Warhammer Fantasy: Honor is all, Chivalry is all (Bretonnia CK2)
- Thread starter Voikirium
- Start date
Turn 30 Results
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Turn 30
1453
All of Montfort spreads before you. The white-stone roads, worked by dwarfen hands decades ago. The College of Trobadours, a rare resurgent under the stoney gaze of their headmaster. On the streets below, you hear people walking, living, denying the darkness its victory for just a moment longer.
A quiet knocking comes at your door.
Three taps, once, twice, thrice.
Your mother.
Racing for it, you rip open the the door— only to see her. And for the first time in seven years, you embrace her. Hot tears, almost scalding, race down your cheeks from fine eyes. Your father, too, in black armor appears.
"Godfrey."
You clasp him around the back— his student watches in silence, sceptre (What?) gripped in his hand.
You don't care, though. All you can see now is your mother and your father, returned.
Returned to the land of the living!
Returned to the family!
Returned to take—
"I cannot stay."
And like that, your world dies. He sees it, you think, and he readies a speech.
"But… but why?"
He takes off one night-black gauntlet, exposing his hand to air. It seems normal enough— but then you look deeper, deeper, as he expects.
And it is with a shock that you realize his veins are not blue, nor his blood red— but all of it, black as the shadow. Your mother's hair has grown a shade darker than raven, and her always vivid red dress is now in black. You itch when you look at her, and you can see— you can see— her shadow dancing on the wall.
She succeeded, then.
"I can no more reclaim my titles here."
"The Knights would not accept us." Your mother's voice is darker now, deeper; it sings of dreadful— but now the more just— things. "Our new subjects, neither, would take it gentle; it would be demeaning, to them."
"And so the father passes his treasures to the son." Steel glides on steel as your father pulls Kalabairn free from its sheath, the glinting blade shining like the sun. "I can't wield it, anymore. Won't...accept me, I suppose. Too different from the men. I know it is a burden, my son, but you, you can bare it. You have before, and you will again." He holds you tight, once more. "I cannot take power, but I will never be far away, son. Only just say my name, and I will be there."
"As will I."
Satisfied with speeches, they part, even as you...process this.
And you are left alone, again, only armor and sword your companions as ever it has been.
Except, this is not true, as your wife and your sons poke their heads in.
You send for a scribe. Bohemond can wait three measly years.
Martial: You will make your home safe once more, king or no king. No more! No more will the greenskins assault your people, no more will they live in fear.
Grey Mountain Watch: The Gris Musketeers have had it easy so far, simply trying to return to normalcy.
No longer.
You will set them to the task of protecting your mountain villages in the forts you established, and in training the militias in the basics of the sword-fighting techniques they know. It should make them even more useful against the greenskins, and keep your people more safe. It will also allow them to gain veterancy.
- Deployments of Musketeers are drawn up, numbers found and new patrols selected. They will reinforce the militias and so on, aiding against the Greenskins.
Moderate Campaign— The Valleys of Violence: In the darkest pits of the Grey Mountains, a few thousand Gnoblars and snotlings— the most pathetic of all Greenskin, which says something, who were brought by the Hobgoblins— pester the Lords of that land. While they are scarcely the greatest threat, there is always the chance, remote but present, that they will manage to do something miserably evil, as Greenskins are want to do. As such, removing them with as much force as you can muster would be wise. Hardly what you imagined when you swore the oath, but it would help, at least. Reports do suggest they are starting to increase in number— it might be wise to deal with them, now, before the Goblins can bully them into slavery and bolster their numbers, or they attack somewhere important.
Needed:30/40 Rolled:39+10=49, 18
- You set out at the lead of a great number of knights and yeomen, and burn the Gnoblar fastnesses down— if you want to offer them more dignity than they deserved. Annick too, exults in the battle, slaughtering a great number of these pathetic things, lesser even than the goblins.
You turn aside several carts full of "weapons and armor" (both terms used very loosely), which were meant as tribute to the Night Goblin King. Seems the Gnoblars wanted protection from...well.
You. "Da Green Git" is starting to get some respect, it seems.
Smoke trails curling up from burning thatch can be seen from as far afield as Karak Norn, as you run and ride through the trails of the Grey Mountains.
Which is actually rather something of a problem.
You see, while you had anticipated that the Gnoblars might run and so had a screen of men ready to catch them, going through paths you had not known existed a small but malignant force of Gnoblar manage to throw themselves at Karak Norn, where they kill several slayers before being put down.
As you might expect, the dwarfs are unhappy and the King is furious, sending apologies to the Short-Folk even as the tone in L'Anguille turns against you, even as the king laments in diplomatic-but-obvious tones about how this was such a farce and pretty well exactly why didn't want people going to war so soon. Fortunately, your liege seems willing that dog lie— the loss of face its own punishment— but it would stretch his temper further if you continued to disobey.
It was far from all a wash, though— you did find several dozen pounds worth of gold, which you distributed to your soldiers as reward.
