Warhammer Fantasy: Honor is all, Chivalry is all (Bretonnia CK2)
- Thread starter Voikirium
- Start date
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Preparations for Battle
Never be caught unprepared when the darkness stirs if possible.
Never be caught unprepared when the darkness stirs if possible.
King Arthur
The Once and Future King
Wow this is really now how I saw this vote going. I thought it would all go towards What?.
[X] Preparations for Battle
[X] Preparations for Battle
- Location
- Mountains of Appalachia
[X] Preparations for Battle
Turn 28 Results
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Turn 28
1451
Your armor jingles as you move Blaze to look over the mountain's edge, snow twinkling in the sun, shafts of light falling around. A chill wind whistles round you, and beneath, in the valleys, you see people moving, living, working. A beating heart, to a vital land, a good one.
It is one that Nehekara threatens once again.
Three times, now, the dead kings have struck.
Centuries before Gilles, they had come to Lyonesse in their creaking, dead ships in the night. They had come, and they had slaughtered. Killed. Enslaved. In the end, they fled, like thieves, under the orders of the greatest thief of all, The Imperishable. Still the scars of this are left— great, blackstone monoliths carved into the lands of Lyonesse, an entire tribe destroyed, bleakest magic flowing into Mousillon.
Next, in the time of Gilles, they had come again, and once more, under Settra. A great fleet, a hundred strong of good ships fitted with unholy magical weapons, assailed the coast of Aquitaine; conquering vast swathes of the Dukedom, it seemed the Imperishable might sully that land— until Henri Lamorte, youngest brother of Fredemund, gathered a fleet a fourth that size, and met the undead king in combat— and drove him off, after extracting oaths that never again would he attack Bretonnia. It was a mighty deed of a mighty man. That too, left scars— names of children, carried down by lines, still lingering today; and too the fractious, proud, nature of the lords of Aquitaine, inherited from their dead masters in those dark days.
Now, the followers of Nagash seek to steal his body for reasons you can make neither head nor tail of. But, you know this: Man fought him once. Man will fight him, and his puppets, again now, and ever more if they must— for there is only one king of Bretonnia, and he is a living man, not of these undead cowards.
But then, perhaps, there are matters closer to home. The greenskins stir in their wrath— the goblins find kings for the first time in Millenia since Martrud and the Companions went deeper than any man ever did and slaughtered them. The Orcs are gathered to the hands of one mightier than the rest, the first true Boss since your father slayed their last twenty years at Willbrook, under storm, and began his long, just reign.
As well, Chaos stirs. A cult of Nurgle, the Plague-Father, seeks to ruin your son as so long ago you smote their city as a Knight Errant. In this, they have twisted a child, if not more, and if you do not act cautiously, evil might flow like a miasma through your streets.
The Witch-King writhes in the North, and in his convulsions he will strike the world— and perhaps you. The Warriors of Klarond Kar, who saw as you shed Malida's blood upon your lance and sent her off to hell, no doubt seek a vengeance; though, with the loss of their patsy and Malekith's focus on removing the allies of the Asur from Naggaroth, they may find it harder to retrieve than they wish.
And against these threats, so evil, and so vulgar— the King demands peace. To heal. To restore. To rebuild. Understandable, perhaps one day men will find him right and true, but, as you look upon the goblins pouring out of the forest and ready the Silver Lance, Gilles' banner fluttering in the wind, you cannot help but to chafe.
It is good timing, then, that there are goblins there, flanks open for a charge, that you can take your anger out on.
Martial: Two paths lie before you. One of obedience...and one of glory.
The Motherland: Your grandmother, Carole, was a member of the small family of Valmont of Bastonne. Your grand-uncles all died young and childless: one a tragic accident with a farm ho, one in battle with a dozen minotaurs, the last captured by the Druchii and almost surely dead in their cruel gladiatorial games. Your grandmother hoped one of her grandchildren would inherit the name and lands alike, all ten acres and manor.
However, a scattered band of Greenskin survivors infests the lands. Three-hundred goblins, maybe more. Hard.
Hard, but not impossible. The Knights-Unbound, and a few dozen Knights Errant, should be more than enough to cleanse the manor and the lands. Then you can give it to one of your kids. Maybe Abraham; it would be well and so for him to be near someone so alike in temperament.
Needed:40 Rolled:73+5=78
- You, your House-Hold, and the Knights Unbound, along with perhaps thirty Knights Errant set out to cleanse the lands of your ancestors.
Fifty knights against two-hundred goblins. It's not even a contest, really— they scatter at the site of you, fleeing into the woods, run down and broken by an army of steel and faith and honor that cut through them like a knife through butter.
A Knight Errant is left as a seneschal to protect the land, while you head for home. Already, tariffs have begun flowing into its treasury— and from there, taxes to you.
Reward: Gain Valmont Estate, tax income, land that can be gifted to children.
Preparations for Battle: You will be leading a great charge of horses, beastflesh, and men into dense caverns filled with many foes that want you all dead. It seems a good idea to, perhaps, ready yourself— drill, hold tourneys, find great knights, and ensure that you are as ready as you will ever be to throw out the Night Goblins, and their king.
Needed: 50 Rolled: 54+20=74
- The best experience is practical experience, as they say.You have your men practice marching in formation, spear and sword fighting, taking and receiving orders, intensifying patrols at the fort and so on and so forth. Fortunately— and with no small credit to your insisting that your men practice in their finest— you appear to have convinced the king's men and other messengers that this was, by and large, a parade. It can't cover everything, and doesn't, but that does reduce it enough that the most you hear from the kings allies is a slight murmur.
Diplomacy: Your student and Squire, Bohemond, needs aid. His lands ravaged and his people slaughtered, you hope to give it to him.
Aiding Bastonne: Half of Bastonne is dead. Thousands of acres burned, half the whole host of honor was slaughtered in a day. Duke Bohemond I died to Morglum, as did most of his sons, and his wife followed of a heart-attack born of grief. Entire families were snuffed out. Villages need rebuilding, castles need repairs, man-labor is desperately required. Beggars line the streets, the hungry outweigh the full.
And yet the pride of Bastonne would not allow them to accept aid.
Uther has spent the past years only just trying to convince certain, noble individuals to accept it— and finally, it seems, it bears fruit. Your countrymen suffer, and you will bring them aid.
