- Location
- Memphis, TN
I know what you're getting at, but I find it funny when you say 'nothing horrible was done' when literally she threw a flash bang in our face.
-
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Warhammer Fantasy: Honor is all, Chivalry is all (Bretonnia CK2)
- Thread starter Voikirium
- Start date
Well, she could have thrown an actual bomb in our face for one thing. That would certainly have been worse. Also she didn't really throw it at our face so much as at the ground in front of us. Presumably because as angry as the two of us are, she still likes our pretty face.I know what you're getting at, but I find it funny when you say 'nothing horrible was done' when literally she threw a flash bang in our face.
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
What happened with Charles was a lot closer to the usual stuff that Bretonnian boys do as Squires except with more fae.
That's not to say, of course that there's no criticism there, but it's less than there is in this situation.
bdun140
I have ideas. Sometimes they're even good.
[X] Spend time with Charles and Melisende. You must ask Charles if he ever figured this out, that the Champion who was training him was kin-- and if so, why he did not tell you.
[X] Spend time with Belicent. The child you did not know you had. The poor girl has spent the past sixteen years without father, brother, sister or mother, and only fay. That changes here.
[X] Pray. You could use...well, a whole lot of divine intervention, right now.
[X] Spend time with Belicent. The child you did not know you had. The poor girl has spent the past sixteen years without father, brother, sister or mother, and only fay. That changes here.
[X] Pray. You could use...well, a whole lot of divine intervention, right now.
Was re-reading the update and caught something:
Shouldn't the day we're voting on be day 2? At least, I don't think that we skipped the entire second day.
Derek58
Rocket Punch is Best Punch
- Location
- Getter Valhalla
Hey @Voikirium, did Philip and Morgyan roll poorly in handling that confrontation? It feels like they did.
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Philip shit the bed on both rolls Diplomacy and Intrigue alike, whereas Morgyan critted her "Oh Lady I really don't want to talk about this shit right here, right now, with you" but fucked up her Diplomacy.
Hence, Flashbang.
- Location
- Pennsylvania
[X] Spend time with Charles and Melisende. You must ask Charles if he ever figured this out, that the Champion who was training him was kin-- and if so, why he did not tell you.
[X] Spend time with Belicent. The child you did not know you had. The poor girl has spent the past sixteen years without father, brother, sister or mother, and only fay. That changes here.
[X] Pray. You could use...well, a whole lot of divine intervention, right now.
[X] Spend time with Belicent. The child you did not know you had. The poor girl has spent the past sixteen years without father, brother, sister or mother, and only fay. That changes here.
[X] Pray. You could use...well, a whole lot of divine intervention, right now.
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
- Location
- Tarn-Vedra
[X] There's a training yard that's sprung up, a sparring area where warriors from around the Old World are practicing against each other. You could really use some relaxation right about now.
[X] Pray. You could use...well, a whole lot of divine intervention, right now.
[X] Spend time with Belicent. The child you did not know you had. The poor girl has spent the past sixteen years without father, brother, sister or mother, and only fay. That changes here.
[X] Pray. You could use...well, a whole lot of divine intervention, right now.
[X] Spend time with Belicent. The child you did not know you had. The poor girl has spent the past sixteen years without father, brother, sister or mother, and only fay. That changes here.
Grand Theogenist Hedrich Lutzenschlager The Doctor Of His Church
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Grand Theogonist Hedrich Lutzenschlager The Doctor of His Church
"Though you might walk in lands corrupt and be besieged by the Forces of Darkness, fear not the wicked; for if you should die, Sigmar himself will pluck you up on the backs of Griffons, and lead you to his side."
-The Grand Theogenist
Source
The Grand Theogenists of the Empire are oft more famed as soldiers than scholars, and as demagogues than diplomats; but Hedrich. That is not to say, of course, that he cannot fight-- ask the Beastmen how that went for them-- or of giving passionate speeches that stir the heart-- he has led entire armies of maddened fanatics into Kislev to put to the sword Norscan raiders.