Reward: Removed Gnoblars, +500 Prestige, Bonus to Knightly and Peasant Opinion
Diplomacy: You are Godfrey Folcard, son of...Son of Philip Folcard! You convinced an elf, a dwarf, and some halflings to work together! You convinced the bloody Grand-Master of the Knights Encarmine to ride to Bretonnia's aid! You won the heart of Annick the Mighty! Silence is golden— your word is diamond!
Be Prepared: The Yves Children are about to sprout out of Montfort like a bolt of lightning. Warning the people who might be in their path to be on the lookout for anyone who aids them— maybe even hidden branches of their family— would be wise and just alike.
You would, of course, attempt to time it such that the children make it through their entire path.
Needed:50 Rolled:41 Reroll: 26
- Unfortunately, a great many people do not believe you. And so a golden opportunity to remove a whole host of Chaos Worshipers is lost to the sands of time.
The Stirring Dead— An Antidote: Arkhan the Black has had centuries to prepare himself for this. He, no doubt, has his mouthpiece in every part of the Old World. His magical might no doubt has allowed him to sully other men into obedience. He has worked centuries to resurrect his fallen master.
You, on the other hand, have your faith in the Lady and your sacred honor.
Honestly, perhaps you should leave it lie for a year to give the Nehekaran the headstart he'll need.
Needed:50 Rolled:61
- You ride to those places where you are welcome, bringing dire warnings of the Arkhan, and the undead. From Tilea to Manheim you go, accompanied by the whole of your House, raising an alarm and speaking to all the lords you can. Given the connections you have, even just tangentially, that is quite a few lords.
No-one is jailed, yet, but the Necromancer's Servant must now waste his efforts attempting to rebuild influence instead of working against the people, or in some cases replacing them entirely.
Reward: Curtailed Arkhan's Influence Somewhat-Significantly
Stewardship: The realm was managed well by your father, and now by you. It excels, and you excel with it.
(Pick 1)
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.
- The cries of hippogryph chicks, soft feather down, and the beating of claws on dirt fill the aerie. Now fully grown, Asfaloth is a red and black beast easily triple your height, and doggedly intelligent as well. Your wife's mount, when she is not riding him into battle he is studded with Talon, an impressive broodmare to be sure. Together, they have already had four eggs. You gifted them to the best four of your Household Knights, who now come to court with the beasts on their shoulder or at their heel.
Reward: Begin hippogryph Breeding Program, can begin selling Hippogryph Eggs in Old World, Can maintain ten units of Hippogryph Riders
Minor Holdings: You obtained a large number of minor fiefs in your training of your men— usually, a small manor and the dozen houses and a blacksmith, overrun by greenskins. Good practice for fighting in dark, enclosed spaces. Generally, a Knight Errant would claim them but, well, since more often than not it was just you and a handful of peasants doing the deed, you now have a number of very lands, all split off from each other. You can't keep them all to your chest, you're busy enough just with the contiguous Montfort, so clearly it's time to distribute the wealth about.
First thing's first, it would be smart to see whether, among the nobility, there are any claimants to such lands. Then...well, you can worry about the rest later.
- A great many Advocates, Damsels, Lawyers and Knights heed your call, and as hundreds of bastards and nobles try to argue why you should give them and not their kin the lands. You expect to be at this for some time.
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: 61+5=66
- As you walk through the streets of your lands, now, it seems you cannot but blink without being passed by some Daughter on her way to aid someone in giving birth. A great many nobles also attempt to keep these priestesses on retainers, though few— if any— succeed. A far fewer number attempt to marry them, with slightly more luck.
Reward: More branches of Daughters of Rhya established in Montfort, reduced infant mortaility, Annick is pleased
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: 99+5=104
- This year, Rose leads the Damsels harder and more harshly than she ever has before. You don't see her once between sun-up and sun-down most days, and those times you do it is only to grab supplies, like food. It's not enough to make up for the time lost last year, but it is good to see.
Learning: Let ignorance be gored on the lance of wisdom.
Lamorte Lies There: You know where the Defier lies, where the son of Aquitane's body is held. Whatever reason the Imperials have for holding it, it's not right a man that a man's body should be held so far from home. Send a team to take it back, by force if need be. Though, those arrows certainly did look… sharp.
Needed:40 Rolled:94+5=99
- For the first time in decades, Nimue takes to the field proper. Garbed in leathers and with a heater shield, it is scarcely enough, you think.
But she has a plan. In the broken fortress of the Knights Of Restful Death, there is no doubt a clue of one sort or another leading to his true body.
You do not hear from her for ten months, but when she returns it is newly pregnant and victorious, a cart bearing the ancient remnants of Lamorte. It seems he was hidden in the last place either you or the undead thought to check: the Pale Sisters! A monk had been protecting it.
Unfortunately, you did notice something missing. Something important: His hand is gone.
Normally, you wouldn't care, but even just a hand might be enough for the Necromancer to return. Of course, it still wouldn't be nearly as easy as trying with the whole body, but even so it does deserve to be noted.