It will be expensive, but well worth the cost.
- With the new estate in place, funneling supplies and such on to Bastonne becomes far easier and simpler.
What?: The Knights of Restful Death swore, to your father, they would protect the body of Lamorte, and keep it hidden. Now, though, the agents of Nagash himself seek to claim the body, to wring it of all its power. You fear something terrible might have happened— if not something terrible, then you have...questions.
Needed:35 Rolled: 93
- It seems your fears were well-founded:
The Knights of Restful Dead are fallen. Their headquarters lie plundered, their manors and estates breached, their members all mysteriously dead. Following the contact they left for your father, you make your way to their nearest center, in Reikland, a hidden place— and find it looted, pillaged, the men dead— by rifle fire, not khopesh. Treachery, from Imperials.
Shocking, really.
On a whim, you take a journal, hidden in the folds of a wizard's cloak.
Racing further north you make your way to the hidden tomb of Lamorte, and as you feared the slaves of darkness entered. But, as you make your way to the journal, you brutally, slowly, manage to cut your way through the archaic Reikspiel to realize something:
This is not the body of Lamorte. Rather, in fear of the resources being siphoned up by one of the members of their little club, one Arnulf Todbringer, the wizard moved the body to a location only he knew, and which only you have the map to— a cryptic, nonsense map, perhaps, but a map. A map the traitorous Arnulf does not have.
The wizard, too, offered theories on why the necromancer's slaves seek Lamorte's body. The simplest, of course, is simply to raise one of the few people who ever beat Settra as a wight and use him to do it again, and so conquer the Tomb Kings and put them all under the authority of Arkhan, meaning, in truth, Nagash— and having that whole Kingdom seeking resurrect him would, no doubt, aid the Arch-Necromancer. Other, more esoteric possibilities are considered, as well, but they rely on thaumaturgy of the worst sort— magic, spells, and a million other things you have no knowledge of, nor desire to know.
In the tomb is a decoy, a random Sigmarite warrior priest. Some might consider it disrespectful to the dead— but having met more Sigmarite priests than any sane Bretonnian should have to, there is little doubt that he would be more than happy to frustrate traitorous undead from beyond the grave.
In any case, when you arrive you see the tomb looted, bodies of mercenaries where deadly traps reaped their price. The traitor made it there before you— but he has a worthless body, now, for whatever purpose he seeks the dead hero. Of course, in all likelihood they already determined that— You should act as such, anyway— but every one of those men is resources he can no longer use and all that time spent, trying to steal the wrong body, wasted.
It seems, then, that the race is on— you, a single lord of Bretonnia, against the servants of the thing that first afflicted the world with undeath.
Very well. Your horse is fast enough, anyway.
Reward: Found Wizard's Journal, determined that oh fuck the Knights were exterminated, Discovered a Traitor, Somewhat informed theories on why Arkhan wants Lamorte's body, beyond being a prick
Stewardship: With the damage inflicted by Grom recovered, Yvain has decided that you can afford to begin looking to improve instead of to just rebuild. For that, he has a few ideas.
A Roost To Rest: You… would feel wrong, riding anything but a fine Bretonnian war-horse. That said, your father adored the beasts and considered them much akin to himself. Further, you have an extra egg, whether or not you yourself ride. Yvain believes it might be a good idea— and you are inclined— to establish a breeding ground for them in Montfort. Annick could tame the newest born creature, even. That said, you will need help, to bless the grounds so the chicks learn to both fly and thrive; a Damsel, or Prophetess, would be necessary, and Rose is somewhat inconvenienced at the moment. You could try without the egg you have now, but procuring one could be...difficult, owing to all the nobles who sought one out seeking to emulate your father.
- Asfaloth has reached up to your knee. Annick dotes on him like one of the poodles of Parravon's court, more akin to those than the iron willed warrior who broke an army. For his part, you've seen him run, at least three times, into his own shadow.
So.
Elf Quarter: The High Elves are, to put none too fine a point on it, picky. Far less than the Imperials, blinded by the Dwarf's grumblings, believe; but still, it does exist. As such, only a relative few, less than five, come to Montfort bearing trade. If there was a proper space, though, built and supplies to their standards, more would come— and as more came, more would trade, and in the doing you would make more money for your people.
- The Elves are coming, the elves are coming! By which you mean Ellyrion traders from Prince Alan are starting to pour in and help construct quarters fit for elven sensibilities.
Piety: Rose has returned from her trip rescuing the new Baron of Westerlands. She has a new scar, as well as a new staff, much bigger than her last. It seems she has become, then, that which evil fears most: a Prophetess of the Lady. Young, for that, but not entirely without Precedent.
A Daughter's Duty: For many years now, the Daughters of Rhya have been working in your Dukedom, aiding the women of your land, your wife included, in giving birth. That said, they have only the temple in the city itself right now, so for all their aid they are only just helping a segment of the populace. They would like to expand, to the land of all your Barons. Which...could be somewhat difficult, knowing your cousin's reputation.
Needed:40 Rolled: 28+5=33
- Unfortunately, goblin raiders attack and belay several of the Daughters of Rhya who planned to head out in the mountains, slowing their progress much.
-FAILURE-
Ready for War: The Tomb Kings stir. The servants of Nagash seek Bretonnians, for what and why you neither know nor care. In such times, it would be wise to ask the damsels for wisdom in facing the Undead Kings— before they can ravage the lands.
Needed:50 Rolled:18+5=23 Re-Roll:77+5=82
- At first the Damsels are not quite sure how, exactly, to prepare for facing the undead-- always and ever has their gaze turned against the Greenskins who sully so much of the Land, for they have ever been the more immediate threat. Perhaps-- perhaps-- not greater in the long term, but then, how important is the long term if you have a Choppa embedded in your gut.
However, the discovery in the Blackwater Springs allows them to make headway on a certain... technique they had considered, essentially straining out magic from the Dhar, breaking it apart into strands they can use-- Azyr, Ghyran, Ghur, or a fourth that you are too polite to ask about. Its symbol looks vaguely like a grail.
In any case, tearing apart the magic the Necromancers use should be a distraction they can ill afford.
Reward: +5 Magic Rolls against Necromancers
Learning: Your father's efforts to back scholarship in Bretonnia are impressive, but handicapped by his own, simpler nature.
