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The Good Prince (Warhammer Fantasy)

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Norscan Misery Epilogue
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    • Norscan Misery Epilogue

    The seas do boil and burn, crashing and thundering against the mighty wood of these ships. Yes-- ships, plural. Not only did your men steal armor, they took damn near his entire fleet-- that there, is one Norscan that never again shall sail against Bretonnia. On every ship, in every deck, cheers and celebration roar out as wine is poured, beer imbibed and honeyed mead guzzled. Slaves speak in the mish-mash of tongues they all know. Fine, too, is the singing-- old sea shanties from near everywhere. Great is the spirit of celebration everywhere...

    Except in you.

    Seated at the front, Edwige One-Eyed at your right and Asger drawing on parchment at your left, away from the party with two men to keep well-wishers away. "Something troubles you, my prince?"

    "Oui. This trip was miserable to me, Edwige-- all was mere fortune that saved my life. Not skill at arms, not great might, not myself-- but only fortune, and Lady's favor." You rise from your seat, walking to the railing, looking out over the sea in your fine clothing, wine loosing a tongue too used to stillness in these matters. "Grimgor awaits me. Mighty and terrible is he-- not mightier nor terrible than the Lady; but perhaps the mightier or stronger than my faith in her; for I am plagued by doubt in me, whereas not a moment has passed that he does not know what he is. He can kill me, and not sword of man's hand will be enough.

    I must be better than that oversized Goblin. I must, I must...I must be better. I must."

    "I can prepare more exercises for you. To sharpen you, I mean."

    "I can't help you with any of this strategy or theology or any of that business, but I can help you with one thing. I'm going to be honest with you-- you're the closest thing to a friend I've got, after you saved my life so many times. I'm about tired of seeing you bleeding out, so I made this. Ta-da."

    He flips the sheet around and you see armor. Strange, new armor. Plate, yes, but not the heavy, bulky, walking citadel the Empire prefers to make up for the fact that they're a bunch of pansies. Lighter, more flexible, more maille. It looks at least...tolerable? And recent events have put you in a mind to consider how best to stop blades; certainly, you can only be stabbed and slashed so many times before 'haha, fuck you this is a no-sword zone' becomes...attractive? Yeah, that's a word for it at least. Not being killable by elf harlots seems like it will end up important in the end; Lady knows those things enjoy going full circle.

    Your musing is interrupted by a great thud behind you. Whipping about, hand on Arete, only to see the boy you rescued lying there, a heap on the floor. He is crying, great wails that set your teeth on edge. Bad memories return to you, of a young boy of the same age crying his heart out in the palace. Without a thought you move toward him in long strides, scooping him from the floor and holding him in your arms.

    "Shh, shh, shh, I know, I know..."

    He sobs long minutes, only your gentle murmurs in the night for to comfort.

    "Mom...dad...Oh, oh, oh..."

    Your have cried for your parents as well. Not, perhaps, in the same way...but it hurts, it hurts awful to believe your own father doesn't love you; that your mother barely tolerates you. It hurts, to know the bitter sting of disappointment.

    "She killed. I sat, and I watched, as she killed them."

    His sobs are slowing, at least-- but a great warmth is growing through him.

    "I hate her. I want to make her feel like this."

    The boy is alone in this world. Hakon is alone in this world.

    He will need...he will need someone to look after him.

    [] You will adopt him, and raise him; and one day, he will be your squire.
    [] You will send him to someone else. You can barely look after yourself, nevermind a child...
    --
    In any case, by some combination of winds, tide, and likely curses, you return to the Borderlands seven (ish?) months after you cast off. Setting foot on the small docks that greet you, the first thing you do is find Honor. That miserable old stallion bumps his head against yours as you pet him, rubbing gently, showing him affection that he has sorely missed.

    "I missed you too, you old warhorse."

    But, he is not who you missed most. Instead, you make way to Khypris, pushing hard the warhorse.

    And on the way, you swear you can smell honey...

    Finally, the walls of thick marble and strong steel-- no doubt beautifully carved, and strongly crafted, and well-made indeed, though they aren't really what you care about-- stand before you.

    The gate opens, no doubt a gem though you care little for it at the moment-- indeed, you could likely not describe it again were your life at risk for it.

    The streets part for you as you race on towards the citadel, where she is, every moment the scent of honey growing stronger in your nostrils, numbly dismounting, feeling her presence looming larger.

    Finally you enter those gates. A feast, a great celebration, is all around you-- a tyrant is deposed, if plotting; all may not be well, but it is better, for the moment.

    And at the center, looking as imperious and as kind as ever, is Lisanor. Salt eyes soften to see you, her lips curve up in a smile, and she steps down to meet you. Racing towards her, you lift her up, spinning and kissing her. Lady but you have missed this woman-- this presence. She is obviously, deeply, pregnant, but fortunately your arms are mighty.

    "Dismal have been my dreams without you..."

    "And lonely my waking hours."

    You carry her to bench, her on your lap. Cutting fruits and meats, you feed her and she you, kissing and just.. feeling each other's presence, as you have not since your first rendezvous. It is... perhaps, not the most courtly behavior, but hell with it-- you have a magic sword, and she has the ability to make even the most bitter old matron cease with little but a word.

    "So, how was Norsca?"

    "Miserable, dark, cold...I failed, I think, more than I succeeded."

    She lifts your head up to look in your eyes. "Did you learn from it?"

    "Yes."