Reward: Captured Most of the Body of Lamorte
Understanding the Journal: The Fay Enchantress has, essentially, translated the most basic parts of the Journal into easy enough steps for you to take against Arkhan, and his evil. However, as you said, it is a basic translation. More earnestly studying the book might give you an edge over your opponent, the traitor.
Needed:50 Rolled:80+5=85
- The journal is musty, like beer or an ancient attic.
That is your first thought as you crack open the paper. It is a harsh, hard to understand language, and you are not much of one for academic texts; yet.
Yet for some reason, as you trace your finger over inked symbols that a thought begins to haunt you. It is not a nice thought, one that deserves speaking aloud:
What if Lamorte is a diversion? Or at least, not the whole of the plan?
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.
The Eves— Travelers: A plan is set in motion. Knights are ready, and warriors prepared.
You will grab the travelling members of the family first— their uncle and their grandmother, the matriarch. They will die, and that will be a clear enough sign, you think. Only subtle in preparation— not in deed itself
Needed:40 Rolled:45
- You need to do this subtly, else the Eves will know their game is up.
And so you do the deed yourself. On a cold night, in the springtime air, you plunge the Silver-Lance of the Blessed into Suppuration's neck and watch as his body turns to ash and dust, after an hour long riding battle that saw you almost killed at least a dozen times.
Their grandmother? An unarmed woman, she claims, and you believed her— and honorable soul, you could not kill her.
So you waited and watched as she mutated into a crackling beast only scarcely better than a dog, then you put her out of all misery.
Reward: Removed traveling band
The Eves— Pure Poison: They attacked your son. Made you send him off, a boy of ten.
You will not let that stand.
The battle will be fierce, but the mansion will be burned down. Its cobwebs will go up in smoke; its library, turn to ash; its art, be sullied.
Only the children shall escape. Not master, nor mistress, nor servant aside.
Needed:60 Rolled: 58+20=78
- They threatened your son, and that is enough.
They fight, they battle, they claw— send men to the infirmary or the grave, slaughter and kill. Their abominable hand personally shatters one of your swords. Their demonic butler rips the head off of Annick's axe and forces her to take his head off. The hairball spits poison in your face, but the Lady's favor burns it away.
As two black shapes, shadowed, flee into the night, you and your wife kill these champions and burn the mansion to the ground.
Reward: Eves Removed
Personal: There are murmurs in the court. It is a curious thing, that you have not marked the passing of your grandfather. If you did it now, it would be easily dismissed— but waiting more would be...questionable.
(Pick 2)
Funeral for a Father: Your Grandfather is dead.
Pay your respects.
- A fine carved statue of pewter and bronze is carted, slowly and carefully, to the tomb of your grandfather. It bears his image, and a prayer for him. You personally escort it and install it.
This seems to silence the crowd well enough.
Reward: Honored your grandfather
Tutor and Physician: Your daughter is blind. She will need more aid and healing than your other children— it would be wise to find it now.
Needed:1 Rolled:94+13=107
- You speak with the rulers of many courts, letters flowing from your lands like rivers. Influence you have acquired in a lifetime of battle and war is spent, questions asked, favors utilized.
And in the end, a little old man, blind, makes his way to court. From far Albion he has come, clothes once vibrant now ragged and a sword in his cane.
You did not ask for him— he simply knocked out any of the guards who tried to stop him. Before you could send him away, he managed to stop Philippine's crying, a deed none had ever managed before.
And so it was you welcomed Killian Ó Deoráin to your court.
Reward: Very good tutor acquired
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.
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.
- The time is almost come.
The Beacons Are Lit: The Greenskins attack, ever and always. Unsubtle, they raid, assault, rave and slaughter. Your villages are constantly under attack— less than when you were a boy, but still word comes of three attacks a week.
Enough is enough. Stationing your forces in forts and so on, you will have great braziers made in every village, so that you or your men can ride out and sally to the defense.
-Obviously, before you can do anything else, you have to recruit men to see to it. As you do, you also have great fire pits and brick barracks readied for your knights and soldiers to wait in.
1453
All of Montfort spreads before you. The white-stone roads, worked by dwarfen hands decades ago. The College of Trobadours, a rare resurgent under the stoney gaze of their headmaster. On the streets below, you hear people walking, living, denying the darkness its victory for just a moment longer.
A quiet knocking comes at your door.
Three taps, once, twice, thrice.
Your mother.
Racing for it, you rip open the the door— only to see her. And for the first time in seven years, you embrace her. Hot tears, almost scalding, race down your cheeks from fine eyes. Your father, too, in black armor appears.
"Godfrey."
You clasp him around the back— his student watches in silence, sceptre (What?) gripped in his hand.
You don't care, though. All you can see now is your mother and your father, returned.
Returned to the land of the living!
Returned to the family!
Returned to take—
"I cannot stay."
And like that, your world dies. He sees it, you think, and he readies a speech.
"But… but why?"
He takes off one night-black gauntlet, exposing his hand to air. It seems normal enough— but then you look deeper, deeper, as he expects.