Going Inside: Outhouses are miserable. Cold, wooden, they are a pain, and a misery; unclean, too, dirty. Nimue, however, has discovered in Mousillon the schematics to a system that will remove waste cleanly and efficiently, apparently developed by the elves then stolen by one of the earlier dukes. She will need time to perfect it, though.
- The new collection of cisterns and pipes and so on needed to flow water through the castle are mostly done, but there will still be a little time until they are absolutely finished.
Steel-Plow: Much of the soil of Montfort is too hard, too rocky to be plowed by the usual iron farming tools. However, an inventor of Quenells, one Jean Cerfe, has come to your lands with the idea to build a new plow, harder and better and made not of iron but real steel. Difficult, yes, but potentially worthwhile.
- Jean has begun making prototypes. Good on Jean.
Intrigue: You are a better sneak than your father, and your wife is better than you both. Wise and clever, she has been the doom of a thousand souls.
Qu'est Qui?: Rose is currently under watch after her episode in front of the Court. Her eyes were glowing rainbows, her cloak was billowing, and she spoke with a voice like fire. Clearly, this Húnarta is utterly unimportant.
To be more serious for a moment, you should probably check on that.
Needed: 50 Rolled: 29+20=49
- Unfortunately, the destruction of Arnheim somewhat distracts Rose, which is understandable enough. She spends more of the year helping the Hahnuiat than looking into the Dark Elves.
-FAILURE-
The Eves: Terrible, and wealthy, and dark, the Eves are dedicated to Chaos, in all its myriad forms— though, their "family" here is most dedicated to loathsome Nurgle. To remove them from your city will require...precision. Effort. Finesse. And perhaps most importantly, they cannot know that you know what they are. Removing them will require...preparations.
- Five people of the family have made it into Montfort. With roots in Mousillon— surprise— they made their way to your lands, carving a trail, indiscretions excused with "They're not mad, they're eccentric", their deeds— foul, truly— excused for their money, something they certainly do not lack in. Reports of disappearances, ranging from livestock to people, follow them like a truffle hound.
Macabre, bizarre, mysterious and dreadful, wherever evil of one sort or another stirs they have kin— Sylvania, the Drakwald, Mousillon, Luccini, Praag.
… Luccini being there probably says something, but you don't know what.
To return to the matter at hand, there are, you know, five members here— two girls, a boy, and the "parents", with a Grandmother and an uncle on the way.
Perhaps most importantly, you know for a fact they have a few illnesses in their home, plagues ready and poxes prepared. That— will need to be considered.
Personal: Your wife has returned after two years away. Suffice to say, you do not have as much free time as you used to, though you are far less stressed than you were at this time last year. So it balances out.
Squiring— Merovee and Abraham: So your son is currently friends with the young daughter of a Chaos worshipping clan of Psychopaths who wishes to corrupt him. The other is her enemy, who broke her nose.
Perhaps, just perhaps, it would be wise to have them leave. Not too fast nor quick— 9 is a bit young, but not too much so for Squiring, so the start of next year to arrive by the time of their birthday— but the sooner your son is no longer defending her honor, or alternatively attempting to beat her face in— and blow your cover— the better.
- Four letters come from interested— or sympathetic— parties.
Extremely Small Campaign— The Blackwater Spring: There is a legend that, in the mountains, a spring of fresh, black water— perfectly fine but that greenskin blood has soaked in over the years— waits, sullied by a Champion of Chaos, long years of Martrud carved it with his blade. You believed in it, but could do little to find it.
However, Ysolt has been having dreams lately…of a man in red, and a bloody axe. It seems, then, that you may yet find it after all.
You will go alone, but for your daughter to guide you— both she and Rose were adamant of this. Your wife...will not be amused, but perhaps that is life.
Needed: 50 Rolled: 97+23 (Godfrey Piety and Martial)
- So.
Um.
That happened.
(Short Interlude)
Prestige Actions: Savior of the Old World, foe to the Dark Elves, Destroyer of the Beastmen, reclaimer of the Palais des Fleurs. Your deeds are many, and to be much respected; you are respected throughout Bretonnia, even despite your youth.
Large Campaign- The Caves Of Axebite Pass: Again and again, the Night Goblins ride down from the mountains to slaughter and assault and to destroy, hidden in the network of caverns in axe-bite pass. You will put them to the sword, and by the Lady, they will never again threaten innocent people!
- You drive into the mountains leading your armies, and you put what remains of the Night Goblins to the Sword. Their statues you destroy, their squigs you cut down by the hundred, fires choking them out, and their fungus beer, crude as it is, is used to burn set aflame the caves, burning whatever didn't already die.
While the Night Goblins are far from the most powerful Greenskins in the area, and you have not removed them from all of Montfort, it does still feel good to be rid of so many. There were casualties, unfortunately, a few hundred of your Men-At-Arms, but you consider it a worthwhile trade.
Reward: Removed Night Goblins from Axe-Bite pass caves, allowing for easier trade (+50 Gold), +500 Prestige, -400 Men-At-Arms
Les Hommes D'Honor: Abuse is frequent, its marks hidden, its victims silenced by brute force. Well no longer. You will send emissaries, a rotating group of three men— a Knight, a Freeman, and a Peasant, to examine these lands— and if they be found wanting, their lords cruel, their wills vile— then these men will tell you, that you might bring them to task.
- Men have begun to register and apply, a keen eye turned on their imperfections, flaws, and foes, to find ones worthy to be so.
—
Squiring Options going up soon, and while the vote's on for that I'll put up the thing for Blackwater Spring
1451
Your armor jingles as you move Blaze to look over the mountain's edge, snow twinkling in the sun, shafts of light falling around. A chill wind whistles round you, and beneath, in the valleys, you see people moving, living, working. A beating heart, to a vital land, a good one.
It is one that Nehekara threatens once again.
Three times, now, the dead kings have struck.
Centuries before Gilles, they had come to Lyonesse in their creaking, dead ships in the night. They had come, and they had slaughtered. Killed. Enslaved. In the end, they fled, like thieves, under the orders of the greatest thief of all, The Imperishable. Still the scars of this are left— great, blackstone monoliths carved into the lands of Lyonesse, an entire tribe destroyed, bleakest magic flowing into Mousillon.