    "Then it was no true failure."

    But then her body tenses, and she grimaces-- and there is a wet puddle at your feet. "Your timing truly is wonderful, dear..."
    --
    Fourteen hours. That is how long you spend in the hospice of Shallya, waiting, her holding your hand as she roars and kicks and screams as the baby comes-- if you were anything besides a knight of Bretonnia, there is even odds that your fingers would be broken, honestly.

    Instead, they just turn a frightening shade of purple.

    Lisanor holds the child first, your flesh and your blood. A boy, you learn soon enough. He cries and cries, and cries some more, deep his bellows and deep his rage. You respect that.

    But then it is your turn, to hold him.

    And the crying stops. His eyes look like your mother's, blue. His hair is the same black as Lisanor's, for right now. Paler than you'd expect, with his grandfather's cleft chin-- though unhidden by the usual goatee. The nose is yours, though.

    He wraps two tiny fingers around your own as you poke at him.

    This is your son.

    You will water the fields with orc blood to keep him safe.

    But first, you need to name him.

    After minutes of debate, you and Lisanor agree on:

    [] (Write-in)
    --
    400 suits of heavy Norscan armor acquired
    200 slaves liberated
    Gained Arete
    Traits gained/modified
    --
    I do have some names ready, if no-one cares at all, but you know. Figured I'd give the option.

    If you'd like, I could post some important Bretonnian Cultural figures, they'd probably be useful
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • [X] You will send him to someone else.

    I'll leave the second part of that vote off, if only because Bohart has an actual child to raise, but I'm against adopting the boy in general. While adopting a former slave is good PR, I don't think it's a savvy move to make concerning noble politics.
     
    [X] You will adopt him, and raise him; and one day, he will be your squire.

    Lisanor will be so disappointed if we send an orphan away.

    [X] Balderin
     
    Vote is called, sorry I'm late.

    NGL I accidentally fell asleep.
     
    Turn 4: Honor and Glory
  • Threadmarks
    • Turn 4: Honor and Glory

    Winter has begun again in the Borderlands, that time of darkness and ruin. Surprisingly, it is worse here than it is in Courronne-- by a long shot. Not colder, no, but rainy-- miserably, awfully, rainy, every day it feels like, great sheets of pelting water that fall like little hammers on you. You'd prefer the snow: colder, yes, but much easier to get off of armor! Seriously, it must take you at least an hour to get all the mud off your new suit-- it'd be less if you could ask your squires, but they're busy running willy-nily distributing food and so on, as well as preparing Gilles-Tide plays.

    Speaking of Gilles, the court... was certainly something when they heard you'd had the guts to name the prince after the greatest of all your kings. No prince ever has been named after your War-Chief; for that is a heavy burden to bear. It is bold, brash. A strong move, a fierce challenge.

    In short, about the opposite of every move you ever made before you came to the Borderlands.

    Also also, people are surprised to hear you spared that Blackguard from Mousillon, Baudoin de Rais-- apparently important? You'd never heard of him though.

    Also also also, that thing with Arete has been enough to keep them from speaking about how that fucking elf witch managed to beat you. Which is good.

    In short, no longer do they call you Bohort the Bashful-- now, forever more (hopefully) are you Bohort the Bold.

    (+1000 Prestige)

    In other news, you finally met...or perhaps more accurately, received a detailed report from...August, Luitpold's brother. On the one hand, heading there she gave alms to the poor, all of the gold she'd acquired. Too, miracles of Sigmar allowed her to bless men back to health. Some say she also brought a missing girl back to her mother. Others speak of a mugging being stopped bloodlessly. Also, rumors of her returning a score of chickens back to the city's farmers. It would not surprise you if all of these were true.

    On the other hand, she hadn't even taken the time to scrape the goblin blood off of her armor before coming to meet you-- in the ducal palace. Certainly, that would explain why even her irresponsible lout of a brother had been concerned-- that's a pretty ripe stink even in an Imperial city.

    Martial: Edwige has taken one of the Norscan suits of armor for herself-- apparently, her old set was broken in that last battle, though she has at least lost no more limbs or other organs.

    Still, there's something grimly funny to it.
    (Pick 2)

    [] Vampires Bite: So, Sonnental! The mythical city of the damned, it is home to an aristocracy of Lahmian Vampires who are currently, you know, feeding on the living and torturing the innocent and just not, generally, being particularly decent rulers or people. They have been safe because no-one knows where they are, those few who manage to escape usually too delirious and afraid to lead a party back to the town.

    Edwige is insulted on your behalf that these Lahmians believe they can buy you with cheap power and cheaper sex, as though you were not a prince of Bretonna. Slander and insult. She'll lead a party to find the city, kill the vampires, and reclaim it and all the people within.
    Cost: 10 Gold

    [] M'Aidez: Fantastic soldiers. Heroes, champions, conquerors of every obstacle that ever stepped before them. It is these that lift Bretonnia to greatness. Nowhere is that spirit clearer than in the Errantry Wars-- any man who can wear armor and lift a sword can become a knight then, even a lord. Indeed, many knights even now travel through your lands hoping to establish new fiefdoms and lives for themselves, sons of merchants and minors and masters alike.