But he is famed far more as theoligican and in his off-time, missionary, than as a warrior, and for good reason. He has instituted reforms-- strict examinations of the Priests and their education, especially-- in the Church, using a coterie of scholar-soldiers who hold the warrior priests to task.
He has penned several tomes on various matter and for various reasons, each of which is noted for being as logically sound as it is dense-- the smallest still chimes at a heady 150 pages of small print-- not helped by the art next to each describing his point. The most famous of these, Die Magischen Winde, is a thousand page book that argues for the Imperial Wizard Colleges and the inhabitants thereof, one of the first such tomes written by any priest as high as he. This was, of course, done in the expectation that, in return for this bit of patronage, the Colleges would be more amenable to crafting things for him or in simply working with the Church; it appears to have payed off at least somewhat, being that even some of the smallest Knightly Orders of Sigmar are now wielding magical weapons.
One of the more...eccentric things the Grand Theogenist has done is to send aid-- supplies, warriors, and Missionaries-- to the Uncorrupted-- those non-Chaotic Norscans that even now struggle in a life or death battle with their fouler cousins for the right to live. This has allowed the Empire to choke off and slow many raids for the Old World and, especially, the Empire, as though many thousands of the Uncorrupted die by the unholy will of the Four, with the cannons, magic, and aid of Sigmar, they have survived-- and split their fouler kin in twain betwixt the North and South; many of the Uncorrupted have responded by converting to the Hammer-God in thanks for saving them.
--
Wrote this cause he's here and you might meet him, but also just cause.
(1:00 AM Thoughts)
"Though you might walk in lands corrupt and be besieged by the Forces of Darkness, fear not the wicked; for if you should die, Sigmar himself will pluck you up on the backs of Griffons, and lead you to his side."
-The Grand Theogenist
Source
The Grand Theogenists of the Empire are oft more famed as soldiers than scholars, and as demagogues than diplomats; but Hedrich. That is not to say, of course, that he cannot fight-- ask the Beastmen how that went for them-- or of giving passionate speeches that stir the heart-- he has led entire armies of maddened fanatics into Kislev to put to the sword Norscan raiders.
But he is famed far more as theoligican and in his off-time, missionary, than as a warrior, and for good reason. He has instituted reforms-- strict examinations of the Priests and their education, especially-- in the Church, using a coterie of scholar-soldiers who hold the warrior priests to task.
He has penned several tomes on various matter and for various reasons, each of which is noted for being as logically sound as it is dense-- the smallest still chimes at a heady 150 pages of small print-- not helped by the art next to each describing his point. The most famous of these, Die Magischen Winde, is a thousand page book that argues for the Imperial Wizard Colleges and the inhabitants thereof, one of the first such tomes written by any priest as high as he. This was, of course, done in the expectation that, in return for this bit of patronage, the Colleges would be more amenable to crafting things for him or in simply working with the Church; it appears to have payed off at least somewhat, being that even some of the smallest Knightly Orders of Sigmar are now wielding magical weapons.
One of the more...eccentric things the Grand Theogenist has done is to send aid-- supplies, warriors, and Missionaries-- to the Uncorrupted-- those non-Chaotic Norscans that even now struggle in a life or death battle with their fouler cousins for the right to live. This has allowed the Empire to choke off and slow many raids for the Old World and, especially, the Empire, as though many thousands of the Uncorrupted die by the unholy will of the Four, with the cannons, magic, and aid of Sigmar, they have survived-- and split their fouler kin in twain betwixt the North and South; many of the Uncorrupted have responded by converting to the Hammer-God in thanks for saving them.
--
Wrote this cause he's here and you might meet him, but also just cause.
(1:00 AM Thoughts)
Le Palais Des Fleur
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Le Palais Des Fleurs
Mother, mother, lend me your ear;
for the aches of the worthy must be soothed by your tears.
-Duc Connedus
(Source)
Le Palais Des Fleur is an ancient place, older than the Kingdom itself. Construction began in -547, when the last of the Imperials were forced from Bretonni land, but it did not reach its current, forested form until -300 under the rule of Duc Connedus, who was a fervent follower of Rhya-- and thus had great greenhouses built to hold flowers and other greenery. It served as his winter home until the day he died.