Next, in the time of Gilles, they had come again, and once more, under Settra. A great fleet, a hundred strong of good ships fitted with unholy magical weapons, assailed the coast of Aquitaine; conquering vast swathes of the Dukedom, it seemed the Imperishable might sully that land— until Henri Lamorte, youngest brother of Fredemund, gathered a fleet a fourth that size, and met the undead king in combat— and drove him off, after extracting oaths that never again would he attack Bretonnia. It was a mighty deed of a mighty man. That too, left scars— names of children, carried down by lines, still lingering today; and too the fractious, proud, nature of the lords of Aquitaine, inherited from their dead masters in those dark days.
Now, the followers of Nagash seek to steal his body for reasons you can make neither head nor tail of. But, you know this: Man fought him once. Man will fight him, and his puppets, again now, and ever more if they must— for there is only one king of Bretonnia, and he is a living man, not of these undead cowards.
But then, perhaps, there are matters closer to home. The greenskins stir in their wrath— the goblins find kings for the first time in Millenia since Martrud and the Companions went deeper than any man ever did and slaughtered them. The Orcs are gathered to the hands of one mightier than the rest, the first true Boss since your father slayed their last twenty years at Willbrook, under storm, and began his long, just reign.
As well, Chaos stirs. A cult of Nurgle, the Plague-Father, seeks to ruin your son as so long ago you smote their city as a Knight Errant. In this, they have twisted a child, if not more, and if you do not act cautiously, evil might flow like a miasma through your streets.
The Witch-King writhes in the North, and in his convulsions he will strike the world— and perhaps you. The Warriors of Klarond Kar, who saw as you shed Malida's blood upon your lance and sent her off to hell, no doubt seek a vengeance; though, with the loss of their patsy and Malekith's focus on removing the allies of the Asur from Naggaroth, they may find it harder to retrieve than they wish.
And against these threats, so evil, and so vulgar— the King demands peace. To heal. To restore. To rebuild. Understandable, perhaps one day men will find him right and true, but, as you look upon the goblins pouring out of the forest and ready the Silver Lance, Gilles' banner fluttering in the wind, you cannot help but to chafe.
It is good timing, then, that there are goblins there, flanks open for a charge, that you can take your anger out on.
Martial: Two paths lie before you. One of obedience...and one of glory.
The Motherland: Your grandmother, Carole, was a member of the small family of Valmont of Bastonne. Your grand-uncles all died young and childless: one a tragic accident with a farm ho, one in battle with a dozen minotaurs, the last captured by the Druchii and almost surely dead in their cruel gladiatorial games. Your grandmother hoped one of her grandchildren would inherit the name and lands alike, all ten acres and manor.
However, a scattered band of Greenskin survivors infests the lands. Three-hundred goblins, maybe more. Hard.
Hard, but not impossible. The Knights-Unbound, and a few dozen Knights Errant, should be more than enough to cleanse the manor and the lands. Then you can give it to one of your kids. Maybe Abraham; it would be well and so for him to be near someone so alike in temperament.
Needed:40 Rolled:73+5=78
- You, your House-Hold, and the Knights Unbound, along with perhaps thirty Knights Errant set out to cleanse the lands of your ancestors.
Fifty knights against two-hundred goblins. It's not even a contest, really— they scatter at the site of you, fleeing into the woods, run down and broken by an army of steel and faith and honor that cut through them like a knife through butter.
A Knight Errant is left as a seneschal to protect the land, while you head for home. Already, tariffs have begun flowing into its treasury— and from there, taxes to you.
Reward: Gain Valmont Estate, tax income, land that can be gifted to children.
Preparations for Battle: You will be leading a great charge of horses, beastflesh, and men into dense caverns filled with many foes that want you all dead. It seems a good idea to, perhaps, ready yourself— drill, hold tourneys, find great knights, and ensure that you are as ready as you will ever be to throw out the Night Goblins, and their king.
Needed: 50 Rolled: 54+20=74
- The best experience is practical experience, as they say.You have your men practice marching in formation, spear and sword fighting, taking and receiving orders, intensifying patrols at the fort and so on and so forth. Fortunately— and with no small credit to your insisting that your men practice in their finest— you appear to have convinced the king's men and other messengers that this was, by and large, a parade. It can't cover everything, and doesn't, but that does reduce it enough that the most you hear from the kings allies is a slight murmur.
Diplomacy: Your student and Squire, Bohemond, needs aid. His lands ravaged and his people slaughtered, you hope to give it to him.
Aiding Bastonne: Half of Bastonne is dead. Thousands of acres burned, half the whole host of honor was slaughtered in a day. Duke Bohemond I died to Morglum, as did most of his sons, and his wife followed of a heart-attack born of grief. Entire families were snuffed out. Villages need rebuilding, castles need repairs, man-labor is desperately required. Beggars line the streets, the hungry outweigh the full.
And yet the pride of Bastonne would not allow them to accept aid.
Uther has spent the past years only just trying to convince certain, noble individuals to accept it— and finally, it seems, it bears fruit. Your countrymen suffer, and you will bring them aid.
It will be expensive, but well worth the cost.
- With the new estate in place, funneling supplies and such on to Bastonne becomes far easier and simpler.
What?: The Knights of Restful Death swore, to your father, they would protect the body of Lamorte, and keep it hidden. Now, though, the agents of Nagash himself seek to claim the body, to wring it of all its power. You fear something terrible might have happened— if not something terrible, then you have...questions.
Needed:35 Rolled: 93
- It seems your fears were well-founded:
The Knights of Restful Dead are fallen. Their headquarters lie plundered, their manors and estates breached, their members all mysteriously dead. Following the contact they left for your father, you make your way to their nearest center, in Reikland, a hidden place— and find it looted, pillaged, the men dead— by rifle fire, not khopesh. Treachery, from Imperials.
Shocking, really.
On a whim, you take a journal, hidden in the folds of a wizard's cloak.
Racing further north you make your way to the hidden tomb of Lamorte, and as you feared the slaves of darkness entered. But, as you make your way to the journal, you brutally, slowly, manage to cut your way through the archaic Reikspiel to realize something:
This is not the body of Lamorte. Rather, in fear of the resources being siphoned up by one of the members of their little club, one Arnulf Todbringer, the wizard moved the body to a location only he knew, and which only you have the map to— a cryptic, nonsense map, perhaps, but a map. A map the traitorous Arnulf does not have.