    Edwige would like to take advantage of that by attempting to convince someone special to come into your lands and to establish their own household here, now. There are still many cities within Amalthia.
    Cost:10 Gold

    [] Norscan Blood's Call: You know there are greenskin settlements within the forests. Minor camps, mining camps (hah), and so on with wealth ripped from these lands. Perhaps it is the Norscan within the blood of all Lyonesse speaking, but raiding their camps for necessary supplies and so on could be helpful. If nothing else, you can slaughter their spider-riders now and save everyone a world of trouble.
    Cost: Free

    [] 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)

    [] New Sopranos: Bretonnian Truffle Hounds are a vicious, vicious breed of dog. Normally, they look like just another hound, if short and pointy-eared. However, when they catch the smell of truffles-- or truffle oil-- on the breeze, they go vicious, attacking almost anything in sight. Normally used to look for said truffles, in some cases they have been used as wardogs. Why not hire a small number of men who breed the beasts, and use them to unleash death upon the foe.
    Cost: 100 Gold

    Reward: 5 Units of Bretonnian Truffle Hounds

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

    Diplomacy: And they all said she could do nothing. Pft.

    (Pick 2)

    [] Carcassonnian Cousins: Estalia has a small, but not unnoticeable community, of Lady worshipers born from Carcassonian parents mostly-- many of whom are also bored and desperately searching for a purpose in life. Though the knightly traditions of that place are strange in some ways, by and large they are closer than the Empire; further many no doubt would come to your call and fill your ranks with good soldiers in some of the finest steel the Old World can offer, bringing with them too footsoldiers.
    (Costs: 20 Prestige)

    [] Riunificazione: The Storm of Chaos was madness, pure and unfiltered. Death, ruination. Suffering. There were forces unleashed that should never be roused. Things, scurrying beneath the earth.

    Skaven.

    Tileans had always been aware, of course, that the Ratmen lived in their midst, in the same peripheral way all of Bretonnia knew of the Massif Orcal. But it was not until mercenaries returned homes, carrying stories of the terrible strength and infinite evil of the rat menace that the Tileans really understood what was at stake.

    As they were, the Skaven would wipe them out, to the man-- except for slaves, begging for the dignity and mercy of death.

    Of course, together, they still stand little chance against the Vermintide-- but apart, they stand none at all. And so a great fervor has gripped that nation, seeking unification. And every city-state wants to be the one at the top of that pile.

    Among those states is the Republic of Remas, who did fund much of the Crusade against Jaffar and who have long been friendly to Bretonnia. They have sent emissaries requesting your aid, to open trade relations. With your arms and armor, they stand a good chance at uniting the Peninsula.
    Cost: 150 Gold

    Reward: Trade Relations, Friendly Tilean Power on the Rise

    [] 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:???

    [] Estalian Aid: Your brother's madness turns to Estalia. Though his plan is known, he might still try it-- or he might try some new, cockamamie thing in its place. One thing is certain-- he will attack. And so Amilcar has requested a knight to help train his men in Breton warfare, and a small number of engineers to build and maintain trebuchets along his coast, to defend it from that invader.
    Cost: 150 Gold

    [] Calme Toi: The Dukes of Aquitaine, Bordeleaux, and Bastonne bicker over whom should be allowed, legally, to take control of and colonize the Forest of Chalons. Over the centuries this was mostly an intellectual endeavor of little practical worth. However, all three duchies are now headed by vigorous, mighty souls-- including the Duc Alberic, who seeks to utilize the resources therein to reinforce his Dukedom in case of Mousillon attacking; the Duc Armand, a Grail Knight who has taken to administrating the lands personally and with extreme prejudice; and Duc Bohemond, who mostly seeks to use it as a massive hunting ground for nobles and peasants-- though, it must be said, that is still a massive improvement over what it currently is.

    They turn to you to arbitrate the dispute, for though young it is a matter you have no personal stake in-- excepting your friendship with Robert, though as he does not give a damn either way you cannot really, either.

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

    Stewardship: Robert walks into your monthly meeting holding his son near to him. So that's a thing now. Perhaps you should set up a play date?
    (Pick 2)

    [] Architectural Aid: There's going to be a lot of construction. First, of course, you'll be rebuilding after all the damage the goblins have done. Also, of course, the largest part of why many knights join Errantry Wars is to establish fiefdoms and gain land, which they will not otherwise gain-- also, of course, to save people from, you know, dying in misery but the land helps too. Having a proper construction service ready would be incredibly forward thinking and helpful, and there are several people you could think to call.
    (Cost: 40 Gold, 10 Upkeep, Optional: []Write-in Nation to ask, Defaults Bretonnia, cannot be Empire, Kislev, or Norsca)

    [] Walls of Stone and Walls of Will: Edwige has suggested repairing the walls. The most difficult-- but also most helpful-- task, you can expect it will be a good symbol of your strength, though it will take more time than most. Right now they'd suffice to deter bandits, but not much else.
    (Cost: 30 Gold, 2 Months)

    [] 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

    [] Pay Your Fucking Taxes: Many knights have become the lord of certain villages, or established new settlements, or married the heir of far off towns. They are, by rights, your vassals. They owe you loyalty.

    They owe you service.

    Most of all, they owe you taxes.

    Prepare a system, send collectors, and see to it you receive what is your due.
    Cost: 150 Gold

    [] "A Gun Is A Coward's Weapon": Well, you're in a little bit of a pickle. It seems, unknown to you, that the former masters of both Aldium and Mortensholm had gun foundries-- small production facilities for bombards, hand-cannons, the most advanced item likely a mortar.

