible losses.

However, Sir Leroche could. The damage, though, was still severe-- better, in the long run, then feeding their children to the thing, but bad. The city has pledged itself to you, taken Sir Leroche as its knight. It requires...rebuilding.

-The people of Heldegrad are distantly related to the people of Kislev, speaking a similar language.

This is important mostly because, beyond an alphabet and said language, they are also almost as stubborn about excepting aid. So this might take a while to see done. Less time and with more uniform results than if you didn't have your architect, though.

Piety: Emma no longer sees on this lowly temporal plane-- rather, her sight, now is defined by the winds of magic and the blessing of the Lady.

Shallya Protects the Sick: Lisanor and the Physician's Guild have prepared a tag-team response to help heal the sick in your lands. While normally the two bicker, here and now they see burned out warehouses and homes and have decided to fight no longer.

In this case, Lisanor would take the lead.

-Small houses of healing, staffed by members of the Physicians Guild and members of the cult of Shallya-- more commonly, the latter-- have sprouted up throughout your city, fed by the gold and charming words of your wife, whose tongue skips gold to become aether. There is actually something somewhat funny about this-- inspired by stories of the White-Dove Prince, more men are joining the cult. It is still mostly women, but now you can expect to see at least one man in these small stations, instead of only just women.

In any case, more of your people are living healthier, happier lives.

Reward: +1 Opinion, +1 Stability, +50 Gold

Breton Artifacts: When the Empire expanded, it also expanded into Bretonnia-- and much of your people's culture and artifacts were brought here, their symbols of the gods. Plenty of these artifacts made their way into the former Lichtenstein, then abandoned once the Empire retreated into the Imperial Core. While most artifacts in the core have been recovered, few Bretonnians have maintained as long lasting a grip on so much of the Borderlands.

Your father would be grave happy if you were to recover some of these artifacts. As would Emma, which is also probably a good idea.
Needed:40 Rolled:6

-You didn't find shit.

Except for a pit filled with, of all things, mutated orcs.

Which then proceeded to bleed all over you.

Putain--


Personal: Grimgor is coming. This you know, undoubtedly and without question. You, not the Generic You but You, Bohort de Courronne, son of Louen Leoncouer and foe of evil, must be ready for what is to come.

Publishing It: You made plenty of notes on how to carry out your Chevauchee-- dozens of pieces of parchment, journals, and inkwells were sacrificed, plotting out logistical trains, tropp numbers, maneuvers, and so on. The Imperial War College, Myrmidian Academy in Carcassonne, and even a collector from Nippon-- are all interested in purchasing a collated edition. It should also be considered that looking back over said notes may sharpen your grasp on war even more, as you compare what happened in the field-- where mistakes were made-- with the purest theory and sharpen that theory.

- It's not a great book by any stretch-- you're a warrior, not a writer-- but it is readable and well explains your thinking and strategy as you plotted out your great raids against the orcs. You might be concerned, but you're reasonably certain none of the greenskins can read.

In any case, the Myrmidian colleges have agreed to give you a cut of every sale.
(+10 Gold)

Lead More Raids: Slaughter more orcs. Drive deep into the Badlands, save as many as you can, burn and liberate. Much loot, much glory, and much renown awaits you and your body of handpicked men there! You have already stung his ugly face-- it's not as if he can become much more wrathful. Hell to him-- you're going to fight him, weaken him, more, here and now.
Needed: 10 Rolled: 10

-The orcs are getting better. They actually had patrols near the river to stop you from crossing, positioned such that charging from horseback would be impossible, a thin break in the rock-wall the only entrance there.

Unfortunately, they did not consider that your bowmen would flank them from atop the rocks and rain death until they resembled hedgehogs more than anything. To be fair, they had a pretty god reason for that-- it was only by luck you had bowmen peti enough to have enough space to get enough power to pierce their armor. You maybe really probably should look into Arbalests at some point.

But, you did make it in, and you did slaughter yet more orcs as well as rescuing more slaves. You also destroyed a monument to Gork and Mork that came alive by the foul Waaagh! energies harnessed within.

Suffice to say, it was pretty kickass.
(+100 Gold from loot, +400 Prestige)

 

[Voikirium]

Old World News Turn 6


Bretonnia

The Knights March Off to War: March they, the lords of Bordeleaux, to the boughs and the dark places of the Forest of Chalons. March they, the warriors called, under Lady's banner, to bring that place to peace. To force it into light. There is a much different energy over that force, which refuses to bend or to break. As though there is something there, something strange and terrible-- or sacred and profound.

In any case, they have already slaughtered manifold number of Beast and undead alike.

The End of the War: Your sister is stable. Not healed, but there is nothing left to aid her but time-- and her condition is much improved from the sorry state it was in after the Marienburgers finished their work.

And so Louen Leoncouer, the greatest knight and king your land has seen in centuries, fell on the Marienburgers like the hippogryphs he rides. Never mind the Lord Cassyon or Folcard or Roland-- he alone might have brought the Marienburgers to heel.

It was, despite all things, actually a tense battle. They fought well, the Marienburgers, as well as might be expected when a band of mercenaries against the most dangerous force the Old World has yet produced.

But they still lost. Pushed back over the River Reik into solely Marienburg the wastelands over the river. Trundling trebuchet, mighty Damsel and fearsome Grail Knight alike-- in numbers unseen since the days of the Crusade-- did make their way into the wastes, thousands strong, under the command of some of the greatest knights you have ever known (and Roland).