And it is with a shock that you realize his veins are not blue, nor his blood red— but all of it, black as the shadow. Your mother's hair has grown a shade darker than raven, and her always vivid red dress is now in black. You itch when you look at her, and you can see— you can see— her shadow dancing on the wall.
She succeeded, then.
"I can no more reclaim my titles here."
"The Knights would not accept us." Your mother's voice is darker now, deeper; it sings of dreadful— but now the more just— things. "Our new subjects, neither, would take it gentle; it would be demeaning, to them."
"And so the father passes his treasures to the son." Steel glides on steel as your father pulls Kalabairn free from its sheath, the glinting blade shining like the sun. "I can't wield it, anymore. Won't...accept me, I suppose. Too different from the men. I know it is a burden, my son, but you, you can bare it. You have before, and you will again." He holds you tight, once more. "I cannot take power, but I will never be far away, son. Only just say my name, and I will be there."
"As will I."
Satisfied with speeches, they part, even as you...process this.
And you are left alone, again, only armor and sword your companions as ever it has been.
Except, this is not true, as your wife and your sons poke their heads in.
You send for a scribe. Bohemond can wait three measly years.
Martial: You will make your home safe once more, king or no king. No more! No more will the greenskins assault your people, no more will they live in fear.
Grey Mountain Watch: The Gris Musketeers have had it easy so far, simply trying to return to normalcy.
No longer.
You will set them to the task of protecting your mountain villages in the forts you established, and in training the militias in the basics of the sword-fighting techniques they know. It should make them even more useful against the greenskins, and keep your people more safe. It will also allow them to gain veterancy.
- Deployments of Musketeers are drawn up, numbers found and new patrols selected. They will reinforce the militias and so on, aiding against the Greenskins.
Moderate Campaign— The Valleys of Violence: In the darkest pits of the Grey Mountains, a few thousand Gnoblars and snotlings— the most pathetic of all Greenskin, which says something, who were brought by the Hobgoblins— pester the Lords of that land. While they are scarcely the greatest threat, there is always the chance, remote but present, that they will manage to do something miserably evil, as Greenskins are want to do. As such, removing them with as much force as you can muster would be wise. Hardly what you imagined when you swore the oath, but it would help, at least. Reports do suggest they are starting to increase in number— it might be wise to deal with them, now, before the Goblins can bully them into slavery and bolster their numbers, or they attack somewhere important.
Needed:30/40 Rolled:39+10=49, 18
- You set out at the lead of a great number of knights and yeomen, and burn the Gnoblar fastnesses down— if you want to offer them more dignity than they deserved. Annick too, exults in the battle, slaughtering a great number of these pathetic things, lesser even than the goblins.
You turn aside several carts full of "weapons and armor" (both terms used very loosely), which were meant as tribute to the Night Goblin King. Seems the Gnoblars wanted protection from...well.
You. "Da Green Git" is starting to get some respect, it seems.
Smoke trails curling up from burning thatch can be seen from as far afield as Karak Norn, as you run and ride through the trails of the Grey Mountains.
Which is actually rather something of a problem.
You see, while you had anticipated that the Gnoblars might run and so had a screen of men ready to catch them, going through paths you had not known existed a small but malignant force of Gnoblar manage to throw themselves at Karak Norn, where they kill several slayers before being put down.
As you might expect, the dwarfs are unhappy and the King is furious, sending apologies to the Short-Folk even as the tone in L'Anguille turns against you, even as the king laments in diplomatic-but-obvious tones about how this was such a farce and pretty well exactly why didn't want people going to war so soon. Fortunately, your liege seems willing that dog lie— the loss of face its own punishment— but it would stretch his temper further if you continued to disobey.
It was far from all a wash, though— you did find several dozen pounds worth of gold, which you distributed to your soldiers as reward.
Reward: Removed Gnoblars, +500 Prestige, Bonus to Knightly and Peasant Opinion
Diplomacy: You are Godfrey Folcard, son of...Son of Philip Folcard! You convinced an elf, a dwarf, and some halflings to work together! You convinced the bloody Grand-Master of the Knights Encarmine to ride to Bretonnia's aid! You won the heart of Annick the Mighty! Silence is golden— your word is diamond!
Be Prepared: The Yves Children are about to sprout out of Montfort like a bolt of lightning. Warning the people who might be in their path to be on the lookout for anyone who aids them— maybe even hidden branches of their family— would be wise and just alike.
You would, of course, attempt to time it such that the children make it through their entire path.
Needed:50 Rolled:41 Reroll: 26
- Unfortunately, a great many people do not believe you. And so a golden opportunity to remove a whole host of Chaos Worshipers is lost to the sands of time.
The Stirring Dead— An Antidote: Arkhan the Black has had centuries to prepare himself for this. He, no doubt, has his mouthpiece in every part of the Old World. His magical might no doubt has allowed him to sully other men into obedience. He has worked centuries to resurrect his fallen master.