The wizard, too, offered theories on why the necromancer's slaves seek Lamorte's body. The simplest, of course, is simply to raise one of the few people who ever beat Settra as a wight and use him to do it again, and so conquer the Tomb Kings and put them all under the authority of Arkhan, meaning, in truth, Nagash— and having that whole Kingdom seeking resurrect him would, no doubt, aid the Arch-Necromancer. Other, more esoteric possibilities are considered, as well, but they rely on thaumaturgy of the worst sort— magic, spells, and a million other things you have no knowledge of, nor desire to know.
In the tomb is a decoy, a random Sigmarite warrior priest. Some might consider it disrespectful to the dead— but having met more Sigmarite priests than any sane Bretonnian should have to, there is little doubt that he would be more than happy to frustrate traitorous undead from beyond the grave.
In any case, when you arrive you see the tomb looted, bodies of mercenaries where deadly traps reaped their price. The traitor made it there before you— but he has a worthless body, now, for whatever purpose he seeks the dead hero. Of course, in all likelihood they already determined that— You should act as such, anyway— but every one of those men is resources he can no longer use and all that time spent, trying to steal the wrong body, wasted.
It seems, then, that the race is on— you, a single lord of Bretonnia, against the servants of the thing that first afflicted the world with undeath.
Very well. Your horse is fast enough, anyway.
Reward: Found Wizard's Journal, determined that oh fuck the Knights were exterminated, Discovered a Traitor, Somewhat informed theories on why Arkhan wants Lamorte's body, beyond being a prick
Stewardship: With the damage inflicted by Grom recovered, Yvain has decided that you can afford to begin looking to improve instead of to just rebuild. For that, he has a few ideas.
A Roost To Rest: You… would feel wrong, riding anything but a fine Bretonnian war-horse. That said, your father adored the beasts and considered them much akin to himself. Further, you have an extra egg, whether or not you yourself ride. Yvain believes it might be a good idea— and you are inclined— to establish a breeding ground for them in Montfort. Annick could tame the newest born creature, even. That said, you will need help, to bless the grounds so the chicks learn to both fly and thrive; a Damsel, or Prophetess, would be necessary, and Rose is somewhat inconvenienced at the moment. You could try without the egg you have now, but procuring one could be...difficult, owing to all the nobles who sought one out seeking to emulate your father.
- Asfaloth has reached up to your knee. Annick dotes on him like one of the poodles of Parravon's court, more akin to those than the iron willed warrior who broke an army. For his part, you've seen him run, at least three times, into his own shadow.
So.
Elf Quarter: The High Elves are, to put none too fine a point on it, picky. Far less than the Imperials, blinded by the Dwarf's grumblings, believe; but still, it does exist. As such, only a relative few, less than five, come to Montfort bearing trade. If there was a proper space, though, built and supplies to their standards, more would come— and as more came, more would trade, and in the doing you would make more money for your people.
- The Elves are coming, the elves are coming! By which you mean Ellyrion traders from Prince Alan are starting to pour in and help construct quarters fit for elven sensibilities.
Piety: Rose has returned from her trip rescuing the new Baron of Westerlands. She has a new scar, as well as a new staff, much bigger than her last. It seems she has become, then, that which evil fears most: a Prophetess of the Lady. Young, for that, but not entirely without Precedent.
A Daughter's Duty: For many years now, the Daughters of Rhya have been working in your Dukedom, aiding the women of your land, your wife included, in giving birth. That said, they have only the temple in the city itself right now, so for all their aid they are only just helping a segment of the populace. They would like to expand, to the land of all your Barons. Which...could be somewhat difficult, knowing your cousin's reputation.
Needed:40 Rolled: 28+5=33
- Unfortunately, goblin raiders attack and belay several of the Daughters of Rhya who planned to head out in the mountains, slowing their progress much.
-FAILURE-
Ready for War: The Tomb Kings stir. The servants of Nagash seek Bretonnians, for what and why you neither know nor care. In such times, it would be wise to ask the damsels for wisdom in facing the Undead Kings— before they can ravage the lands.
Needed:50 Rolled:18+5=23 Re-Roll:77+5=82
- At first the Damsels are not quite sure how, exactly, to prepare for facing the undead-- always and ever has their gaze turned against the Greenskins who sully so much of the Land, for they have ever been the more immediate threat. Perhaps-- perhaps-- not greater in the long term, but then, how important is the long term if you have a Choppa embedded in your gut.
However, the discovery in the Blackwater Springs allows them to make headway on a certain... technique they had considered, essentially straining out magic from the Dhar, breaking it apart into strands they can use-- Azyr, Ghyran, Ghur, or a fourth that you are too polite to ask about. Its symbol looks vaguely like a grail.
In any case, tearing apart the magic the Necromancers use should be a distraction they can ill afford.
Reward: +5 Magic Rolls against Necromancers
Learning: Your father's efforts to back scholarship in Bretonnia are impressive, but handicapped by his own, simpler nature.
Going Inside: Outhouses are miserable. Cold, wooden, they are a pain, and a misery; unclean, too, dirty. Nimue, however, has discovered in Mousillon the schematics to a system that will remove waste cleanly and efficiently, apparently developed by the elves then stolen by one of the earlier dukes. She will need time to perfect it, though.
- The new collection of cisterns and pipes and so on needed to flow water through the castle are mostly done, but there will still be a little time until they are absolutely finished.
Steel-Plow: Much of the soil of Montfort is too hard, too rocky to be plowed by the usual iron farming tools. However, an inventor of Quenells, one Jean Cerfe, has come to your lands with the idea to build a new plow, harder and better and made not of iron but real steel. Difficult, yes, but potentially worthwhile.
- Jean has begun making prototypes. Good on Jean.
Intrigue: You are a better sneak than your father, and your wife is better than you both. Wise and clever, she has been the doom of a thousand souls.
Qu'est Qui?: Rose is currently under watch after her episode in front of the Court. Her eyes were glowing rainbows, her cloak was billowing, and she spoke with a voice like fire. Clearly, this Húnarta is utterly unimportant.