By the end of the month, the Emperor was hosting peace talks as Marienburg fortress after fortress fell, and an assault was made ready on the city itself. Before it could come to that, though, a peace was made, a quick, decisive one.

All Marienburg lands west of the Reik now belong to Bretonnia. And all it took was the death of thousands. And the maiming of your sister.

To hell with Roland. To hell with his ambitions.

On the Backfoot: A notable number of knights and soldiers of Bretonnia have been aiding the resistance forces on Albion against Imperial aggression and colonization-- not aided by the king, but neither condemned. They have proven one of the larger pains for the Imperial forces therein, turning what should have been an easy battle to a stalemate-- perhaps even a slow, grinding defeat.

However, with the transition of Norscan efforts from a manpower intensive, grand battle situation to a more long term occupation utilizing far more Norscan auxiliaries from the Ulricans, thousands of Northern Imperials have made the journey to Albion seeking their own land there.

While a truce has been established between the Human forces on the Island, in order that they can both focus on removing the Dark Elves and Orcs, this is not a long-term position favorable to your kin. Particularly when more will die in the fight.

The Empire

Blood-Stained Sands: Luitpold and his new bride have finally begun their assault on the layer of Grashnak, well armed and well provisioned. They have begun by attempting to take the Entrance, a filth littered hole leading into the center of the layer. While not the largest Goblin hole, it is far from the smallest-- it will require caution.

Northern Up Risings: And now the other shoe falls. The Norscans are, whatever other lower qualities they have, not a bunch well suited to being broken. Supply trains are disappearing, soldiers are never making it to their posts, and collaborators are disappearing in the woods. While it's not much compared to the earlier stages of the war, it will almost certainly prove to be a constant drain to Middenland-- exactly the sort of situation the Grafin must not have.

Suffice to say, all is not well.

Imperial Maneuvering: Despite their current alliance to deal with the Norscan situation, the Von Raukovs of Ostland have longly plotted to escape the shadows of Middenland.

Because of the current power of Middenland, Reikland does seek to acquire more, dependable, aid.

The entire Empire aside from the merchants of Averland desire to have that Gordian Knot cut.

And so a deal was struck. Members of the House of Franz and Von Raukov, also distantly related to the Averland nobility, were found-- the Emperor's nephew Joseph by his sister and her husband, a member of the house of Alpstraum; and Ravenna von Raukov, his third daughter. They were married by the grand theogenist's hands, in full view of man and gods.

And then they marched to Averland at the head of an army 30,000 strong, and were crowned as Count and Countess von Alpstraum, lord and lady of Averland.

What is wrong with the Empire?

Sylvania Revolts: A rebellion has broken out in the land of Sylvania-- not one of Vampires, but of man. Led by Constantin, a low-born rebel, he has decreed Independence from Stirland and taken the title of Hospodar, the traditional ruler therein-- though his messengers have assured the Emperor he desires to remain within "Sigmar's blest Empire, great uniter of man," all of the usual Imperial pompery.

As nobody likes the lords of Stirland, the Empire is already manpower-hungry, and this is not an uprising of vampires, the Count Haupt-Anderssen has been forced to fight this battle alone-- perhaps easier said than done.

Estalia

A King Falls: The king of Bibali is dead, rather like you predicted. Your brother killed him with his bare hands at the height of battle, driving his lance through the Estalian plate. So passes the King of Portigelle and Bibali-- already his lands drift into anarchy.

Consolidation: Maullobaude has slowed his pace down, inching ever onward towards his next conquered village, falling on the defenders like a plague. Sans the king to rally and unify them, the nobles are breaking down.

Skaven Killer: Your brother is not that great at sharing, apparently: Every time he has stumbled on the few Skaven burrows in the country-- recently made in the anarchy of his arrival, usually the Skaven can have no foothold on either southern peninsula- he has entered with his vampiric entourage and slain every last one of the filthy rats.

Evil hates competition, I suppose.

Tilea

Quiet. Too Quiet: Nothing is happening, and that's never a great sign on the most chaotic area in the Old World. Something stupid is certainly brewing.

Kislev

Pushing Onward: Never again will the forces of Chaos be fed by the foundries of the Chaos Dwarfs. The Tzarina's army moves towards that empire, grinding down the enemy power day in and day out, mighty Kislevite cannons pounding on the walls of the dark city.

An Imperial Marriage: Tzarina Katarin Bokha has, in the desire to gain an heir and continue her work in the name of Kislev, married-- of all people, a member of the minor Imperial House Von Hapsburg.

Gunnery School: Maurits van Zwart, a minor nobleman and mercenary in Marienburg, has fled to Kislev and opened a gunnery school in the Tzarina's service, which shall hopefully much improve their skill at war.

Wood Elves

Beastmen Slaughtered: Those few Wood Elves who speak with outsiders say that the Beastmen, though vicious this year and much trained in Norscan battles, have been roundly repelled from the forests and glades.

Skirmishing With the Dwarfs: Scouts report Wood Elf and Dwarf conflict as the Dwarfs of the Gray Mountains attempted to intrude upon Athel Loren-- or a smaller forest, but still near and dear to the Asrai, the report isn't quite clear-- for lumber and were, bloodily and costily, repelled.

Reclaimed Treasure: The Wood Elves reclaimed a number of magical weapons from the beastmen they fought, whether originally elfen and stolen by those beasts or beastman and simply turned to nobler purpose.

Dwarfs

Skaven Winning: For long years has the force of Dwarfs at Karak Eightpeaks battled with Skaven and Goblin alike, seeking to reclaim that ancient hold from their old enemies, the Goblins and the Ratmen.