    You don't want the fucking things-- you're not nearly enough of a coward to need guns-- but just destroying them would be dangerous, not to mention likely corrosive to the environment. Fortunately, an offer has come to you: Annemaria Leitdorf, one of the claimants of Averland, seeks to strengthen her position before the matter is finally put to rest. By acquiring a number of blackpowder weapons as well as further industry with them, she hopes to force the other claimants to recognize her at the summit held next month-- and then, perhaps, to fortify the Blackfire Pass.

    It's likely as not she's trying to screw you with the price-- but as unlikely as it is, it's not impossible that there is an honest Imperial. Even if she isn't, it's not as if you can use them for anything else.
    Cost: -100 Prestige (Imagine, making money off of cannons)

    Reward: +500 Gold

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

    Piety: Emma has a new, white and gold staff with a jewel at the tip. It menaces with an awesome light.
    (Pick 2)

    [] Damsels: Emma would like to invite more damsels to this land, to help cleanse it of the greenskin taint-- and also to help heal your men, whom now gravely are wounded.
    Cost: 100 Gold

    Reward: 1d3 Damsels

    [] Purification: There are still greenskin shrines standing in your lands! Burn them, shatter them, crush them-- and all in the name of the Lady. Then have Emma go over them for good measure.
    Cost: 250 Gold

    [] Sanctification: There is, deep in the woods that now belong to you, a temple to the dark spider god goblins offer bloody worship and sacrifice to. A pool of stagnant blood surrounded by stones carved with long dead runic tongues, spoken by Sky Giants, hidden in caves that once housed many thousand of goblins.

    You are not simply going to destroy it. Oh no-- after all the pain, the loss, the greenskins have caused you and your people, merely destroying what they love is not nearly enough.

    Oh no, you are going to steal it. You are going to sanctify it, in the name of the Lady. You have faith she can-- and that is enough.

    [] Fr- er, Bretonnia Means Freedom: Despise the slaver with all of your heart. Such was spoke in olden days by the Fay Enchantress, before her first rebirth.

    Now you hear tell of a group of Bretonnians who seek to lead a Great Liberation in Kislev. Grail Knights, Damsels, Prophetesses, Paladins, and the common man alike working together to free those in bondage. Every strategy and tactic, ranging from manumission to raids to spirited fleeing in the night, will be used. They're going to hit the slavers where it hurts most-- the wallet.

    Your direct presence is neither feasible nor requested-- but your money, your resources, in the service of religious good? That much is.
    Cost: 150 Gold

    [] There are, perhaps, other options.
    (Write-In)

    Personal: It seems things are proceeding to a certain plan.
    (Pick 1)

    [] Call On Magali: Up until now, you have been reacting to Orcish aggression. Protecting, and marshaling your forces. No longer-- now is the perfect time to strike. For Ironhide seeks, now, to march on the Everpeak-- not to claim it for himself, no, but to make Skarsnik his servant-- to refill his ranks, with disposable goblins. You did, after all, kill about all of them.

    So, his Orcish might marches with him. And leaves behind only a paltry force to protect his burgeoning realm. A few thousand, of his worst forces.

    That will be his downfall.

    You, every knight in your realm, a force of mounted archers, and whatever the Duchess Magali thinks acceptable are going to raid the Badlands. You're going to burn every orc settlement you find, from the largest to the smallest. Every greenskin is going to bleed. And every slave will be freed and brought back with you, if requested.

    You're going to teach that vile filth a thing or two about Bretons. Further, the blood you and she shed on those sands will form the bonds of vassalhood between you and she, forever linking the lands of Marsiarno to your burgeoning realm, and to Bretonnia proper.

    Caught between dwarfs and goblins and threatened to his weakest point, Grimgor will no doubt drawback to restore order and reclaim power- aiding the dwarfs, too, which they should like well enough.

    (Well, almost every knight in the realm. Edwige refuses to come with you, on account of "[she'll] not help one of the psychotic little twats.")
    Cost: Depends on how much you loot

    Reward: So many dead Orcs, like, holy shit. Fame, prestige, Certainly gold, possibly more. Marsiarno is vassalized to you.

    [] Call on Donat: Much the same as above, except this time, you're going to invite Sir Donat. Though he's a lout, riding with you should awe him into offering oaths of allegiance.
    Cost: Depends on loot

    Reward: So many dead Orcs, like, holy shit. Fame, prestige, Certainly gold, possibly more. Lexepos is vassalized to you.
    --
    This will not be a mini-event thing, to be clear. At worst I'd write an update about it.
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • @Voikirium, could you provide some titles to the vote options? Some of the descriptions are so long that it would be rather awkward to just copy-paste them.
     
    Some general remarks:

    So, we have 300 Gold in our Treasury and an income of 60 Gold. We simply can't afford most of the more expensive options and desperately need more money. It's bad enough that I am seriously considering selling cannons to the Empire, horribile dictu. If we want to do more than just select the cheapest options available, we pretty much have to.

    Getting serious about collecting taxes is probably the best way to improve our yearly income, so I would very much like to take that option. That's already 150 Gold. Just building walls and getting Damsels costs another 130 gold and our Treasury almost empty.

    I guess Bohort will have to learn that you can't run a realm on honor alone.
     
    Gingganz said:
    @Voikirium, could you provide some titles to the vote options? Some of the descriptions are so long that it would be rather awkward to just copy-paste them.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Sure.