To be more serious for a moment, you should probably check on that.
Needed: 50 Rolled: 29+20=49
- Unfortunately, the destruction of Arnheim somewhat distracts Rose, which is understandable enough. She spends more of the year helping the Hahnuiat than looking into the Dark Elves.
-FAILURE-
The Eves: Terrible, and wealthy, and dark, the Eves are dedicated to Chaos, in all its myriad forms— though, their "family" here is most dedicated to loathsome Nurgle. To remove them from your city will require...precision. Effort. Finesse. And perhaps most importantly, they cannot know that you know what they are. Removing them will require...preparations.
- Five people of the family have made it into Montfort. With roots in Mousillon— surprise— they made their way to your lands, carving a trail, indiscretions excused with "They're not mad, they're eccentric", their deeds— foul, truly— excused for their money, something they certainly do not lack in. Reports of disappearances, ranging from livestock to people, follow them like a truffle hound.
Macabre, bizarre, mysterious and dreadful, wherever evil of one sort or another stirs they have kin— Sylvania, the Drakwald, Mousillon, Luccini, Praag.
… Luccini being there probably says something, but you don't know what.
To return to the matter at hand, there are, you know, five members here— two girls, a boy, and the "parents", with a Grandmother and an uncle on the way.
Perhaps most importantly, you know for a fact they have a few illnesses in their home, plagues ready and poxes prepared. That— will need to be considered.
Personal: Your wife has returned after two years away. Suffice to say, you do not have as much free time as you used to, though you are far less stressed than you were at this time last year. So it balances out.
Squiring— Merovee and Abraham: So your son is currently friends with the young daughter of a Chaos worshipping clan of Psychopaths who wishes to corrupt him. The other is her enemy, who broke her nose.
Perhaps, just perhaps, it would be wise to have them leave. Not too fast nor quick— 9 is a bit young, but not too much so for Squiring, so the start of next year to arrive by the time of their birthday— but the sooner your son is no longer defending her honor, or alternatively attempting to beat her face in— and blow your cover— the better.
- Four letters come from interested— or sympathetic— parties.
Extremely Small Campaign— The Blackwater Spring: There is a legend that, in the mountains, a spring of fresh, black water— perfectly fine but that greenskin blood has soaked in over the years— waits, sullied by a Champion of Chaos, long years of Martrud carved it with his blade. You believed in it, but could do little to find it.
However, Ysolt has been having dreams lately…of a man in red, and a bloody axe. It seems, then, that you may yet find it after all.
You will go alone, but for your daughter to guide you— both she and Rose were adamant of this. Your wife...will not be amused, but perhaps that is life.
Needed: 50 Rolled: 97+23 (Godfrey Piety and Martial)
- So.
Um.
That happened.
(Short Interlude)
Prestige Actions: Savior of the Old World, foe to the Dark Elves, Destroyer of the Beastmen, reclaimer of the Palais des Fleurs. Your deeds are many, and to be much respected; you are respected throughout Bretonnia, even despite your youth.
Large Campaign- The Caves Of Axebite Pass: Again and again, the Night Goblins ride down from the mountains to slaughter and assault and to destroy, hidden in the network of caverns in axe-bite pass. You will put them to the sword, and by the Lady, they will never again threaten innocent people!
- You drive into the mountains leading your armies, and you put what remains of the Night Goblins to the Sword. Their statues you destroy, their squigs you cut down by the hundred, fires choking them out, and their fungus beer, crude as it is, is used to burn set aflame the caves, burning whatever didn't already die.
While the Night Goblins are far from the most powerful Greenskins in the area, and you have not removed them from all of Montfort, it does still feel good to be rid of so many. There were casualties, unfortunately, a few hundred of your Men-At-Arms, but you consider it a worthwhile trade.
Reward: Removed Night Goblins from Axe-Bite pass caves, allowing for easier trade (+50 Gold), +500 Prestige, -400 Men-At-Arms
Les Hommes D'Honor: Abuse is frequent, its marks hidden, its victims silenced by brute force. Well no longer. You will send emissaries, a rotating group of three men— a Knight, a Freeman, and a Peasant, to examine these lands— and if they be found wanting, their lords cruel, their wills vile— then these men will tell you, that you might bring them to task.
- Men have begun to register and apply, a keen eye turned on their imperfections, flaws, and foes, to find ones worthy to be so.
—
Squiring Options going up soon, and while the vote's on for that I'll put up the thing for Blackwater Spring
Last edited:
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
- Pronouns
- He/Him
So, two unfortunate but non-critical failures, successes where important, and a cool critical.
Squiring Options (Merovee and Abraham)
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Prince Geraud
(Source)
Born: 1416
He fought, as a squire, in Albion— his blade saited itself on Druchii, Skaven, and Firmur flesh. The land left its marks, and the Prince now stands defiant. While you and the king bicker, the Prince is not a petty soul— further, he battled in Mousillon and saw that hell, battling against Nurgle's champions. He would not offer anyone to that, little mind a child.
Stats:
Friend To Albion: Picked up a great much from Albion. (+2 Diplomacy, +5 to all Albion Diplomacy Rolls)
Strong: He is strong. (+3 Martial, +1 Diplomacy)
Strategist: A bit more...thoughtful, about war. (+2 Martial, +1 Stewardship, -1 Opinion)
Elite: "I am a prince, born of Bretonnia, master of war! I bow before no man. My equals are few, my Superiors only one." (-2 Diplomacy)
Dismounted Knight: He spent much time battling as a marine at sea- it taught him an appreciation for foot fighting. (+1 Martial)
Tourney Lord: Who doesn't love a tourney, every now and again? (+2 Martial, +2 Diplomacy)
Court Master: He has spent much time in the courts, mastering their people. (+1 Opinion, +2 Diplomacy)
Ego Backed: It might be somewhat inflated, and fed by his also arrogant wife— but his ego is not, entirely, unjustified; it might be fair to say that he knows himself— it is backing others that he finds...difficult. (+2 All Stats)
Self-Awareness: As is perhaps best exemplified by his declaring that he will not seek to become a Grail Knight, and so become the king when his father passes, the Prince has shown that he knows himself. (+1 Diplomacy, +1 Opinion)
Veteran: If it exists, he's either fought it (Druchii), fought with it (Lizardmen), or planned out how to destroy it (Wood Elves). (+2 Martial, +1 Opinion)
Duke Judoc
(Source)
Born 1395
Your father-in-law, and their grandfather. A simple man, in his own words fond of "Fighting, fucking, and food", he is the father of thirty children by three women. On the one hand, he is perhaps not the best example. On the other hand, you once saw him wrestle a Cave Troll nude except for paint and win, so.