Well, the good news is there are no more goblins in Karak Eightpeaks. The bad news is, it's because a nearly limitless number of Skaven boiled up from the depths, led by their most fearsome warrior: Queek Headtaker, who ate Skarsnik still kicking. It seems the Ratmen are feeling...pressured, and so lashing out as rats do. They fed that thing a heady brew of darkest magic and foul warpstone, and now it strides the lands a behemoth-- it will die soon, this Queek, but until it does, it might be, short of the Green Knight, the deadliest thing on the planet.

(You'd go fight it, but the Orcs have your full attention)

The dwarfs are settling in for a long, unhappy siege.

Reinforcements Coming: An army of Knights Errant led by Einhard, joined by a force from the Empire led by Kurt Helborg, and even of High Elves led by Tyrion, is making its way to aid the dwarfs against their ancestral enemy.

The Way is Shut: The Skaven, wielding blackest magic, have lashed shut the paths between the Dwarf realms and those of men, causing terrible avalanches and so on which do bind shut the mountain passes. Though the magic can be undone, it will take time-- time the dwarfs do not have.

High Elves

Reclaiming Treasure: The Phoenix King himself, proud Finubar, led a small fleet in a raid against the Druchii, attacking the city of Karond Kar as its master was out on campaign against the Northmen. Manifold slaves were freed, the docks were burnt to the ground after being looted of everything of worth, and nobles estates too had their all taken-- many magical artifacts lost since the Sundering were reclaimed that day in fire and blood-- though they seem oddly drawn to a bizarre, dragon shaped bauble, found in the home of some unknown witch.

Tyrion and Teclis March: Though the Elves and Dwarfs do detest each other, they both detest the Skaven at least a bit more-- and so that noblest elf prince and prickliest elf sorcerer do ride to the aid of the Dawi against the Ratmen.

Reprisal: In an effort to punish the Asur for their victory, the Druchii have begun raiding even more fervently, forcing the king to turn more ships to protecting the sea-lanes.
--
I am a machine

 

[Voikirium]

The Westmark

The Empire was not always as ossified, archaic and outmoded as it was before the Franzian Renaissance. For the first few centuries of its existence, it was a mighty, expansionist power- and near the top of their list were the wealthy, disunited Bretonni lands to the west- especially the Pegasi and Hippogryphs of the mountains.

So, from the very beginning of the fourth century to near the end of the ninth the Westmark was established. It was never the largest Province- at its greatest extent, barely reaching into what is now Quenelles, though that was for barely two decades- but the heartland of Montfort and Parravon was to a great extent Imperialized.

In 878, however things changed- for one of the mightier Orc warlords of the era swept down from the mountains. The Empire abandoned the Westmark then, for a time, leaving them to fight- and die- on their own. Duke Charles of Montfort and Duke Jacques of Parravon, the fathers of Martrud and Agilgar, rallied the defenses and, in the end, won.

When the Empire attempted to return and reclaim the Westmark, they went to war for their freedom, calling on their men-at-arms, smaller in number but much the more veteran. Jacques fought valianly, Jacques fought nobly, Jacques fought honorably. And Jacques won.

Charles, on the other hand? A vicious bastard, hippogryph mounted and blood thirsty for the Imperials- why, none can say. Nevertheless he so etched himself as a figure of terror and blood that to this day the Imperials refuse to ride the same mount as he. His son was so disgusted that he himself dueled him for the duchy, and set them to the path they now follow.

This has had two repercussions in the modern era. Firstly, despite this somewhat acrimonious history the former Westmark remains the friendliest part of Bretonnia to the Empire, as well as the only part with a significant Imperial minority- indeed many in that country speak the Reikspiel as their mother tongue.

Secondly, on occasion someone claiming descent of the last Duke of Westmark will arise in the Empire- there are even rumors of such in the court of Middenland as a potential weapon to dissuade you from more fully showing your anger with their brutal stupidity and stupid brutality. You know not the truth, but it is would not be great should those rumors prove true.
--
Just wanted to put something down for tonight.

 

[Voikirium]

Turn 7: Peace Is Fleeting

2524, Month 1

The streets are alive once more. The evil that did longly shadow Mortensholm is passed, dragged into the light of day. Things have returned to some sense of normalcy for the city-- there are more Bretonnians, more migrants here, now, than there were before the orcs, but still, the city is back to life. Woodsmen trundle to and from the city, bringing lumber and firewood for the bitter cold winter which surely awaits you all, and hunters too make ready their wares of fur and meat.

A light dusting of snow has fallen on you, a portent of what is to come. A normal winter, and all the normal evils that come with it.

You are Lisanor de Courronne, Baseila of Khypris. The daughter of an adventurer and a common mercenary, raised by Shallyans and servant of her. Your battles lie not with blade but with the mundane evils: hunger, thirst, plague and poverty. Nowhere are they stronger than in the Borderlands, the place of your birth.

It has taken you time, time to marshal together the forces to do battle with them effectively. Decades to plan.

But, walking through the city, coin purse in one hand and food bundle in the other, you find that perhaps, you can finally battle them. Though your pregnancy has begun to show and to slow you some, you can still do this thing.

Finally you arrive where you planned to be. A ramshackle hovel, built from scraps. Perhaps the poorest family in this city. The father died back in the Orc war, and who wants to hire a woman who might called away to deal with his triplets?