You, on the other hand, have your faith in the Lady and your sacred honor.
Honestly, perhaps you should leave it lie for a year to give the Nehekaran the headstart he'll need.
Needed:50 Rolled:61
- You ride to those places where you are welcome, bringing dire warnings of the Arkhan, and the undead. From Tilea to Manheim you go, accompanied by the whole of your House, raising an alarm and speaking to all the lords you can. Given the connections you have, even just tangentially, that is quite a few lords.
No-one is jailed, yet, but the Necromancer's Servant must now waste his efforts attempting to rebuild influence instead of working against the people, or in some cases replacing them entirely.
Reward: Curtailed Arkhan's Influence Somewhat-Significantly
Stewardship: The realm was managed well by your father, and now by you. It excels, and you excel with it.
(Pick 1)
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.
- The cries of hippogryph chicks, soft feather down, and the beating of claws on dirt fill the aerie. Now fully grown, Asfaloth is a red and black beast easily triple your height, and doggedly intelligent as well. Your wife's mount, when she is not riding him into battle he is studded with Talon, an impressive broodmare to be sure. Together, they have already had four eggs. You gifted them to the best four of your Household Knights, who now come to court with the beasts on their shoulder or at their heel.
Reward: Begin hippogryph Breeding Program, can begin selling Hippogryph Eggs in Old World, Can maintain ten units of Hippogryph Riders
Minor Holdings: You obtained a large number of minor fiefs in your training of your men— usually, a small manor and the dozen houses and a blacksmith, overrun by greenskins. Good practice for fighting in dark, enclosed spaces. Generally, a Knight Errant would claim them but, well, since more often than not it was just you and a handful of peasants doing the deed, you now have a number of very lands, all split off from each other. You can't keep them all to your chest, you're busy enough just with the contiguous Montfort, so clearly it's time to distribute the wealth about.
First thing's first, it would be smart to see whether, among the nobility, there are any claimants to such lands. Then...well, you can worry about the rest later.
- A great many Advocates, Damsels, Lawyers and Knights heed your call, and as hundreds of bastards and nobles try to argue why you should give them and not their kin the lands. You expect to be at this for some time.
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: 61+5=66
- As you walk through the streets of your lands, now, it seems you cannot but blink without being passed by some Daughter on her way to aid someone in giving birth. A great many nobles also attempt to keep these priestesses on retainers, though few— if any— succeed. A far fewer number attempt to marry them, with slightly more luck.
Reward: More branches of Daughters of Rhya established in Montfort, reduced infant mortaility, Annick is pleased
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: 99+5=104
- This year, Rose leads the Damsels harder and more harshly than she ever has before. You don't see her once between sun-up and sun-down most days, and those times you do it is only to grab supplies, like food. It's not enough to make up for the time lost last year, but it is good to see.
Learning: Let ignorance be gored on the lance of wisdom.
Lamorte Lies There: You know where the Defier lies, where the son of Aquitane's body is held. Whatever reason the Imperials have for holding it, it's not right a man that a man's body should be held so far from home. Send a team to take it back, by force if need be. Though, those arrows certainly did look… sharp.
Needed:40 Rolled:94+5=99
- For the first time in decades, Nimue takes to the field proper. Garbed in leathers and with a heater shield, it is scarcely enough, you think.
But she has a plan. In the broken fortress of the Knights Of Restful Death, there is no doubt a clue of one sort or another leading to his true body.
You do not hear from her for ten months, but when she returns it is newly pregnant and victorious, a cart bearing the ancient remnants of Lamorte. It seems he was hidden in the last place either you or the undead thought to check: the Pale Sisters! A monk had been protecting it.
Unfortunately, you did notice something missing. Something important: His hand is gone.
Normally, you wouldn't care, but even just a hand might be enough for the Necromancer to return. Of course, it still wouldn't be nearly as easy as trying with the whole body, but even so it does deserve to be noted.
Reward: Captured Most of the Body of Lamorte
Understanding the Journal: The Fay Enchantress has, essentially, translated the most basic parts of the Journal into easy enough steps for you to take against Arkhan, and his evil. However, as you said, it is a basic translation. More earnestly studying the book might give you an edge over your opponent, the traitor.
Needed:50 Rolled:80+5=85
- The journal is musty, like beer or an ancient attic.
That is your first thought as you crack open the paper. It is a harsh, hard to understand language, and you are not much of one for academic texts; yet.
Yet for some reason, as you trace your finger over inked symbols that a thought begins to haunt you. It is not a nice thought, one that deserves speaking aloud:
What if Lamorte is a diversion? Or at least, not the whole of the plan?
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.
The Eves— Travelers: A plan is set in motion. Knights are ready, and warriors prepared.
You will grab the travelling members of the family first— their uncle and their grandmother, the matriarch. They will die, and that will be a clear enough sign, you think. Only subtle in preparation— not in deed itself
Needed:40 Rolled:45
- You need to do this subtly, else the Eves will know their game is up.