    Gingganz said:
    Some general remarks:

    So, we have 300 Gold in our Treasury and an income of 60 Gold. We simply can't afford most of the more expensive options and desperately need more money. It's bad enough that I am seriously considering selling cannons to the Empire, horribile dictu. If we want to do more than just select the cheapest options available, we pretty much have to.

    Getting serious about collecting taxes is probably the best way to improve our yearly income, so I would very much like to take that option. That's already 150 Gold. Just building walls and getting Damsels costs another 130 gold and our Treasury almost empty.

    I guess Bohort will have to learn that you can't run a realm on honor alone.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    I need to add all the money you received and so on while you were away, forgot to do that.
     
    Gingganz said:
    @Voikirium, could you provide some titles to the vote options? Some of the descriptions are so long that it would be rather awkward to just copy-paste them.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Je l'ai fait.

    Gingganz said:
    Some general remarks:

    So, we have 300 Gold in our Treasury and an income of 60 Gold. We simply can't afford most of the more expensive options and desperately need more money. It's bad enough that I am seriously considering selling cannons to the Empire, horribile dictu. If we want to do more than just select the cheapest options available, we pretty much have to.

    Getting serious about collecting taxes is probably the best way to improve our yearly income, so I would very much like to take that option. That's already 150 Gold. Just building walls and getting Damsels costs another 130 gold and our Treasury almost empty.

    I guess Bohort will have to learn that you can't run a realm on honor alone.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Well, honor and all the stuff you steal win from the orcs in glorious combat hint hint nudge nudge
     
    Aah, 839 Gold, now that's much better. We still need more income, though. Maybe I am insufficiently Bretonnian, but I don't like relying entirely on plunder.

    Martial: I would prefer to stay away from the vampires. I doubt that freeing the people of Sonnental will be as easy as Edwige makes it sound, and destroying Sonnental won't even hurt the Lahmians much, as their power lies in the network that spreads out all through the old world. Don't make new enemies while the orcs are still a major threat.

    Admittedly, I am not entirely sure what M'Aidez does, but getting some help for only 10 Gold sounds good. I am also not sure whether the truffle hounds will be much good in combat, but even if not then Bohort will at least get to eat tasty truffles. Gourmet food is very important, so New Soprano. There are other highly attractive options but they are a bit expensive at the moment.

    Diplomacy: Riunificazione, because having a friendly faction rule the kinda sorta major country close by can be highly helpful and the trade will increase our income. Bohort's brother is dangerous and I feel we have a responsibility to stop him, because family, so Estalian Aid.

    Stewardship: We need money, so Pay Your Fucking Taxes. Having Mortensholm properly protected is important, so let's build Walls of Stone and Walls of Will. I also like Architectural Aid, but I would prefer to wait until we have the money for major construction projects.

    Piety: With all the fighting, we will likely need more healing so I want to recruit more Damsels. Sanctification of a horrible orc shrine is honorable and doesn't cost anything, so sure.

    Personal: Call on Magali to kill orcs. Sir Donat is a dick who insulted Lisanor.

    [X] Plan Gingganz
    -[X] M'Aidez
    -[X] New Sopranos
    -[X] Riunificazion
    -[X] Estalian Aid
    -[X] Walls of Stone and Walls of Will
    -[X] Pay Your Fucking Taxes
    -[X] Damsels
    -[X] Sanctification
    -[X] Call On Magali

    Cost is 690 Gold.
     
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    Consequences
  • Sidestory
    • Consequences
    ​
    The court of Karl Franz was placid. Soft sweet music filled the air as squires moved through the halls, filling steins with beer and wine as tastes called. Everyone was dressed in finery, blunted swords and unsharpened axes at hand. The style of dress was all finely woven arabyan silk, in splashes of red and gold. The hall itself was of marble tile and fine oaken timber, lit by great braziers. Dancing and eating alike filled the time, as all played the most dangerous game: intrigue. This was the winter home of the Emperor, and it was somber indeed.

    Luitpold Franz, son of the emperor, stood in the shadows. The lout was silently drinking, sipping away at a small stein of berry-sweetened beer. A small crowd of hangers-on, stood by him, vapidly chatting. He ignored them, and looked instead towards his father. His palms were sweaty, and he tapped his knee a little. His free fingers shook a bit as well.

    Finally one of his father's servants entered bearing a letter. Silently walking, he handed it off to the emperor then beat a hasty retreat, knowing well what his lord's opinion would be.

    Franz scanned it in seconds. His hands shook, like a storm. He took a slight draft of his beer.

    Then his face calmed.

    He had passed through anger and come out the other side. Too mad to be mad.

    "Everyone, could you please excuse my son and I?" Without even a word, he walked out into the garden that surrounded them. Luitpold followed, the only bravery he'd show that night.

    As soon as the door was shut, Karl turned to his son. "So, the news I received just then was very interesting. You see, from somewhere-- supposedly the office of Reikland-- your sister got orders to head east and join that little Errantry War Louen is running."

    "It's not king Leoncouer running that particular. It's his son."

    "Ah, I remember. 'Bohort the Boring'. As I recall, didn't he send to an apothecary with a broken nose?"

    "And I sent him crying to his mother with a black eye."

    "Hm. Very impressive, beating an adolescent when you were sixteen. In any case, I was just wondering whether you might know anything about that. You know, considering you are the only other person in all of the Empire with access like that."

    "Uh, uh, no. I don't know things, I...drink, fuck. You know, all of that-- a ha, hah,haaaaa."