Traits:
Attractive: He used to be, at least (By which you mean a great many women nostalgically sigh when they talk about him. Apparently, he pulled off...whatever he did well).(+1 Diplomacy)
Strong: Yep. (+3 Martial, +1 Diplomacy)
Fierce: Oh yeah. (+2 Martial)
Brave: Yep. (+2 Martial, +1 Opinion)
Tall: Even bent by age, now, he is not to be trifled with. (+1 Martial, +1 Diplomacy)
Wrestler: A fond practitioner of that noble sport. (+1 Martial)
Hedonist: Yep. (-3 Piety, +20% Fertility)
Randy: How else do you suppose someone ends up with thirty *known* children, bastards and trueborn alike? (-3 Piety, +20% Fertility)
Barbarous: unrefined, but cruelly skilled in battle. (+3 Martial)
Battle-Thirsty: The only lust that matches his thirst for carnality is his thirst for battle. (+3 Martial)
Warlord: By the truest meaning of the Term! He has fought and killed and been struck and struck, and in return he claims strength. (+3 Martial)
Duke Arthur Dupont de Couronne
Born: 1427
The Duke de Couronne, and king of the Seven seas (If only in his own mind), he is younger than you. You sent the letter to him on a lark— at a guess, you would imagine that it is likely he fears Louen is lonely and without adequate friends. You can relate— sisters are kind and all, but after the twelth time you have to fight them off from trying to dress you or your brothers up, it gets a bit tiresome.
Traits:
Strong: Yeah. It's kind of a recurring theme. (+3 Martial, +1 Diplomacy)
Gregarious: He's happy, at least. (+3 Diplomacy)
Boisterous: proud, loud, and...well, I can't think of a third adjective but this works. (+2 Martial, +2 Diplomacy)
Teller of Tales: Man can he spin a yarn! (+2 Diplomacy)
Supportive: He genuinely wants to draw the best out of everyone. (+2 All Stats)
Virtue of Optimistic Certainty (Mixed Empathy and Confidence): A firm believer in doing what is kind, what is right, and what is good, with the firm belief that, while there may be suffering, in the end all will be well. (+4 Diplomacy, +4 Piety, Bonus to Peasant Rolls, much reduced chance of Rebellions)
Devout: He has faith in the lady. (+3 Piety)
Sea-Legs: Most Couronnians, outside the port, can not stand the sea. Not so with he. (+2 Martial, bonus to naval rolls)
Kind: Oh yes. (+2 Diplomacy, -2 Intrigue)
Honorable: Yeah. (+2 Piety, +1 Diplomacy)
Baron Corentin
A younger knight, but respected enough, he protects one of the passes between Montfort and the Massif, having inherited after his father's death. He is more cerebral than most knights, and more strategist than fighter, but he does fight well enough.
(Source)
Born 1425
Traits:
Strategist: It's not the best look for a knight, but it does breed a certain wisdom, at least. (+2 Martial, +1 Stewardship, -1 Opinion)
Dismounted Knight: The rocky terrain he protects is no place for a pitched cavalry battle. (+1 Martial, +5 Dismounted Rolls)
Strong: Yeah. (+3 Martial, +1 Diplomacy)
Defensive: He has established a great many watch towers and so on to protect his own lands. (+1 Stewardship, +1 Martial)
Gardener: He has a great hanging garden in his castle. (+2 Stewardship, +1 Learning)
Noble: He is wise and just. (+1 Learning, +1 Stewardship)
Frugal: He has little taste for extravagance. (+3 Stewardship)
Administrator: You betcha. (+3 Stewardship)
Phlegmatic: In times of trouble, a calm, cool head can be a blessing. (+2 Stewardship)
Educated: He learned at a Grail Monastery, from some of the finest minds in Bretonnia. (+3 Learning)
Friend To Verenans: So dedicated to justice is he that he hosts one of the few Warrior-Priests of Verena in his lands. (+3 Learning, +5 To all rolls with Verenans)
Story-Teller: He knows a great many stories, some of which are bound to have at least a kernel of truth. (+3 Learning)
Hates the Greenskins: Beyond reason, rationality, thought, or hope of negotiation, he hates the Orcs, the Hobgoblins, and the Goblins. He has criticized your reign before as being too kind to them. Even in Montfort, and by Montfort standards, that is a whole lot of rage in his cage.
--
Each Knight can only squire one of the two-- they do, after all, have their own kids to look after in most cases.
(Source)
Born: 1416
He fought, as a squire, in Albion— his blade saited itself on Druchii, Skaven, and Firmur flesh. The land left its marks, and the Prince now stands defiant. While you and the king bicker, the Prince is not a petty soul— further, he battled in Mousillon and saw that hell, battling against Nurgle's champions. He would not offer anyone to that, little mind a child.
Stats:
Friend To Albion: Picked up a great much from Albion. (+2 Diplomacy, +5 to all Albion Diplomacy Rolls)
Strong: He is strong. (+3 Martial, +1 Diplomacy)
Strategist: A bit more...thoughtful, about war. (+2 Martial, +1 Stewardship, -1 Opinion)
Elite: "I am a prince, born of Bretonnia, master of war! I bow before no man. My equals are few, my Superiors only one." (-2 Diplomacy)
Dismounted Knight: He spent much time battling as a marine at sea- it taught him an appreciation for foot fighting. (+1 Martial)
Tourney Lord: Who doesn't love a tourney, every now and again? (+2 Martial, +2 Diplomacy)
Court Master: He has spent much time in the courts, mastering their people. (+1 Opinion, +2 Diplomacy)
Ego Backed: It might be somewhat inflated, and fed by his also arrogant wife— but his ego is not, entirely, unjustified; it might be fair to say that he knows himself— it is backing others that he finds...difficult. (+2 All Stats)
Self-Awareness: As is perhaps best exemplified by his declaring that he will not seek to become a Grail Knight, and so become the king when his father passes, the Prince has shown that he knows himself. (+1 Diplomacy, +1 Opinion)
Veteran: If it exists, he's either fought it (Druchii), fought with it (Lizardmen), or planned out how to destroy it (Wood Elves). (+2 Martial, +1 Opinion)
Duke Judoc
(Source)
Born 1395
Your father-in-law, and their grandfather. A simple man, in his own words fond of "Fighting, fucking, and food", he is the father of thirty children by three women. On the one hand, he is perhaps not the best example. On the other hand, you once saw him wrestle a Cave Troll nude except for paint and win, so.