And so you do the deed yourself. On a cold night, in the springtime air, you plunge the Silver-Lance of the Blessed into Suppuration's neck and watch as his body turns to ash and dust, after an hour long riding battle that saw you almost killed at least a dozen times.
Their grandmother? An unarmed woman, she claims, and you believed her— and honorable soul, you could not kill her.
So you waited and watched as she mutated into a crackling beast only scarcely better than a dog, then you put her out of all misery.
Reward: Removed traveling band
The Eves— Pure Poison: They attacked your son. Made you send him off, a boy of ten.
You will not let that stand.
The battle will be fierce, but the mansion will be burned down. Its cobwebs will go up in smoke; its library, turn to ash; its art, be sullied.
Only the children shall escape. Not master, nor mistress, nor servant aside.
Needed:60 Rolled: 58+20=78
- They threatened your son, and that is enough.
They fight, they battle, they claw— send men to the infirmary or the grave, slaughter and kill. Their abominable hand personally shatters one of your swords. Their demonic butler rips the head off of Annick's axe and forces her to take his head off. The hairball spits poison in your face, but the Lady's favor burns it away.
As two black shapes, shadowed, flee into the night, you and your wife kill these champions and burn the mansion to the ground.
Reward: Eves Removed
Personal: There are murmurs in the court. It is a curious thing, that you have not marked the passing of your grandfather. If you did it now, it would be easily dismissed— but waiting more would be...questionable.
(Pick 2)
Funeral for a Father: Your Grandfather is dead.
Pay your respects.
- A fine carved statue of pewter and bronze is carted, slowly and carefully, to the tomb of your grandfather. It bears his image, and a prayer for him. You personally escort it and install it.
This seems to silence the crowd well enough.
Reward: Honored your grandfather
Tutor and Physician: Your daughter is blind. She will need more aid and healing than your other children— it would be wise to find it now.
Needed:1 Rolled:94+13=107
- You speak with the rulers of many courts, letters flowing from your lands like rivers. Influence you have acquired in a lifetime of battle and war is spent, questions asked, favors utilized.
And in the end, a little old man, blind, makes his way to court. From far Albion he has come, clothes once vibrant now ragged and a sword in his cane.
You did not ask for him— he simply knocked out any of the guards who tried to stop him. Before you could send him away, he managed to stop Philippine's crying, a deed none had ever managed before.
And so it was you welcomed Killian Ó Deoráin to your court.
Reward: Very good tutor acquired
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.
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.
- The time is almost come.
The Beacons Are Lit: The Greenskins attack, ever and always. Unsubtle, they raid, assault, rave and slaughter. Your villages are constantly under attack— less than when you were a boy, but still word comes of three attacks a week.
Enough is enough. Stationing your forces in forts and so on, you will have great braziers made in every village, so that you or your men can ride out and sally to the defense.
-Obviously, before you can do anything else, you have to recruit men to see to it. As you do, you also have great fire pits and brick barracks readied for your knights and soldiers to wait in.
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- Pronouns
- He/Him
Not bad, all in all.
Wait, why are slayers dying a bad thing again?
King Arthur
The Once and Future King
I am intensely curious.
They died to Gnoblars, the most pathetic enemies in the world.
Slayers seek a good death, dying to Gnoblars is not a good death.
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Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
It's less for the Slayers and more for the part where Karak Norn was threatened at all.
Sure, we failed the Diplomatic option for following them, but I'm pretty sure we already had our own men trying to follow them from the turn 29 intrigue option?
Honestly, the suspension is disbelief is hard to accept.
"Hey, I'm going to burn a chaos family living in my duchy, can you tell me if you see them?"
"What? You kidding man, I don't believe you!"
"No, I'm serious."
"Ah, you're such a joker."
Some weeks later...
"My Lord, the kids of the Eve family has entered a merchant's house in the city."
*Smoking a joint*
"Suuuure, who care, man?"
Honestly, the suspension is disbelief is hard to accept.
"Hey, I'm going to burn a chaos family living in my duchy, can you tell me if you see them?"
"What? You kidding man, I don't believe you!"
"No, I'm serious."
"Ah, you're such a joker."
Some weeks later...
"My Lord, the kids of the Eve family has entered a merchant's house in the city."
*Smoking a joint*
"Suuuure, who care, man?"
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Turn 30 Old World News
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Turn 30 Old World News
Bretonnia
Guys and Ships: Rumors swirl from the Court of L'Anguille that the King has begun purchasing a great number of small boats-- armed with catapults. You do not know the truth, but it was worth mentioning.
Northern Raiders: As if for vengeance, Norscan Raiders have intensified their attacks on the coast. Villages lay plundered and sacked by cruel warriors; and all is not well, for the ships seem to attack with a harsh new rhythm, as though they never needed to flee. The Dukes of the Coast are hard-pressed to remove them.
Disappearance: Two of the King's Grandsons, Sir Xavier and Oscar, have disappeared near the north, lost to all.