    The Emperor examined his nails a little. "Really? Hm. Shame. Looks like it will be one of those mysteries that never ends up solved-- like how do cats always land on their feet? The real shame, of course, is that the Grafin really wanted her aid in Norsca. Even, possibly, enough to say, send advisors to your sister in the Grand Baroness' palace of Averland." His face lightened a little. "But there is a little good news: I received a second letter!"

    "From whom?"

    "The Queen of the Sydigoths. You know, those strange people whom dwell in the Desolation of Drakenmoor? Where if it's not miserably hot, it's damnably cold? Where goblins raid every day? Where darkness dwells? Yes, it seems she would like to expand her holding-- if nothing else, deal with Gnashrak, and expand north. Tax trade. You know, that sort of thing."

    Franz gave a mirthless laugh. "Why, even enough to send her hand to me in return for soldiers, gunpowder, that sort of thing."

    "I get the picture. You have my word father...I will not fail you."

    "Very good. And just so we understand each other, you will be on your best behavior...okay?"
    --
    Sigmar above, but it was hot. The calm, cool clime of Reikland gave way to blistering heat and burning sadness about a month march ago, leaving Luitpold and his whole army stuck in deep, beating sun-- and since they were about stuck in goblin territory, neither could they take off their armor for even a moment. So they fried under the sun's rays, slowly baking.

    Better that, though, than join the many bodies littered in the sands, ribs cracked and skulls still lodged with arrows.

    Four-thousand men had made the journey with the White Prince. Cannons, gunners, state troopers, knights and more, all regimented in deep blocks.

    Finally, though, they passed through the opening to the Desolation-- and saw civilization.

    A small castle, made of stone and timber, pulled from the small trees that surrounded them no doubt. It was the queen's quarter, the capital of this petty kingdom. Hundreds filled the town outside it, pulling water and so on. Cleaning fresh caught kills of vicious predators, skins for armor. Blacksmiths pounded metal into shape as tools, weapons and armor. The most common were arrowheads and spears, followed by coats of scale sewn to beasthide to serve as armor. Helms were crafted in the shape of simple padded bowls; shields and bows were worked at a separate station.

    Even as his soldiers dismounted and disarmed in the town itself, going from merchant stall to merchant stall, Luitpold was moving towards the castle itself. A small, squat, square thing, it nevertheless dominated all angles of view.

    Finally, the raw wood gates opened-- and there, sitting at a small round table, with all of her fellows around her, was the Queen. Atlefitz. Vivid red was her hair, and dark was her skin. A sword the color of pure gold was belted at her waist. She was all clad in armor. A cuirasse of maille. Bands of metal, down her arms and legs, shifted with each move. Boots and gloves too, of metal, protected her hands and feet. Only her head, now, was exposed-- but her helm was on her lap. A spear rested against her throne as well.

    She had Jutone eyes.

    "Welcome, Luitpold. We here now speak of goblins-- of their grave threat, and of what might be done with them." She pointed to a model of the mountain where the greenskins made their home. "Many they are, and deep goes their taint. Burned, burned deep it must be." Models of her forces stood on all the routes to that den of wicked things.

    "Aye." Taking out the few figures he had for his own army-- and distributed them around, quickly, in the most textbook manner possible. "We starve them out for a few months, let them come to us-- those cannons ought to make quick work of that filth-- then storm in and purge the place."

    "That's a plan. Don't know how much I like it, but it's a plan." She grabbed his wrist, like iron, and then began to walk towards what seemed to be a chapel. "Before all that, though. We need to see some things through." She looked behind her, then, to Luitpold even as she pulled him-- no doubt, towards the wedding.

    The man sighed, and resigned himself then to fate.
    --
    This is my birthday gift to me.

    Also, I guess kind of to you guys, in that dead goblins is always a good thing.
     
    Last edited:
  • Sidestory
    • Okay so I'm sorry I haven't been posting-- been in the middle of one part academic disaster and one part mental breakdown.

    Updates will be coming, at latest, by Wednesday.
     
    Okay so good news bad news time

    Good News: No longer in a flaming ball of failure that can only grow brighter and badder

    Bad news: I have four take home finals, as well as two papers to revise

    So uh, update might be a little postponed
     
    Okay so I am done with finals but am mildly-to-moderately sick for the fist time since high school

    know that this is on my radar and I am working on it
     
    Turn 4: Honor and Glory Results
  • Threadmarks
    • Turn 4: Honor and Glory

    Winter has begun again in the Borderlands, that time of darkness and ruin. Surprisingly, it is worse here than it is in Courronne-- by a long shot. Not colder, no, but rainy-- miserably, awfully, rainy, every day it feels like, great sheets of pelting water that fall like little hammers on you. You'd prefer the snow: colder, yes, but much easier to get off of armor! Seriously, it must take you at least an hour to get all the mud off your new suit-- it'd be less if you could ask your squires, but they're busy running willy-nily distributing food and so on, as well as preparing Gilles-Tide plays.

    Speaking of Gilles, the court... was certainly something when they heard you'd had the guts to name the prince after the greatest of all your kings. No prince ever has been named after your War-Chief; for that is a heavy burden to bear. It is bold, brash. A strong move, a fierce challenge.

    In short, about the opposite of every move you ever made before you came to the Borderlands.

    Also also, people are surprised to hear you spared that Blackguard from Mousillon, Baudoin de Rais-- apparently important? You'd never heard of him though.