It was abandoned in the Unification, its marble halls and great forests left behind as Greenskin-- then Beastmen-- raced in and killed the ruler of the the palace. It was left to rot, the relic of a bygone era-- after all, the Bretonni lords had a new Lady to follow, and the peasants could hardly muster a force to retake it.
That changed when Godfrey married his wife, Annick. For she is a dedicated soldier of the Lord and Lady of Nature-- and allowing a place holy and dedicated to her to lie fallow felt unwell. And so she whispered to your son, and convinced him that the Palace would be a suitable place to rule until he ascended to the Lordship of Montfort. And though it came at cost, eventually the Beastmen were driven out by fire and blade. And in a sea of white and black, it has become a green spot on the land of Montfort, extending its grasp outward a full 300 Acres.
In the intervening years, he has rebuilt much of what was lost. Flowers of all of Bretonnia have been imported and placed in great gardens, forests have been replanted, and animals have been loosed. By shrewd negotiation the Lord of the Palace has convinced, spoken to, and made deals with many Lords and Ladies of Bretonnia and the Empire. It has become a hub of trade and deal-making, producing many fine works of art and other such crafts, though it is of limited use as a place of war. It has become a site of pilgrimage, too, a rallying point where the faithful of Taal and Rhya go to break bread with those like them. Godfrey has announced that he plans to erect a small school, a philosophical hub where the Lords of Bretonnia-- the Traditionalists especially-- can meet and speak, and have their children educated.
Mother, mother, lend me your ear;
for the aches of the worthy must be soothed by your tears.
-Duc Connedus
(Source)
Le Palais Des Fleur is an ancient place, older than the Kingdom itself. Construction began in -547, when the last of the Imperials were forced from Bretonni land, but it did not reach its current, forested form until -300 under the rule of Duc Connedus, who was a fervent follower of Rhya-- and thus had great greenhouses built to hold flowers and other greenery. It served as his winter home until the day he died.
It was abandoned in the Unification, its marble halls and great forests left behind as Greenskin-- then Beastmen-- raced in and killed the ruler of the the palace. It was left to rot, the relic of a bygone era-- after all, the Bretonni lords had a new Lady to follow, and the peasants could hardly muster a force to retake it.
That changed when Godfrey married his wife, Annick. For she is a dedicated soldier of the Lord and Lady of Nature-- and allowing a place holy and dedicated to her to lie fallow felt unwell. And so she whispered to your son, and convinced him that the Palace would be a suitable place to rule until he ascended to the Lordship of Montfort. And though it came at cost, eventually the Beastmen were driven out by fire and blade. And in a sea of white and black, it has become a green spot on the land of Montfort, extending its grasp outward a full 300 Acres.
In the intervening years, he has rebuilt much of what was lost. Flowers of all of Bretonnia have been imported and placed in great gardens, forests have been replanted, and animals have been loosed. By shrewd negotiation the Lord of the Palace has convinced, spoken to, and made deals with many Lords and Ladies of Bretonnia and the Empire. It has become a hub of trade and deal-making, producing many fine works of art and other such crafts, though it is of limited use as a place of war. It has become a site of pilgrimage, too, a rallying point where the faithful of Taal and Rhya go to break bread with those like them. Godfrey has announced that he plans to erect a small school, a philosophical hub where the Lords of Bretonnia-- the Traditionalists especially-- can meet and speak, and have their children educated.
Long Decades
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Long Decades
The Duke walked the field. Corpses, green and foul, still littered the fields, a week later and with five great pyres each a thousand tall and charring green flesh to naught. He wore the wolf-pelt and leather armor, a vibrant red that made him seem a red gash in the flesh of the mountains.
He seemed to be looking for something, his eyes scanning the shattered bodies. Humans were borne on stretchers to their final resting place in the Gardens of Morr, while constantly more Hobgoblins were took to the pyres and heaped into pyres, to be fed to the flames-- or were devoured in Eclatant's jaws.