You knock on the door. It opens, revealing an olive skinned, black-haired woman, perhaps a decade older than you. At first she doesn't recognize-- but the moment she does, she drops her wine bottle, and it shatters on the floor-- cheap stuff, not worth much but a warmth in these cold times.

"May I eat with you?"

There's a small shank of deer in the fire, slowly cooking. It doesn't smell great, but it's food, and it's hot, and it fills a belly for hours, and that counts for much in these cold winters. The kids are huddled around it for warmth, ignoring you entirely. Which is fine, really.

"Of...of course, Baseila."

And with that, you settle down on the floor by them, waiting until it's time to eat.

After ten minutes of silence, one of them-- a girl, maybe seven or eight-- looks at you and asks a question: "Why are you fat?"

There's silence, an absolute vacuum of human noise-- only the fire's crack break the still. His mother is glaring at her with eyes that would kill if they could. Her siblings are aping her, without understanding. She is still innocently staring at you with a child's eyes, uncomprehending.

A big, bellyful laugh breaks the still as you chortle, chuckle, snort and you just about break down. Tears stream from your eyes, drop to the floor, make spots in the dust. Objectively, of course, it might not be that funny-- but then, what about humor is objective? "She can explain that when you're older, boy."

That breaks the tension like glass. It's still fairly silent without much speaking, but it's a friendlier, companionable silence. Finally, perhaps half-an-hour after you arrived, you eat-- it's not great, just a simple hunk of deer, but it is filling.

You part with a simple goodbye; and sans one of your money purses, left behind where you had been sitting.

Happy new year.


Martial: Your army must be grown. The retinues must swell, the forces arrayed at your side be made flawless. Grimgor comes-- nothing less is acceptable.
(Pick 2)

[] Fortarc: You'd be dead if that orc had brought another wyvern rider. You need some way to ground such beasts, that you might face them in honorable combat instead of having them gang up on you like common bandits. A hundred bolts of silverine-tipped, armor-piercing death roaring through the skies would probably suffice. Training an Arbalest isn't that hard-- you'd estimate a month? Particularly considering there are Tileans now in the city, who can both fill the ranks and help train your men. You'd say by the end of the month they'll be green, but still-- workable.
Cost: 400 Gold

Reward: 10 Units of Arbalests

[] Contract: You can call up thousands of archers, sure, but the number wobbles and varies and...ulgh. It's annoying, particularly considering what your greater duty out here is. Which is when one of your Khyprisian subjects gives an idea: contracts. Specifically, hire a small core of men-- say, 500-- to be, at least, regulars? Training on the seventh day and so on, in return for extra wages-- higher, even, than the usual offered to Bowmen-- coming with you on campaign no matter the season-- and too, there are other niggling thoughts in your head.

It's new, and different-- but also, certainly, bold.
Cost: 400 Gold, permanent Upkeep

Reward: 50 Units of Bowmen with Villein Officers

[] A Fine Tourney: While the infantry line has never been as weak as the Imperials would have you believe, the strength of Bretonnia has always been in its cavalry-- in the pounding of hooves on the sand and the crash of lance through leather; in the braying of beasts in the air and the hippogriffs cry in air. Why meddle with a good thing?

Instead, throw constant tournies, to both sharpen the skills of your knights to the highest level-- and to act as recruitment for new knights seeking their fortunes in your land.
Cost: 300 Gold

Reward: Knightly Recruitment Drive, +Improvement to Knight Quality

[] Beasts of the Sky--Hippogriff Riders: Fine beasts, terrible beasts-- as wrathful as you could ever desire, ever ravenous for Orc flesh, unwilling to flee from any battle, and more vicious than 10,000 Dragons, the Hippogriff is a frightful beast indeed. Your father has entire retinue of knights trained in riding them, and more are born every day from his menagerie. Honor is getting long in the tooth for battle-- your father has already nearly lost one child; he would not desire to lose another.

You will ask him to send a full contingent-- 160 Knights-- as well as a suitable beast to tame and train.
Cost: 1 Royal Favor

Reward: Royal Hippogryph Contingent (160 Royal Hippogryph Knights), 1 Hippogryph Hatchling

[] Beasts of the Sky--Pegasi Riders: Lisanor does find Hippogriffs a somewhat frightening beast--particularly when she is with child. More than that, she and even you feel some companionship with Pegasi, much the nobler beasts. Smarter than Hippogriffs, if not quite as strong or as savage-- or for that matter, as terrifying-- this is made up for by said Pegasi being more even tempered, easily trained, and easily fed.

On the other hand, Hippogriffs do make cleaning up after the battle easier...
Cost: 1 Royal Favor

Reward: Royal Pegasi Contingent (480 Royal Pegasi Knight), 1 Pegasus Hatchling

[] More Men: Your own retinue is not the largest in your lands. This is not, generally, a good situation to be. Fortunately, there are plenty of young men ready and willing to march and fight and die at your call-- whether because they believe in you, or for a better future, or for other reasons, you know not; but you do know that a warrior is a warrior. Send to them, call them, train them, arm them, and be done with it.
Cost: 300 gold

Reward: 2700 Men At Arms, 300 Yeomen Wardens

[] Hobilar Hoedown: Raiders and light cavalry trained in the Albion way of war. Though there is something unchivalrous in their methods, the orcs are unworthy of the higher echelons of chivalry. Further, with how often you have raided them, you need some men trained in those ways. Have men hired and brought to you for this thing, trained in that way as they are; and then laugh as you raid the orcs even more effectively.
Cost: 500 Gold

Reward: 40 Hobilar, 10 Chevauchee Officers

[] Ride With Donat: Sir Donat is, no doubt, a doldrums idiot with all the virtue, self-awareness, and depth of mind of a pancake; the wisdom of youth and the energy of old age; the charisma of an ugly gold fish. But he does still reign in Lexopos, where iron can be pulled out with your bare hands and the horses are quick and smart. So, much as it pains you to say it, it looks like you're stuck helping him.