    Also also also, that thing with Arete has been enough to keep them from speaking about how that fucking elf witch managed to beat you. Which is good.

    In short, no longer do they call you Bohort the Bashful-- now, forever more (hopefully) are you Bohort the Bold.

    (+1000 Prestige)

    In other news, you finally met...or perhaps more accurately, received a detailed report from...August, Luitpold's brother. On the one hand, heading there she gave alms to the poor, all of the gold she'd acquired. Too, miracles of Sigmar allowed her to bless men back to health. Some say she also brought a missing girl back to her mother. Others speak of a mugging being stopped bloodlessly. Also, rumors of her returning a score of chickens back to the city's farmers. It would not surprise you if all of these were true.

    On the other hand, she hadn't even taken the time to scrape the goblin blood off of her armor before coming to meet you-- in the ducal palace. Certainly, that would explain why even her irresponsible lout of a brother had been concerned-- that's a pretty ripe stink even in an Imperial city.

    Martial: Edwige has taken one of the Norscan suits of armor for herself-- apparently, her old set was broken in that last battle, though she has at least lost no more limbs or other organs.

    Still, there's something grimly funny to it.

    M'Aidez: Fantastic soldiers. Heroes, champions, conquerors of every obstacle that ever stepped before them. It is these that lift Bretonnia to greatness. Nowhere is that spirit clearer than in the Errantry Wars-- any man who can wear armor and lift a sword can become a knight then, even a lord. Indeed, many knights even now travel through your lands hoping to establish new fiefdoms and lives for themselves, sons of merchants and minors and masters alike.

    Edwige would like to take advantage of that by attempting to convince someone special to come into your lands and to establish their own household here, now. There are still many cities within Amalthia.

    Rolled:28

    -The paladin Sir Jacques du Leoroche, a band of barons in rich Carcassonne, arrived in your court one day along with a procession of footsoldiers. It seems that they have inherited a small estate in the forest. Bringing with a small force of men at arms and a handful of knights, more important than either of those is the paladin himself. Though his faith is lacking, the cur, his skill at arms is undeniable-- even if his personality is overly cynical and goes down like broken glass laced with salt and arsenic.

    Reward: Gained Sir Jacques du Leoroche, a Paladin

    New Sopranos: Bretonnian Truffle Hounds are a vicious, vicious breed of dog. Normally, they look like just another hound, if short and pointy-eared. However, when they catch the smell of truffles-- or truffle oil-- on the breeze, they go vicious, attacking almost anything in sight. Normally used to look for said truffles, in some cases they have been used as wardogs. Why not hire a small number of men who breed the beasts, and use them to unleash death upon the foe.

    - Dogs, handlers, truffles and codpieces are all acquired with little fuss or effort. An annoying amount of gold, though.

    Reward: 5 Units of Truffle Hounds (Vicious attack dogs)

    Diplomacy: And they all said Lisanor could do nothing. Pft.
    Riunificazione: The Storm of Chaos was madness, pure and unfiltered. Death, ruination. Suffering. There were forces unleashed that should never be roused. Things, scurrying beneath the earth.

    Skaven.

    Tileans had always been aware, of course, that the Ratmen lived in their midst, in the same peripheral way all of Bretonnia knew of the Massif Orcal. But it was not until mercenaries returned homes, carrying stories of the terrible strength and infinite evil of the rat menace that the Tileans really understood what was at stake.

    As they were, the Skaven would wipe them out, to the man-- except for slaves, begging for the dignity and mercy of death.

    Of course, together, they still stand little chance against the Vermintide-- but apart, they stand none at all. And so a great fervor has gripped that nation, seeking unification. And every city-state wants to be the one at the top of that pile.

    Among those states is the Republic of Remas, who did fund much of the Crusade against Jaffar and who have long been friendly to Bretonnia. They have sent emissaries requesting your aid, to open trade relations. With your arms and armor, they stand a good chance at uniting the Peninsula.

    - Armor, good chain thick and well made, gleaming like the night-stars under the sun, moves in shaped trunks to Remas; arrows, deadly sharp, find themselves carried by Imperial merchants to the Gleaming Port; swords and spears of norscan steel trundle along in carriage grand along ancient roads to their destination. A few knights, too, from Bretonnia proper, decide to make their names fighting with the southmen.

    So armed and so emboldened, the first step the Remans take is to send a grand army to Sartosa to finally pacify and take the pirate island. Dragon Tooth Castle is forced to submit in a flurry of guns and steel; and though the main island still holds resistance, already they have pushed up to the Dwarf Hold. The city will be the true test.

    Reward: Aided Remas, placed them somewhat within your sphere of influence

    Estalian Aid: Your brother's madness turns to Estalia. Though his plan is known, he might still try it-- or he might try some new, cockamamie thing in its place. One thing is certain-- he will attack. And so Amilcar has requested a knight to help train his men in Breton warfare, and a small number of engineers to build and maintain trebuchets along his coast, to defend it from that invader.

    - The Estalians are a warlike, wrathful people, little prone to fear, to cowardice, to flight. They alone have forced the Skaven to flee, wholly, from their land, such is the virtue and valor of their light; no little wonder it is that the peninsula is so divided, if even a simple baron can call upon men of such worth!

    That being said they are...raw, undisciplined. They know how to fight the machinations of other kingdoms and cities. But warfare, total warfare, the kind you and orc and Skaven and Chaos and, now, Vampire, wage upon one another? That is something of a new experience for them.