Finally, he seemed to see it. Philip walked to where a banner, fluttering in the breeze and borne by the Khans, rested, planted in the snow; somehow, it seemed to cast a pallor over the earth. Shadows descended from it and sullied the stone and ice.
Pulling Kalaibarn from its sheathe, he slashed-- and the tanned leather and steel fell. Duke Philip gripped the fallen emblem, and held it aloft in the sky, and a moment later passed the thing to an attendant sans word of gratitude. The he jerked, looking to the ground-- no, passed the ground.
For moments he stood, gripped by the vision.
Then it finally passed, and he saw you.
"Rose. Can I help you?"
"Bretonni lord or no, Grail Knight or no, you were still just poisoned by the Hobgoblin-- you should be resting, recuperating, not picking the battlefield for marks of glory."
He ignores you , walking to new banner marked with a different khan's emblem-- and ignoring the bandages that are on his arm and hand.
You run in front of him, planting your new staff in front of you to stop him. "Of all the people in Montfort that I ever thought would ignore my orders, a Grail Knight is not one of them."
"I am not ignoring them." He grips both sword and hilt and gently passes them to you-- and within seconds flowers of blood erupt on the bandages wrapped around his hands as he points you to the delicate letters engraved on both spelling out the name. "But they were made without full knowledge of the facts. I bear the blade of Martrud himself; and so long as it is near to me, I will not die but only heal."
There's an electric shock as your grip the great Double-Blade; and it feels right in your hands, as the powers of life flow through you. "Yes, I know. I know the blade. Of all the people in the world who would not know, I am not one. I know also that it will rend a terrible price from you, if it be the blade alone what gives you healing. Does being bed-ridden for months sound like a great plan, Bretonni?"
The knight dances around you, grips the flag, and plants the side of his hand through it-- and a moment later, hands that second one over to his soldier. New blood spurts up from the formerly white bandages, and making a noise somewhere between a shriek and a cry you toss him back the blade. He grips it-- and the blood simply stops. He begins to walk for another placed banner, where the Hobgoblins had planted their artillery.
"Why? Why are these...symbols so important to you, that you'd do this?"
He stops-- and then he pulls out a wine bottle filled with rich, pungent stuff the same purple as the night sky from his rucksack. You can smell the Druchii stink coming off it. "Well thank you, Morgyan." He pops open the top, and from somewhere else- his sleeves, maybe-- takes out two glasses, flutish. "This is Druchhi stuff. It came from before the first Bretonni-- never mind Bretonnians-- walked these lands. Be a hell of a shame to let it go to waste." He hands you one, well filled; and takes a smaller, less full one for himself.
"I do it to remember. Did I ever tell you about the time I escaped from Black Chasm? The Skaven ambushed me, when I was on the Quest. Éclatant was shot-- There's a splotch of white where that burned him-- and I was taken to there.
They tried to strip me of my honor, and of my rank, and to turn me into a slave for them. But I was not alone. There was a woman there too, and we called her Ratfille-- for she was raised by the Skaven, a weapon-- supposedly without mercy.
On the eve of our first hunt, when I heard Eclatant's call and he sought me, I spoke to her through the bar's of our cells, of the Lady, and of the Sun, and of Freedom. And I could not help but hope that she would be moved.
And then the time came, and we were loosed to hunt the servants of Eshin. My escape was imminent. The rest of the slaves agreed to aid me, for one last grasp of honor. All that lay in question were what the Ratfille would do-- whether the Skaven had broken the inherent decency, the Honor, that lay in her breast.
And then she tossed herself into the mouth of the Skaven, and slew them with great aplomb. She gave her life to save ours-- for she was more akin to the Companions than I have ever been; it would be little surprise to me if, in the end, the Clans had to put aside their differences just to kill her.
And no-one will ever know, but me and the men she saved. There is nothing left of her, but our words, our stories-- and those are but dust in the wind when we are dead, and gone-- and that will happen, eventually-- it will be as though she never existed.
Twenty-thousand men died to stop these Hobgoblins. They will not be forgotten; I will make my Castle their memorial stone, and remind the whole world that though there is evil, and terror, and darkness, there is light, too.
