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

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soulcake said:
Come now, we don't know how the dice will roll.

Comparing the abusive spouse that is Drunken Dynasty dice to the most chivalrous die in this quest is quite silly.
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Fred's very probably death isn't the problem. Spending multiple years in a hole in the ground while his wife and family worry is the problem.

Philip has been an absentee husband long enough as is.
 
She's a Lore of Life specialist, isn't she? I'm wondering if they are talking about the elder races fertility problems.

That or the Lady is offering help to repay some grudges.
 
Voikirium said:
In canon, The Fay Enchantress can use any one Wind at a time.
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Bretonnians must have a good explanation to her casting the Purple Sun or spells from the Lore of Shadows.

Actually am I alone to find a bit strange Damsels have access to Ghur? The Wind of Beasts general aesthetic, even from the description of the Empire Amber Wizards, is not really in-tune with the land of refined chilvary.
 
ganonso said:
Bretonnians must have a good explanation to her casting the Purple Sun or spells from the Lore of Shadows.

Actually am I alone to find a bit strange Damsels have access to Ghur? The Wind of Beasts general aesthetic, even from the description of the Empire Amber Wizards, is not really in-tune with the land of refined chilvary.
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"The Enchantress stood in the rain, and saw the depravity of the Druchii; and it enraged her, and so she turned her dark gaze upon the plunderers and slavers, and smote them with a wrath that none could withstand, crushing them in an instant."

Ghur is a lot more than just acting like a beast-- you can also tame and calm enraged or wild animals with it. Beyond which, Bretonnians are totally down with basically any form of nature.
 
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Highlands Infantry
  • Informational
    • Highlands Infantry

    "Ah, run back to your castle, you cattle killing, fight running, chief mocking, silk pajama wearing, two-timing, tea drinking, Sanglo bane! The people of the Tuath'll never recognize your damnable king as our lord!"
    -Chief Donella Cameron O' Cameron, when asked to pledge fealty to Arzhur


    (Source)

    Albion is a rainy, muddy, boggy, and hilly lands-- and nowhere is this more true than the North, which has the added bonus of icing and snowing in the winter months.

    This makes large-scale cavalry-- knights and raiders and yeomen-- impractical, if not impossible, to use in a military sense in Écosse. However, in the south, where things are somewhat more mild, you will see small numbers of home-grown cavalry, especially now that the Empire is exporting their beasts to the Isle. In ages past, the tribes of the South used these horses to raid the north, extorting tribute-- especially the Sanglos, supplemented by the ships they brought with them from the Empire.

    In response, the people of the North have developed means to stand tall against the raiders: the bill-hook, the pike...

    and the claymore.

    They really, really like the claymore. Developed over centuries, the largest are six pounds, taller than a child, and more than capable of simply slicing through the foe, whether that be Sanglo, Skaven, or vampire, as the soldiers of Écosse proudly proved during the Crusade against Mousillon.

    Whatever weapon they wield, the Highland warriors are a fierce, fiery, unyielding bunch, honed by years of clan warfare and raids against and by Sanglo, Firmir, and Skaven into deadly soldiers, each more than capable of fighting off invaders.

    Armor will vary drastically depending on where the Highlander is from, exactly; the more towards the center you go, the less armor; further north, the nearer to the ancient juggernauts who once walked Albion.

    Still, there are two universal features: in every unit there is a bagpipe player, and the Kilts- especially the kilts.

    For while it is possible that the warriors of Tuath will go to war sans their battle music in times of extreme need, always, always, always there is at least one soldier bearing the ancient colors of clan and kin. Symbols of those ancient families, the Kilt-- do not ever call it a skirt, on pain of an angry six foot tall warrior beating the blasted hell out of you, as Sir Blaise of the Crooked Nose can attest-- is a symbol of all the clan believes, and of its honor; many believe that the ancient symbols grant protection to those who live up to those ideals.

    While the Highland Infantry are a small group within Albion, never mind Bretonnia, it is hard to deny the striking image of a band of these warriors grinding a charge of Sanglo raiders, Skaven war-machines, and Firmir beasts to a halt.
    --
    Vote is called, update will be up today.
     
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    • I love the world expansion you do to make world seem bigger than it is in canon. It does ultimately make things feel a bit less grim and desperate, the mere fact that these minor things still exist making the forces of destruction seem like less of a threat, but it's still something new and interesting to read about.
     
    Andres110 said:
    I love the world expansion you do to make world seem bigger than it is in canon. It does ultimately make things feel a bit less grim and desperate, the mere fact that these minor things still exist making the forces of destruction seem like less of a threat, but it's still something new and interesting to read about.
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    You'd be surprised how much of this World Expansion I'm doing is literally just me going "Wait what that's so fucking stupid and such a waste of potential and also kind-of/really racist, why would you write that?" (>MFW I realized Gee-Dubs made their Africa analogue a bunch disparate tribes as opposed to literally anything else)
     
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    The Green-Tide pt. 12
  • Threadmarks
    • The Green-Tide pt. 12

    "I, I...", your head bows as you look to she who inflames hearts in glory, "I know not what I have done to be worthy of your sight a second time, fairest Lady; but I ask of you, who knows what is best in life: Save my people. I bare my breast to thee, off you my neck, my soul, my heart, if you will but save them."

    "I already have your soul, mine knight." The Lady smiles gently at you, in the manner of a matron. "And do you think you must sacrifice more now than you have? Your mother, your father, five years of family, and thine eye. Nay, nay, upon this field of battle my eyes will feast upon you, and the feats of valor you show; you will never fight without mine gaze, oh good knight, never be alone."