    So, your most veteran knights go to that southern land. And they set to teaching, through war-game and long tale what these Estalians can expect when your brother arrives-- for he has forgot his honor dear, and replaced it all only with the shape of power.

    Reward: Helped train Estalian forces in preparation for your brother's invasion

    Stewardship: Robert walks into your monthly meeting holding his son near to him. So that's a thing now. Perhaps you should set up a play date?

    Walls of Stone and Walls of Will: Edwige has suggested repairing the walls. The most difficult-- but also most helpful-- task, you can expect it will be a good symbol of your strength, though it will take more time than most. Right now they'd suffice to deter bandits, but not much else.

    -The holes in the wall are slowly but surely being filled, carved stone retaking its lost place and new scaffold erected. It will be better than new, these walls, and it will stand longly against all who would challenge.

    [] Sanctification: There is, deep in the woods that now belong to you, a temple to the dark spider god goblins offer bloody worship and sacrifice to. A pool of stagnant blood surrounded by stones carved with long dead runic tongues, spoken by Sky Giants, hidden in caves that once housed many thousand of goblins.

    You are not simply going to destroy it. Oh no-- after all the pain, the loss, the greenskins have caused you and your people, merely destroying what they love is not nearly enough.

    Oh no, you are going to steal it. You are going to sanctify it, in the name of the Lady. You have faith she can-- and that is enough.

    - A choir of knights chant.

    Emma steps forward, all radiant light and shining beauty, as beautiful and terrible as a demigod, sent directly to this dark world. She harnessed magic more awesome and fearsome than any you had seen even the Fay Enchantress dare wield, though she no doubt could. She harnessed a fiery light, and burned out all the power of that Goblin god in the cave.

    Perhaps she harnessed too much.

    Her eyes...

    Well, she may not see this temporal world-- but now the winds of magic open themselves to her, forever more.

    Reward: Sanctified Cave of Lost Souls for the Lady

    Personal: It seems things are proceeding to a certain plan.

    [] Call On Magali: Up until now, you have been reacting to Orcish aggression. Protecting, and marshaling your forces. No longer-- now is the perfect time to strike. For Ironhide seeks, now, to march on the Everpeak-- not to claim it for himself, no, but to make Skarsnik his servant-- to refill his ranks, with disposable goblins. You did, after all, kill about all of them.

    So, his Orcish might marches with him. And leaves behind only a paltry force to protect his burgeoning realm. A few thousand, of his worst forces.

    That will be his downfall.

    You, every knight in your realm, a force of mounted archers, and whatever the Duchess Magali thinks acceptable are going to raid the Badlands. You're going to burn every orc settlement you find, from the largest to the smallest. Every greenskin is going to bleed. And every slave will be freed and brought back with you, if requested.

    You're going to teach that vile filth a thing or two about Bretons. Further, the blood you and she shed on those sands will form the bonds of vassalhood between you and she, forever linking the lands of Marsiarno to your burgeoning realm, and to Bretonnia proper.

    Caught between dwarfs and goblins and threatened to his weakest point, Grimgor will no doubt drawback to restore order and reclaim power- aiding the dwarfs, too, which they should like well enough.

    (Well, almost every knight in the realm. Edwige refuses to come with you, on account of "[she'll] not help one of the psychotic little twats.")

    - You fall, like a two-edged blade, on the Badlands.

    To the orcs, you are a spirit of death. Everywhere you go, green blood is spilled on the baking sands. Hundreds fall. Then thousands. Then you lose track. You loot and plunder and everything you cannot take, you burn. Iron ore is brought back to feed to your furnaces, gold is taken in vast chests and bags, food stolen-- let the orcs eat sand. From the moment you cross the Howling River, you-- in your new, strange, wonderful armor, glinting and terrible; and with your sword, and all the ocean's wrath that strains to be unleashed from it with every moment-- you slaughter, by the bushel. Once white sands are stained, from now until the end of time, green. Travelers who carry your story have a new name for the Badland: "C'est la fête de loups !" For the wolves do feed on the bodies you leave behind, and they feed well.

    It is a new kind of war. It is chevauchee, and you have birthed it solely to kill as many orcs as possible.

    (+1 Martial for literally birthing a new form of warfare)

    But there is the other side of that sword. The spirit of mercy, of justice, of savior. To the victims of orcs-- elves, dwarfs, hobbits and men alike-- you release from captivity, offering them food and shelter with your warrior's band. They may not know of you, of Bretonnia, of anything so far west from their homes-- but they learn. They learn of the white dove of mercy and the golden grail of honor. They learn of knights. They learn that there are powers as terrible-- if not more-- then the fetid, stinking, murderous things of the orcs-- but cast solely in justice. Many live who otherwise would have died. You come glinting and shining, and you save what you can, and you avenge the rest.

    Suffice to say, Marsiarno and Magali bend their knee to you.

    There was also a hoped for result in the reaction of Grimgor. Namely, now he has lost so many fortresses, so many soldiers, so much respect that it seems he has had new challengers arise to face him. To weaken him. To splinter him.

    The glimmer of that ugly facade is fading, and you couldn't be more thrilled.

    Reward: Marsiarno, Magali Vassalized; +1000 Gold; +750 Prestige; Huge increase to population from refugees
    --
    Have to get back into rhythm, sorry it took so long.

    Also, Old World news will be up soontm​
     
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