Carpet and Fur: The Taalite Crusade has become mired in battle between the Beastmen and the Bretonnians, as soldiers of both battle from pits and forts in the Forest of Arden, leather clad archers trading shots with Beastmen even as Robin and the rest try to remove scourge.
Ratmen Revenge: Well, it seems you have discovered what happened to the Hell Hounds, that band of mercenaries that disappeared so long ago. The Skaven captured them, and twisted them, shaped them, until they were no more men but instead, in a grim irony, a mixing together of man and hound.
They were unleashed on Bohemond, traversing tunnels to try and surprise him.
It was a mercy, what he did.
Hoh Boy: Guillaume the Conqueror is dead, slain by a goblin arrow.
In his wake, he leaves ten bastard and five trueborn.
You truly hope your brother is ready for what's to come next.
Daddy Issues: Prince Honoré Lapointe, son of the King and heir to Parravon by Marriage, had disobeyed his father's command and gathered together an army of 270 Knights Errant and the House of Baron Langlais from Mourkain, and in the doing aid the Strigany and the Bad-Landers as they try to reclaim their home.
Dragon!: A mighty Forest Dragon has been stalking the Beastmen, tearing apart their numbers and feasting on their flesh. None can be sure what this means.
Robert's Departure: Robert Univers of Carcassonne, son of the Duke, has disappeared from the public eye. At ten, he is known for a fascination with philosophies, both of the Old World and of the East.
The Empire
Crime Unpunished: The philosopher Bernd Beltz of Reikland should by all rights be in the dungeon after the act of vomiting on the Cathedral of Sigmar.
Instead, he is to teach Etzel.
It is an unfair world you live in.
A Broken Siege: The Hanuiat and the Dark Elves have reached ceasefire, and the Ulrican Crusaders have made out like bandits-- thousands of tons of gold and jewels ripped from the treasury of the Dark Elves, slaves rescued, much glory earned in battle, and permanent missionaries sent to the natives of Naggorath.
The Ulricans return to the Empire valiant conquerors, and the Crusade redoubled with man-power from many nations.
Now, the Ulricans seek a conquest long in waiting-- to claim the Middle Mountains, and the fruits of that terrible range.
Boat Machine Broke: There is not a small craft to be purchased in Marienburg! Someone, somewhere, has been buying them, all of them, or at least as many as might be transported. Large ships can still be found, but if your desire is only just to own a small craft for pleasure, you will be denied.
Death In Ostland: Alexander Von Raukov, a cruel, spiteful bastard of a man, passed away. There was much celebration as his grandson took the reins; many hope he can rebuild faith.
High Elves
A Dragon's Roar: The Elves of Ulthuan have ever feared for the great Beasts that fight with: Dragons. For long Millenia have they slumbered, their numbers falling, and their rest a shackle around them.
However, it seems all is not lost-- for a plan has been formulated by the Phoenix King. Working with the Asrai, a great boon has been discovered:
Forest Dragons and...Dragon Dragons? can interbreed. Though the result is most of the time one of the strange, changed beasts of the Wood Elves, enriching their number greatly with new eggs; a fair enough number are born the plain kind.
Beyond that aid, too, the recovery of the Amulet of Sunfire seems to have roused some lost fire into the souls of Drake and Elf alike-- still not nearly as many as might once have filled the skies of Ulthuan, but more than has been seen in a very long time, since before Bretonnia even existed.
Dwarfs
Ekrund: The noble expedition to Ekrun has made some progress, however a great many of the warriors who once fought their have been killed-- reinforcements are needed, gravely at that.
Gunnisson Travels: The Clan of Gunnisson has made its way into the manling land of Bretonnia, where the direct descendant of the old King of Silverspear waits for them. Though they are also related to the last king, they are born of cousins and uncles and aunts and so on, and so can not call together a force like a skald prince.
Ready for War: King Thodrek Silverspear readies for battle; and to that purpose, he has set himself to training an army, along with his companions. Aided by the King of Karak Norn, he outfits his new recruits in steel and readies them for war; the sound of hammers on Anvils fills the air as war-suits are made from strong metals-- purchased, of course, from the greater holds, yes, but also from manling, particularly his old friends among the Bretonnians. (+250 Gold in trade)
Badlands
Mourkain Under Siege: "No slaves, no masters-- only men." So declared Jurian, Son of Jaelle of the Strigany and Armin of Ostland. Claiming descent of the humans who once ruled that city, he has led a force of men-- adventurers, mercenaries, and believers, all of them claiming Strigan blood-- to retake the city that was fallen. He is aided in this endeavor by the Bretonnians of Parravon-- and, surprisingly, his half-brother Arnulf, having recently claimed the Runefang Brain Wounder. Relatively young, he is a veteran already, having been in the Battle of Under-Altdorf as an Attaché.
They seek to remove both the Vampires and the Tomb Kings.
Darklands: The Darklands have, for centuries, been the stomping grounds of evil.
Black tar bubbling to the surface, cruel greenskins living the desert life, human bandits fleeing to it.
Last year, a mighty Rain-forest of redwood trees was birthed there, under the direction of Asrai Wizards.