That is why I am still walking."
The Duke walked the field. Corpses, green and foul, still littered the fields, a week later and with five great pyres each a thousand tall and charring green flesh to naught. He wore the wolf-pelt and leather armor, a vibrant red that made him seem a red gash in the flesh of the mountains.
He seemed to be looking for something, his eyes scanning the shattered bodies. Humans were borne on stretchers to their final resting place in the Gardens of Morr, while constantly more Hobgoblins were took to the pyres and heaped into pyres, to be fed to the flames-- or were devoured in Eclatant's jaws.
Finally, he seemed to see it. Philip walked to where a banner, fluttering in the breeze and borne by the Khans, rested, planted in the snow; somehow, it seemed to cast a pallor over the earth. Shadows descended from it and sullied the stone and ice.
Pulling Kalaibarn from its sheathe, he slashed-- and the tanned leather and steel fell. Duke Philip gripped the fallen emblem, and held it aloft in the sky, and a moment later passed the thing to an attendant sans word of gratitude. The he jerked, looking to the ground-- no, passed the ground.
For moments he stood, gripped by the vision.
Then it finally passed, and he saw you.
"Rose. Can I help you?"
"Bretonni lord or no, Grail Knight or no, you were still just poisoned by the Hobgoblin-- you should be resting, recuperating, not picking the battlefield for marks of glory."
He ignores you , walking to new banner marked with a different khan's emblem-- and ignoring the bandages that are on his arm and hand.
You run in front of him, planting your new staff in front of you to stop him. "Of all the people in Montfort that I ever thought would ignore my orders, a Grail Knight is not one of them."
"I am not ignoring them." He grips both sword and hilt and gently passes them to you-- and within seconds flowers of blood erupt on the bandages wrapped around his hands as he points you to the delicate letters engraved on both spelling out the name. "But they were made without full knowledge of the facts. I bear the blade of Martrud himself; and so long as it is near to me, I will not die but only heal."
There's an electric shock as your grip the great Double-Blade; and it feels right in your hands, as the powers of life flow through you. "Yes, I know. I know the blade. Of all the people in the world who would not know, I am not one. I know also that it will rend a terrible price from you, if it be the blade alone what gives you healing. Does being bed-ridden for months sound like a great plan, Bretonni?"
The knight dances around you, grips the flag, and plants the side of his hand through it-- and a moment later, hands that second one over to his soldier. New blood spurts up from the formerly white bandages, and making a noise somewhere between a shriek and a cry you toss him back the blade. He grips it-- and the blood simply stops. He begins to walk for another placed banner, where the Hobgoblins had planted their artillery.
"Why? Why are these...symbols so important to you, that you'd do this?"
He stops-- and then he pulls out a wine bottle filled with rich, pungent stuff the same purple as the night sky from his rucksack. You can smell the Druchii stink coming off it. "Well thank you, Morgyan." He pops open the top, and from somewhere else- his sleeves, maybe-- takes out two glasses, flutish. "This is Druchhi stuff. It came from before the first Bretonni-- never mind Bretonnians-- walked these lands. Be a hell of a shame to let it go to waste." He hands you one, well filled; and takes a smaller, less full one for himself.
"I do it to remember. Did I ever tell you about the time I escaped from Black Chasm? The Skaven ambushed me, when I was on the Quest. Éclatant was shot-- There's a splotch of white where that burned him-- and I was taken to there.
They tried to strip me of my honor, and of my rank, and to turn me into a slave for them. But I was not alone. There was a woman there too, and we called her Ratfille-- for she was raised by the Skaven, a weapon-- supposedly without mercy.
On the eve of our first hunt, when I heard Eclatant's call and he sought me, I spoke to her through the bar's of our cells, of the Lady, and of the Sun, and of Freedom. And I could not help but hope that she would be moved.
And then the time came, and we were loosed to hunt the servants of Eshin. My escape was imminent. The rest of the slaves agreed to aid me, for one last grasp of honor. All that lay in question were what the Ratfille would do-- whether the Skaven had broken the inherent decency, the Honor, that lay in her breast.