    She lays a kiss upon your cheek-- and instantly you can...see, is not the right word, for that would imply form physical and colors alone; it is more that the souls of things are laid bare, the brightness and the light-- and the Lady herself is brightest gold, the day-sun. "I cannot give thee thine eye once more, bright champion, for the She-Whore of Blood has burnt it beyond reckoning to trick her foes-- her doom yet comes, that I promise you-- but I do give thee what I can: the gift of sight beyond seeing, vision beyond vision. Though shalt not need eyes, for the matter of all will be lain bare to you, who has bled upon the oaken-shaft for me."

    Even as she speaks an eyepatch of gold is laid over the wounds. (Gain Chivalrous Sight: Nullifies malus from One-Eye, +2 Diplomacy, +2 Intrigue)

    "But I did not come solely to heal ye who has suffered in my service. I have come to relay to you a message."

    And then her voice becomes booming lightning, roaring thunder, racing rivers.

    "The fell Greenskin hath mine ire earned. They have destroyed my lands that I cherish, slain those who I love beyond all others, and sullied the lands of the First King. Thus their doom comes, and I their blood will have. The mists will shroud your soldiers, the foe shall find no purchase, and their death long belayed will come. On the third clap of thunder and lightning, I promise you the forces of doom will find themselves backfooted to face that which I on them unleash.

    This, to you, is my promise, August Knight. Now go."
    --

    You awaken still kneeling on the marble, legs long since asleep. Racing up you touch your eye-patch; and where it was once simple leather, it now feels like smooth silk.

    "Father. The men are assembled, the foes yet unkindly assembled not half-hours' ride. They number fifty-thousand, and the forces of Montfort are assembled to meet them." You turn and look upon your eldest son and are thrown back to see him. He is a spark to the Lady's bonfire-- but he is a bright, bright spark.

    "It matters not, my Son, good Godfrey! For we have the Lady on our side, and glory to our backs!"

    There is the sound of great weight meeting the earth-- and then Éclatant roars bright, defiant, and hateful, scenting the foe upon the mountains before you.

    You race out and see him. His wings are extended, the sun is behind him and glimmers in his black feathers. Borne on his form is the heraldry of Montfort-- the Castle. His beak is scarred, cracked by Skaven blade, and his eyes burn with great, wrathful fire and grand hunger for blood and battle.

    You mount the great, clawed creature, who drank the blood of trolls and feasted on the flesh of beasts Chaotic. At once you are away on the great wings, more terrible than any eagle or hawk.

    As you fly to the field, you see them. The Greenskins throw up a column of dust high as the walls of any city, easily sightable from the back of your mount. The other Hippogryph Knights fall behind you, their beasts screeching to Éclatant. "My lord, they are firmly pressed and great outnumber us! Gtilla rides at the center, surrounded by his finest warriors!"

    You laugh as the heady emotions of battle fall upon you. There is a taste finer than any wine in your mouth, your heart beats like the great drumming of hooves falling upon the plains, and the beat of wings is your pulse as you see the mountains you see love shoot under you until you finally fly just over the field.

    "Good! But that there were more, that we might have more the glory of battle, good sir!"

    "But sire-"

    "The Lady watches! We can but succeed, if we put our hearts to it! Oh, minstrels shall write of this battle in ages yet to come!"

    Below you, Annick walks past the men at arms and yeomen, checking them for any fault and downing with aplomb the Waters Rejuvenating, to fortify her. Godfrey sits mounted on Fleur to her right, trotting with her and sharing soft words of good encouragement. The men themselves gleam in the sun, spear-tips shining, shields held high, banners aloft and fluttering in the breeze. Fear grips their heart, but they fight past it in the manner of soldiers.

    They have been split in two-- some thirteen-thousand, half of your infantry, rest on the valley itself, presenting long lines to the marauding Hob-Goblins, a wall of wyvern-flesh to them that will not be pierced. The rest stay on the wall itself, to help protect the bowmen and trebuchet.

    Off on the plateaus over-looking the city, the expert marksmen of the Villein and Coureur de Bois form up to scythe the foe down even once battle itself is joined.

    Dogs held on long chains bark and scratch and howl to be loosed upon the Green-skins they hate so mightily, hungry for to slay these fiends who have killed so many.

    In the mountain caves that over-look the valley of Montfort, Bohemond, gripping the Lady's banner, rides next to Lancelot, new gifted spurs and lance held in his hands.

    Lancelot takes a few swings in practice from atop his warhorse, and looks upon the foe with disdain, angrily sighting them next to the House-Hold Knights and the Brotherhood Unbound. The wolf-knights and pegasus riders alike stay near each-other, trading tales, even as the Yeomen are preached to by Rose, herself mounted on a pegasus and waiting for battle. Near them, their own hounds sleep, waiting for the coming death.

    Even as you fly over, as the Lady promised, mists roll in from the mountains themselves and cover you and your men. They gasp to see it, for the sun yet still shines through, and the bowmen can see through it. There will be no wheeling and racing for the Hobgoblins today; they will have to stand and fight, or be lost betwixt the mists.

    "See now, my soldiers, my brothers? The Lady is with us-- and by her grace, there is naught we cannot do!"

    The first bolt of lightning the Lady promised strikes the earth before you, burning a great mark. On instinct, Ezekiel tells the Bowmen not to fire until the hounds of the foe reach there.

    A voice in your head tells you to land, and you do, as do the other Hippogryph knights...

    [] By the infantry. By their spears shall this blood seeking-scourge be held well at bay.
    [] Amidst the Knights. Honor! Glory! Chivalry!
    [] On the Walls, with the archers. You have an idea!
     
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    • [X] By the infantry. By their spears shall this blood seeking-scourge be held well at bay.

    Sons of Bretonnia, your Lords stand with you! Hold fast and break the enemy!
     
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