Traits:
Attractive: He used to be, at least (By which you mean a great many women nostalgically sigh when they talk about him. Apparently, he pulled off...whatever he did well).(+1 Diplomacy)
Strong: Yep. (+3 Martial, +1 Diplomacy)
Fierce: Oh yeah. (+2 Martial)
Brave: Yep. (+2 Martial, +1 Opinion)
Tall: Even bent by age, now, he is not to be trifled with. (+1 Martial, +1 Diplomacy)
Wrestler: A fond practitioner of that noble sport. (+1 Martial)
Hedonist: Yep. (-3 Piety, +20% Fertility)
Randy: How else do you suppose someone ends up with thirty *known* children, bastards and trueborn alike? (-3 Piety, +20% Fertility)
Barbarous: unrefined, but cruelly skilled in battle. (+3 Martial)
Battle-Thirsty: The only lust that matches his thirst for carnality is his thirst for battle. (+3 Martial)
Warlord: By the truest meaning of the Term! He has fought and killed and been struck and struck, and in return he claims strength. (+3 Martial)
Duke Arthur Dupont de Couronne
Born: 1427
The Duke de Couronne, and king of the Seven seas (If only in his own mind), he is younger than you. You sent the letter to him on a lark— at a guess, you would imagine that it is likely he fears Louen is lonely and without adequate friends. You can relate— sisters are kind and all, but after the twelth time you have to fight them off from trying to dress you or your brothers up, it gets a bit tiresome.
Traits:
Strong: Yeah. It's kind of a recurring theme. (+3 Martial, +1 Diplomacy)
Gregarious: He's happy, at least. (+3 Diplomacy)
Boisterous: proud, loud, and...well, I can't think of a third adjective but this works. (+2 Martial, +2 Diplomacy)
Teller of Tales: Man can he spin a yarn! (+2 Diplomacy)
Supportive: He genuinely wants to draw the best out of everyone. (+2 All Stats)
Virtue of Optimistic Certainty (Mixed Empathy and Confidence): A firm believer in doing what is kind, what is right, and what is good, with the firm belief that, while there may be suffering, in the end all will be well. (+4 Diplomacy, +4 Piety, Bonus to Peasant Rolls, much reduced chance of Rebellions)
Devout: He has faith in the lady. (+3 Piety)
Sea-Legs: Most Couronnians, outside the port, can not stand the sea. Not so with he. (+2 Martial, bonus to naval rolls)
Kind: Oh yes. (+2 Diplomacy, -2 Intrigue)
Honorable: Yeah. (+2 Piety, +1 Diplomacy)
Baron Corentin
A younger knight, but respected enough, he protects one of the passes between Montfort and the Massif, having inherited after his father's death. He is more cerebral than most knights, and more strategist than fighter, but he does fight well enough.
(Source)
Born 1425
Traits:
Strategist: It's not the best look for a knight, but it does breed a certain wisdom, at least. (+2 Martial, +1 Stewardship, -1 Opinion)
Dismounted Knight: The rocky terrain he protects is no place for a pitched cavalry battle. (+1 Martial, +5 Dismounted Rolls)
Strong: Yeah. (+3 Martial, +1 Diplomacy)
Defensive: He has established a great many watch towers and so on to protect his own lands. (+1 Stewardship, +1 Martial)
Gardener: He has a great hanging garden in his castle. (+2 Stewardship, +1 Learning)
Noble: He is wise and just. (+1 Learning, +1 Stewardship)
Frugal: He has little taste for extravagance. (+3 Stewardship)
Administrator: You betcha. (+3 Stewardship)
Phlegmatic: In times of trouble, a calm, cool head can be a blessing. (+2 Stewardship)
Educated: He learned at a Grail Monastery, from some of the finest minds in Bretonnia. (+3 Learning)
Friend To Verenans: So dedicated to justice is he that he hosts one of the few Warrior-Priests of Verena in his lands. (+3 Learning, +5 To all rolls with Verenans)
Story-Teller: He knows a great many stories, some of which are bound to have at least a kernel of truth. (+3 Learning)
Hates the Greenskins: Beyond reason, rationality, thought, or hope of negotiation, he hates the Orcs, the Hobgoblins, and the Goblins. He has criticized your reign before as being too kind to them. Even in Montfort, and by Montfort standards, that is a whole lot of rage in his cage.
--
Each Knight can only squire one of the two-- they do, after all, have their own kids to look after in most cases.
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
So what's the downside to squiring with father in law?
- Location
- Australia
Does this ever even happen? I can't think of a single Bretonnia quest where there was a peasant rebellion.
- Location
- alphen aan den rijn
like Duke Arthur Dupont de Couronne
but maybe try having at least one with the prince, because it nice to have royal connections
but maybe try having at least one with the prince, because it nice to have royal connections
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Slaanesh does their happy dance every time he enters the room, that's what.
Well, there was going to be until Morgyan was all "Lol nah" and cut the plan down to its knees.
Last edited:
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Yeah, but he/she does taht all the time.
Wasn't that more about how we got some of their kids dead and because dear sister stirred up shit?
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Baron Corentin- Abraham
[X] Duke Arthur Dupont de Couronne- Merovee
[X] Duke Arthur Dupont de Couronne- Merovee
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Oh, that was a vote? Right now? My bad.
[X] Baron Corentin- Abraham
[X] Duke Judoc - Merovee
[X] Duke Judoc - Merovee
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Baron Corentin- Abraham
[X] Prince Geraud- Merovee
[X] Prince Geraud- Merovee
- Location
- Mountains of Appalachia
[X] Baron Corentin- Abraham
[X] Prince Geraud- Merovee
[X] Prince Geraud- Merovee