And then she tossed herself into the mouth of the Skaven, and slew them with great aplomb. She gave her life to save ours-- for she was more akin to the Companions than I have ever been; it would be little surprise to me if, in the end, the Clans had to put aside their differences just to kill her.
And no-one will ever know, but me and the men she saved. There is nothing left of her, but our words, our stories-- and those are but dust in the wind when we are dead, and gone-- and that will happen, eventually-- it will be as though she never existed.
Twenty-thousand men died to stop these Hobgoblins. They will not be forgotten; I will make my Castle their memorial stone, and remind the whole world that though there is evil, and terror, and darkness, there is light, too.
That is why I am still walking."
Wedding Bash pt. 10
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Wedding Bash pt.10
Your knees are bent, your hands folded; sunlight streams in through the windows, striking you.
"Lady of grace and good temper, guide me in the days to come. Let me not forget mine oaths; let me not forget my kin. Let me be honorable, just, and virtuous; let me be noble.
Lady of just wrath, let me fulfill your ever-righteous will. Let sin be cleansed from my brow in the waters of duty and the performance of deeds greatly just.
Lady of Ladies, make me remember what I have sworn; to honor...and to cherish her, though there might be strife betwixt us."
You feel...not healed; but healing. You are the Heir of Martrud, Lord of the Mountains, Bane of the Monsters Massif, Killer of Gtilla; you survived the Quest, the poison, your sister...
You will survive this.
There comes a rapping at your door. Rising from the cold ground you walk-- and there she is.
Belicent.
The child you never knew you never knew.
She is...willow-y. It's the first thought that strikes you; painfully thin and tall, and pale...
"They've been feeding you, right?"
She has somewhere between a frown and the red faced pain of trying very, very hard not to laugh. "Yes, father."
There's a bolt of shame and guilt that you can't arrest-- but her own face screws up as she sees it. "I should go."
"No." You reach out, and grab her by the arm. "No, you shouldn't. You should tell me a story. Because I've heard a few."
She smiles, and then grabs a small leather pack from her shoulder. It jingles as she moves it-- and then she opens it to reveal a small museum's worth of trophies from hunts and duels and battles. Broken axes, shattered fangs, ripped off scales-- each is there.
The next hour or two is spent hearing the life of your daughter, as told through her battles-- the victories and the failures alike.
...
"And the beast of the west rose, fire undulating from his dark jaws! His scorching blast struck me, and the fire sore wounded-- but I rode, and hard; and with fearsome yell, I did split the beast's jaws in twain, for to make of myself this armor!"
You clap your daughter on the back. "A dragon, truly? At that age? But that I were so fortunate."
"It was not all my doing; the beast smacked into a rock before we fought. Still, it was a fight."
Before the two of you can speak further, a horn blows from the training grounds.
Peering out you see that the human warriors appear to have lain claim to the place for a moment. Estalians, Kislevites, Rebels, Tileans, Imperials-- and of course, Bretonnians.
There seems to be a tourney forming out of nowhere. Three teams of Bretonnians seem to be shaping up:
-Sir Hercule of Gaudaron. His son Amalric is watching from the stands, cheerful. A feminine voice in the back of your head is telling you to pay attention. Hercule's armor is well-maintained, but beaten to hell and back; and his sword has not even a dull luster.
-Earl Urien of Quenelles has ralled many men to his side. He doesn't really wear armor, as such; or at least, you wouldn't know so if you couldn't see the marks where hide has been sewn together two or three layers thick. His son is in the stands, and every time you look at him you hear the chattering of rats.
-Duke Arthur de Courrone. His trident gleams as gold in the sun, and his orange scale armor is a bright mark. Many of the Knights of Courrone have fallen behind him. His adopted son/nephew Louen lies held in the arms of his wife, and the roar of a lion can be heard every time you look at him.
You turn to ask your daughter if she'd like to join the battle, only for her to be two steps ahead of you-- she's sliding on her armor, and grabbing her sword as you turn.
Well.
Which group do you join?