A massive band of goblins has infested his lands. Remove them, and he will join you.
Cost: 500 Prestige (Imagine, helping somebody you detest)

Reward: Lexopos becomes a vassal

[] You can suggest something else, though Edwige might not like it:
Write in, -Opinion, Gold decided on later

Diplomacy: Your wife, being ambitious, decisive, and well-known for having your ear, has, obviously, traveled in many the same circles as other ambitious, decisive individuals. This is, in fact, part of why the Tileans came to you-- it seems many of their generals were once healed in the same temple as Lisanor volunteered in, and as such they know at least a little of her...as do many other movers and shakers throughout the Old World.

[] Southland Sons: Ouati, the Southlander prince, has been tight lipped about his home country except that it is a mighty empire, perhaps even rivaling that thing of Sigmar's to the east. You could ask him about it; or some of the traders?
Cost:???

Reward:???

[] Imperial Tendencies: You are not an Empire-- that is to say, you don't want to stick your flag on bits and pieces of land just because they exist. However, the Borderlands are yours. The Lady has told you to unify them, and you will not fail. Making this more clear to the other Great Power in your neck of the woods, the Empire, through their princess currently in your city would probably help make things at least a little bit more pleasant.
Cost: 50 gold

Reward: Empire less inclined to try and Empire in your neck of the woods, for at least the time being

[] Albion Conference: Albion is...well, eight years of war has somehow made the place more pleasant than when you all first arrived. You have no great interest in the place. That said, apparently a coalition of Breton and Albion warriors has been making life hell for the other powers on the Isle, greenskin, dark elf, Norscan, Firmir, and the Empire alike. If it doesn't in a skirt or on a horse, they've been killing it (except the lizardmen, because the lizardmen usually kill them).

You don't particularly want to conquer Albion. But they don't know that. The Imperials do want to conquer Albion, and you can be sure of that-- it's one of their only sources of various metals, gunpowder components, and at least three gold mines. Therefor, having you swear an oath not to, say, parley that Breton warrior and his band of misfits into an attempt to take the isles is probably worth some concessions. At least a tit-for-tat, of them promising not to attempt to meddle in the borderlands.

Only problem is, your father may not be thrilled by the thought of this promise. Still, he owes you enough to, at least, accept it.
Cost: 1 Royal favor

Reward: Some sort of treaty with Empire (North), undoubtedly slanted in your favor.

[] The Republic's Reputation: The Republic of Remas may be small-- but it has many soldiers, and is friendly to you. Though much of its military is currently in Sartosa, there may be something they can do to help you-- the same way you are helping them.
Cost: 50 Gold

Chance Of Success: 50%

Reward: Aid from Remas

[] Asur Trade: The High Elves have longly considered Bretonnia-- and longly been considered by Bretonnia-- friends.. They like pretty shit, you like pretty shit; they have wizards of unimaginable power, you have wizards of unimaginable power; their navy is number 1, yours is number 2, with both fulfilling much the same purpose; so on and so forth. However, trade between your people has been limited, at best, due to the Marienburgers being Marienburgers.

Fortunately, they are unlikely to be relevant very soon, the lawbreaking dipshits. Send an envoy to make contact with Ulthuan.
Cost: 125 Gold

Chance Of Success: 80%

Reward: Start Trading with Asur

[] Asrai Trade: The Wood Elves are much the kinder than the Empire claims-- but that does not make them friendly. Shrouded in mystery, they say the Wood Elves and Bretons once were allies, strong and fast-- but if so, that has long faded. Your neighbors are a fearsome bunch-- but there is a benevolence to them.

In any case, even they must desire something. However, they trade with noone on a large scale-- only a few merchants, plying the larger cities; what they might desire is not obvious to you or to anyone, though with your luck it will be something utterly innocuous and obvious in hindsight.
Cost: 250 Gold

Chance Of Success:40%

Reward: Trade with Wood Elves

[] Arabyan Trade: The states of Araby and the Realm of Bretonnia have longly battled, ill at ease with each other. No trade flowed directly between you. But now you are allies, friends against the dark-- against the Green tide. What aids you aids him, and what aids him aids you. You can, even just now, send expeditions by river to those lands which are rich-- why not? For wars longly passed? For grudges centuries old? Such is fit only for Dwarfs.
Cost: 50 Prestige

Reward: More trade with Araby

Stewardship: The cities must be repaired, and prepared, for Orcish aggression. While they must recover from the body blow you handed them, when their vengeance comes it will be...terrible.

Hon-Hon-Hound: This new armor Asger has invented is fantastic-- but he needs to teach others how; to build forges; and to ready the logistical trail necessary for large-scale production. Though the starting cost will be huge, it is worth it: imagine a whole charge of Bretonnian knights, clad in plate, bullets bouncing from both steel and mystic love. You could shred a dwarf gunline like cheap parchment, never mind crashing through orcish nonsense-- it would be a slaughtering ground of green bodies and broken stone, a feast for crows never before seen at the hands of Breton men.