[] Earl Urien
[] Duke Arthur
[] Sir Hercule
Your knees are bent, your hands folded; sunlight streams in through the windows, striking you.
"Lady of grace and good temper, guide me in the days to come. Let me not forget mine oaths; let me not forget my kin. Let me be honorable, just, and virtuous; let me be noble.
Lady of just wrath, let me fulfill your ever-righteous will. Let sin be cleansed from my brow in the waters of duty and the performance of deeds greatly just.
Lady of Ladies, make me remember what I have sworn; to honor...and to cherish her, though there might be strife betwixt us."
You feel...not healed; but healing. You are the Heir of Martrud, Lord of the Mountains, Bane of the Monsters Massif, Killer of Gtilla; you survived the Quest, the poison, your sister...
You will survive this.
There comes a rapping at your door. Rising from the cold ground you walk-- and there she is.
Belicent.
The child you never knew you never knew.
She is...willow-y. It's the first thought that strikes you; painfully thin and tall, and pale...
"They've been feeding you, right?"
She has somewhere between a frown and the red faced pain of trying very, very hard not to laugh. "Yes, father."
There's a bolt of shame and guilt that you can't arrest-- but her own face screws up as she sees it. "I should go."
"No." You reach out, and grab her by the arm. "No, you shouldn't. You should tell me a story. Because I've heard a few."
She smiles, and then grabs a small leather pack from her shoulder. It jingles as she moves it-- and then she opens it to reveal a small museum's worth of trophies from hunts and duels and battles. Broken axes, shattered fangs, ripped off scales-- each is there.
The next hour or two is spent hearing the life of your daughter, as told through her battles-- the victories and the failures alike.
...
"And the beast of the west rose, fire undulating from his dark jaws! His scorching blast struck me, and the fire sore wounded-- but I rode, and hard; and with fearsome yell, I did split the beast's jaws in twain, for to make of myself this armor!"
You clap your daughter on the back. "A dragon, truly? At that age? But that I were so fortunate."
"It was not all my doing; the beast smacked into a rock before we fought. Still, it was a fight."
Before the two of you can speak further, a horn blows from the training grounds.
Peering out you see that the human warriors appear to have lain claim to the place for a moment. Estalians, Kislevites, Rebels, Tileans, Imperials-- and of course, Bretonnians.
There seems to be a tourney forming out of nowhere. Three teams of Bretonnians seem to be shaping up:
-Sir Hercule of Gaudaron. His son Amalric is watching from the stands, cheerful. A feminine voice in the back of your head is telling you to pay attention. Hercule's armor is well-maintained, but beaten to hell and back; and his sword has not even a dull luster.
-Earl Urien of Quenelles has ralled many men to his side. He doesn't really wear armor, as such; or at least, you wouldn't know so if you couldn't see the marks where hide has been sewn together two or three layers thick. His son is in the stands, and every time you look at him you hear the chattering of rats.
-Duke Arthur de Courrone. His trident gleams as gold in the sun, and his orange scale armor is a bright mark. Many of the Knights of Courrone have fallen behind him. His adopted son/nephew Louen lies held in the arms of his wife, and the roar of a lion can be heard every time you look at him.
You turn to ask your daughter if she'd like to join the battle, only for her to be two steps ahead of you-- she's sliding on her armor, and grabbing her sword as you turn.
Well.
Which group do you join?
[] Earl Urien
[] Duke Arthur
[] Sir Hercule
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King Arthur
The Once and Future King
Which feminine voice?
I can think of at least three we might be hearing, between our Lady, our wife, and our newly found daughter.
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
The Lady.
It's not...literally the Lady, she's got better things to do right now-- like celebrate that Neferata is dead and lead the clerics to victory-- but it's the little voice inside your head that's been there since you drank from the Grail and sounds a lot like her.
King Arthur
The Once and Future King
Hrmmmm, well, I do like Arthur, but I like my Lady more, so if she wants me to listen my ears are open.
At least, I hope this is what she means by listen.
- Location
- West Michigan
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Earl Urien
Could be Tileans, but we can't hold his birth circumstances against him. After all, he's doing good in Bretonnia, right?
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him