And to think, all of this started because you couldn't stop getting stabbed.
(Locked for 3 more turns)


[] Heldegrad Repairs: So it turns out the letters you received before you left for Norsca were from Heldegrad, a small city to your west. It seems a Tong Warlord had taken overlordship of the town, old and withered enough to be afraid of a true warrior, a true challenge-- but not so old and withered that the town could defeat him without terrible losses.

However, Sir Leroche could. The damage, though, was still severe-- better, in the long run, then feeding their children to the thing, but bad. The city has pledged itself to you, taken Sir Leroche as its knight. It requires...rebuilding.
(Locked for 2 more Turns)

Piety: Emma no longer sees on this lowly temporal plane-- rather, her sight, now is defined by the winds of magic and the blessing of the Lady.
(Pick 2)

[] Don't You Lie: Tielo Von Untergard, an Imperial explorer, reports that he has found, in the ancient city of the Amazons, some sort of Bretonnian artifact. You doubt it, but it's not impossible-- just, at worst, quite nearly so. Even if it isn't true, it may be an interesting piece.
Cost: 100 Gold

Chance of Success:???

Reward: Artifact

[] Imperial Artifacts: The Empire once extended its reach even this far south, though they are long gone now. While you have no love of the Empire's gods, you do not think there is anybody on the planet who deserves to have their sacred places plundered and kept of them (Greenskins and Norscan don't count, on account of they have no sacred places). Beyond that, it will help you make friends with these imperial Braggarts.
Cost: 100 Gold

Chance of Success: 50%

Reward: Improved Imperial Opinion, Potential Minor Imperial Favor

[] Breton Artifacts: When the Empire expanded, it also expanded into Bretonnia-- and much of your people's culture and artifacts were brought here, their symbols of the gods. Plenty of these artifacts made their way into the former Lichtenstein, then abandoned once the Empire retreated into the Imperial Core. While most artifacts in the core have been recovered, few Bretonnians have maintained as long lasting a grip on so much of the Borderlands.

Your father would be grave happy if you were to recover some of these artifacts. As would Emma, which is also probably a good idea.
Cost: 100 Gold

Chance of Success: 60%

Reward: 1 Royal Favor

[] Lost Treasure: Marcel de Parravon, of the Ducal Family of Parravon (Surprise of Surprise), died about thirteen years ago against the Lizard Beastmen of Lustria while attempting to colonize a land for your people there, Bregonne. It was a stupid plan, a bad plan, one utterly unthoughtthrough and dishonorable. However, he had with him one of the artifacts of your people, an enchanted shield once borne by Agilgar into battle.

Though the trek be dangerous and the Lizardmen foul, reclaiming that shield would be a great deed.
Cost: 100 Gold

Chance of Success: 35%

Reward: Recover Shield of Agilgar

[] Blind and Yet Seeing: Emma speaks of a great shift in the winds of magic, towards the north and towards foul magic; she speaks, thus, of unwell things in Naggaroth. She has requested your aid in certain rituals which will allow her to discover the meaning of these shifts, what has changed and what has not.
Cost: Free

Chance Of Success:???

Reward: Intel

Personal: Grimgor is coming. This you know, undoubtedly and without question. You, not the Generic You but You, Bohort de Courronne, son of Louen Leoncouer and foe of evil, must be ready for what is to come.
(Pick 2)

[] Lead More Raids: Slaughter more orcs. Drive deep into the Badlands, save as many as you can, burn and liberate. Much loot, much glory, and much renown awaits you and your body of handpicked men there! You have already stung his ugly face-- it's not as if he can become much more wrathful. Hell to him-- you're going to fight him, weaken him, more, here and now.
Cost: 50 Gold

Chance of Success: 90%

Reward: Much glory, much loot, much renown

[] Curious About Cathay: Shui Tu, one of the explorers/court officials the Emperor of Cathay has sent to hire an army of mercenaries, is currently traveling through the Borderlands. Why not see if he would like to stop and chat? It is not often, after all, that someone from that strange land makes it so far west.
Cost: 100 Gold

Reward: ???

[] Spend Time With Lisanor: She is your wife. You were gone throughout her whole pregnancy. That simply is not kosher, does not fly, and aught not be left unchallenged. Spend extra time with her now.
Cost: Free

Reward: Spend More time with wife, ???

[] Training: You have a fancy new magic sword. While, by most qualities, it is simply a fancy magic sword, it feels as though there is something you are not understanding, do not comprehend, some hidden power within that you have not grasped.

More time spent wielding it in training might help.
Cost: Free

Chance Of Success:???

Reward: Greater Grasp of the Sword???

[] Birthday Celebration: Hàkon, poor boy, has settled in somewhat to this new land; but it is his birthday this month, and you'd like it to be a very happy one after all he's seen and suffered. Try, at least.
Cost: 25 Gold

Reward: Happy birthday for Hàkon, ???
--
Thought I'd try something different for the entrance text thingy up top for a change.

 

[Voikirium]

Turn 7: Peace Is Fleeting

2524, Month 1

The streets are alive once more. The evil that did longly shadow Mortensholm is passed, dragged into the light of day. Things have returned to some sense of normalcy for the city-- there are more Bretonnians, more migrants here, now, than there were before the orcs, but still, the city is back to life. Woodsmen trundle to and from the city, bringing lumber and firewood for the bitter cold winter which surely awaits you all, and hunters too make ready their wares of fur and meat.

A light dusting of snow has fallen on you, a portent of what is to come. A normal winter, and all the normal evils that come with it.

You are Lisanor de Courronne, Baseila of Khypris. The daughter of an adventurer and a common mercenary, raised by Shallyans and servant of her. Your battles lie not with blade but with the mundane evils: hunger, thirst, plague and poverty. Nowhere are they stronger than in the Borderlands, the place of your birth.

It has taken you time, time to marshal together the forces to do battle with them effectively. Decades to plan.

But, walking through the city, coin purse in one hand and food bundle in the other, you find that perhaps, you can finally battle them. Though your pregnancy has begun to show and to slow you some, you can still do this thing.

Finally you arrive where you planned to be. A ramshackle hovel, built from scraps. Perhaps the poorest family in this city. The father died back in the Orc war, and who wants to hire a woman who might called away to deal with his triplets?

You knock on the door. It opens, revealing an olive skinned, black-haired woman, perhaps a decade older than you. At first she doesn't recognize-- but the moment she does, she drops her wine bottle, and it shatters on the floor-- cheap stuff, not worth much but a warmth in these cold times.

"May I eat with you?"

There's a small shank of deer in the fire, slowly cooking. It doesn't smell great, but it's food, and it's hot, and it fills a belly for hours, and that counts for much in these cold winters. The kids are huddled around it for warmth, ignoring you entirely. Which is fine, really.

"Of...of course, Baseila."

And with that, you settle down on the floor by them, waiting until it's time to eat.

After ten minutes of silence, one of them-- a girl, maybe seven or eight-- looks at you and asks a question: "Why are you fat?"

There's silence, an absolute vacuum of human noise-- only the fire's crack break the still. His mother is glaring at her with eyes that would kill if they could. Her siblings are aping her, without understanding. She is still innocently staring at you with a child's eyes, uncomprehending.

A big, bellyful laugh breaks the still as you chortle, chuckle, snort and you just about break down. Tears stream from your eyes, drop to the floor, make spots in the dust. Objectively, of course, it might not be that funny-- but then, what about humor is objective? "She can explain that when you're older, boy."

That breaks the tension like glass. It's still fairly silent without much speaking, but it's a friendlier, companionable silence. Finally, perhaps half-an-hour after you arrived, you eat-- it's not great, just a simple hunk of deer, but it is filling.

You part with a simple goodbye; and sans one of your money purses, left behind where you had been sitting.

Happy new year.

Martial: Your army must be grown. The retinues must swell, the forces arrayed at your side be made flawless. Grimgor comes-- nothing less is acceptable.

More Men: Your own retinue is not the largest in your lands. This is not, generally, a good situation to be. Fortunately, there are plenty of young men ready and willing to march and fight and die at your call-- whether because they believe in you, or for a better future, or for other reasons, you know not; but you do know that a warrior is a warrior. Send to them, call them, train them, arm them, and be done with it.

- Looted Norscan armor is distributed to the Wardens-- the training circles made wider, the grounds pounded and made ready for drills. Spears and shields, too, pounded out of iron and steel, make their way to these men. The men-at-arms proper are given Brigandines, recruited from the city, where there is a thirst of vengeance towards the Orcs that cannot be matched. Trained to march in step, to hold the shield wall, where to aim on an orc-- though they are green, they can match these veterans well enough for now.
Reward: +2,700 Men At Arms, +300 Yeomen Wardens

Hobilar Hoedown: Raiders and light cavalry trained in the Albion way of war. Though there is something unchivalrous in their methods, the orcs are unworthy of the higher echelons of chivalry. Further, with how often you have raided them, you need some men trained in those ways. Have men hired and brought to you for this thing, trained in that way as they are; and then laugh as you raid the orcs even more effectively.

- It takes time, but not too much, to find what you seek.

A minor band of Hobilars led by a bastard son of those knights who fought against Belakor so long ago is seeking to flee Albion to relative-- not safety, exactly, but agency against the danger. The officers are mightily clad in a light hauberk and bascinet, and armed well with a small lance, sword and bow. The common soldier has himself a nasal helm, gambeson, wielding a spear, a knife and bow.

So they are recruited from their cold isle, and brought here, where swiftly they fall in with the Yeomenry, forming a strong core with the lighter cavalry. You should find them...helpful, in the battles to come.

Diplomacy: Your wife, being ambitious, decisive, and well-known for having your ear, has, obviously, traveled in many the same circles as other ambitious, decisive individuals. This is, in fact, part of why the Tileans came to you-- it seems many of their generals were once healed in the same temple as Lisanor volunteered in, and as such they know at least a little of her...as do many other movers and shakers throughout the Old World.

The Republic's Reputation: The Republic of Remas may be small-- but it has many soldiers, and is friendly to you. Though much of its military is currently in Sartosa, there may be something they can do to help you-- the same way you are helping them.
Needed:50 Rolled:48

- They don't really help, unfortunately it seems just too many of the mercenaries that they might fulfill other duties with ran off to join the Cathayans in their conquest (There's a lesson there). Plainly? Too many resources are tied up in holding Sartosa.

They do, at least, let your envoy to Araby travel with them.
(Failure)

Arabyan Trade: The states of Araby and the Realm of Bretonnia have longly battled, ill at ease with each other. No trade flowed directly between you. But now you are allies, friends against the dark-- against the Green tide. What aids you aids him, and what aids him aids you. You can, even just now, send expeditions by river to those lands which are rich-- why not? For wars longly passed? For grudges centuries old? Such is fit only for Dwarfs.

- Silks and spices are nice and all-- but you live next to Tilea; if it was luxury you were after, you would simply get it from there. No, it's war materiel you're after, not raw gold; what fortune, then, that the Arabyans have so much of it.

While there are differences between your armies, there are also...similarities. Their arrows fly as straight and true as yours, their horsefeed is just as filling, and iron is always iron. A smattering, too, of more unique items; a few knights buy weapons from the Arabyans, scimitars and so on; others lighter armor. For their part they desire the scrap left of the Orcish camps; it seems they kept, in great quantities, the resources of raw gunpowder. They also seek trebuchets, to help expand their artillery line with less need for Gunpowder.
Reward: Both Arabyans and Bretonnians better armed, +100 Gold

Stewardship: The cities must be repaired, and prepared, for Orcish aggression. While they must recover from the body blow you handed them, when their vengeance comes it will be...terrible.

Hon-Hon-Hound: This new armor Asger has invented is fantastic-- but he needs to teach others how; to build forges; and to ready the logistical trail necessary for large-scale production. Though the starting cost will be huge, it is worth it: imagine a whole charge of Bretonnian knights, clad in plate, bullets bouncing from both steel and mystic love. You could shred a dwarf gunline like cheap parchment, never mind crashing through orcish nonsense-- it would be a slaughtering ground of green bodies and broken stone, a feast for crows never before seen at the hands of Breton men.

And to think, all of this started because you couldn't stop getting stabbed.

- Armor is great and you love it to bits; which is why you need time to get this right.

Heldegrad Repairs: So it turns out the letters you received before you left for Norsca were from Heldegrad, a small city to your west. It seems a Tong Warlord had taken overlordship of the town, old and withered enough to be afraid of a true warrior, a true challenge-- but not so old and withered that the town could defeat him without terrible losses.

However, Sir Leroche could. The damage, though, was still severe-- better, in the long run, then feeding their children to the thing, but bad. The city has pledged itself to you, taken Sir Leroche as its knight. It requires...rebuilding.

- Your money is starting to flow into the city.

Piety: Emma no longer sees on this lowly temporal plane-- rather, her sight, now is defined by the winds of magic and the blessing of the Lady.

Breton Artifacts: When the Empire expanded, it also expanded into Bretonnia-- and much of your people's culture and artifacts were brought here, their symbols of the gods. Plenty of these artifacts made their way into the former Lichtenstein, then abandoned once the Empire retreated into the Imperial Core. While most artifacts in the core have been recovered, few Bretonnians have maintained as long lasting a grip on so much of the Borderlands.

Your father would be grave happy if you were to recover some of these artifacts. As would Emma, which is also probably a good idea.
Needed:40 Rolled:99

- You found a whole library in your travels, stumbling upon a tower overgrown with vine and weed, the windows all broken and the doors barred shut. Entering...gently, miraculously you found that the texts-- books, tapestry, and scroll alike-- were in excellent condition, easily understood, somehow preserved through the ages. They speak of old kings and old dukes, and in particular the migration which brought you to Bretonnia in the first place.

Reward: 1 Royal Favor

Blind and Yet Seeing: Emma speaks of a great shift in the winds of magic, towards the north and towards foul magic; she speaks, thus, of unwell things in Naggaroth. She has requested your aid in certain rituals which will allow her to discover the meaning of these shifts, what has changed and what has not.
Needed:??? Rolled: 17

- Her eyes were black pits, entrances to the stars above; they burned with wisdom and knowledge not fit for ken of mortal man. Despite this, Emma learned little from the ritual-- even with your blade there, "Calming the tides," it seems the Aethyr was fickle after all.

She did learn two things though: The Lizard Beasts who cast down Antoch and Bregonne were warring with the Dark Elves over some ancient artifact; secondly, too, the dread dead Tomb Kings were there, though you know not how; certainly, though, to have such eldritch magics unleashed does explain how so many sensed it.

Personal: Grimgor is coming. This you know, undoubtedly and without question. You, not the Generic You but You, Bohort de Courronne, son of Louen Leoncouer and foe of evil, must be ready for what is to come.

Lead More Raids: Slaughter more orcs. Drive deep into the Badlands, save as many as you can, burn and liberate. Much loot, much glory, and much renown awaits you and your body of handpicked men there! You have already stung his ugly face-- it's not as if he can become much more wrathful. Hell to him-- you're going to fight him, weaken him, more, here and now.
Needed: 10 Rolled:43

- You are still fat and happy from the birthday feast when you head off south to slay some orcs, accompanied by your cavalry. The orcs are getting smarter towards your tricks, more enured; but the goblins and snotlings and other, lesser greenskins? They are still afraid of you, and so they break, leave patrol, and otherwise leave holes-- holes you fully exploit, without remorse.

You don't kill as many orcs as you'd like to have-- but the slave pens are emptied in daring raids; the goblin camps which feed him material are razed to the ground in number; and supply depots are emptied or burnt, depending on the supplies therein.

The finest moment of the campaign was when you and the Arabyans joined together to attack the Top Knots tribe, a band of Orc "Cavalry"-- setting fire to buildings, killing boars, and putting the orcs to route, you leave them much the weaker, if not wholly destroyed.
(Reward: +150 Gold, +150 Prestige)

Birthday Celebration: Hàkon, poor boy, has settled in somewhat to this new land; but it is his birthday this month, and you'd like it to be a very happy one after all he's seen and suffered. Try, at least.

- There was a feast, a celebration and a tourney all in one. Knights came to joust, traders arrived to hawk their wares, travelers seeking entertainment, as well as a band of Strigany. The boy made friends, and for the first time in the months you've cared for him, you saw Hàkon smile.

You also bought him a sword, for when he reaches that age.
Reward: Hàkon mood much improves,???