And so a battle began to claim it.
The Lizardmen were the first destroyed-- allied to no-one, and desired by nothing, they fled at the call of their masters.
Next, a mighty Waaagh! of countless greenskins formed in the shade of the trees, and so marched towards the Elves. So too the Dawi Zharr- they, ever lustful for power, might exploit the forest for centuries, or millenia, and live like kings and grind the world under their boots.
Against these, the noble elves-- the strange forces of the Asrai, led by the Dragon Rider Alanarth and his twelve (!!!) children and the Asrai, led by Teclis of Ulthuan, in the remnants of the Black Fortress.
The battle raged for seven days and seven nights. Orc killed elf killed dwarf killed goblin, as three armies battled for control of this vast forest and all the riches and life within.
The Greenskins gave first, when the Hobgoblins betrayed-- as they ever have-- their kin to aid the Chaos Dwarfs. Many thousand died, but many more fled into the bush, goblins and orcs and other beasts of the most savage nature that must be removed 'er long.
Fatted by these new servants and by aid from the Witch-King, seeking to weaken his hated foes, the Dawi Zharr turned towards the Elves. The fighting was fierce, a return to the darkest days of the War of the Beard. Blood was shed thick to stain the soil, and leaves drank so deep of blood that the leaves turned red. No mercy was asked nor given, the most barbarous of battles, and in the end the elves fell back to their new fortress. The poison of Forest Dragon breath filled the air, and spirits ripped apart reality as wizard dueled wizard.
The night fell.
All hope seemed lost. The Dwarfs readied themselves to claim this whole strength. Fed by these new resources, the Chaos Dwarfs would have turned to grinding first their fellow slaves of darkness to heel, then the rest of the World. Their generals readied themselves for a siege.
But then a horn blew.
And over in the trees, Estalian appeared. Turning about, but not quick enough, the corrupted Dwarfs were shredded by fire from the soldiers, as Diestros rushed to earn glory and knights charged, pinning the Dawi Zharr's formation like kindling.
For you see, never do the Estalians forget a friend-- and long, long has Alarnath been a friend to that people.
With the Dawi in such disarray, the Elves took to battle and crushed the Chaos Dwarfs where they stood, putting them to flight. It was bloody work, but in the end the Elves stood victorious.
And so now do the Darklands belong to the Elves, though perhaps a better name should be found for them now that no longer are they so twisted and evil.
Special
Report on Children: Prince Geraud sends word: Merovee has begun spending a great much of his time not in training in the poorer districts, distributing alms and charity. Oh boy. He has also begun training with the Dragon Prince he became friends with last year.
From Baron Corentin, meanwhile, you hear that Abraham has begun wrestling the other children-- wrestling proper at that, not, well, scrapping.
Bretonnia
Guys and Ships: Rumors swirl from the Court of L'Anguille that the King has begun purchasing a great number of small boats-- armed with catapults. You do not know the truth, but it was worth mentioning.
Northern Raiders: As if for vengeance, Norscan Raiders have intensified their attacks on the coast. Villages lay plundered and sacked by cruel warriors; and all is not well, for the ships seem to attack with a harsh new rhythm, as though they never needed to flee. The Dukes of the Coast are hard-pressed to remove them.
Disappearance: Two of the King's Grandsons, Sir Xavier and Oscar, have disappeared near the north, lost to all.
Carpet and Fur: The Taalite Crusade has become mired in battle between the Beastmen and the Bretonnians, as soldiers of both battle from pits and forts in the Forest of Arden, leather clad archers trading shots with Beastmen even as Robin and the rest try to remove scourge.
Ratmen Revenge: Well, it seems you have discovered what happened to the Hell Hounds, that band of mercenaries that disappeared so long ago. The Skaven captured them, and twisted them, shaped them, until they were no more men but instead, in a grim irony, a mixing together of man and hound.
They were unleashed on Bohemond, traversing tunnels to try and surprise him.
It was a mercy, what he did.
Hoh Boy: Guillaume the Conqueror is dead, slain by a goblin arrow.
In his wake, he leaves ten bastard and five trueborn.
You truly hope your brother is ready for what's to come next.
Daddy Issues: Prince Honoré Lapointe, son of the King and heir to Parravon by Marriage, had disobeyed his father's command and gathered together an army of 270 Knights Errant and the House of Baron Langlais from Mourkain, and in the doing aid the Strigany and the Bad-Landers as they try to reclaim their home.
Dragon!: A mighty Forest Dragon has been stalking the Beastmen, tearing apart their numbers and feasting on their flesh. None can be sure what this means.
Robert's Departure: Robert Univers of Carcassonne, son of the Duke, has disappeared from the public eye. At ten, he is known for a fascination with philosophies, both of the Old World and of the East.
The Empire
Crime Unpunished: The philosopher Bernd Beltz of Reikland should by all rights be in the dungeon after the act of vomiting on the Cathedral of Sigmar.
Instead, he is to teach Etzel.
It is an unfair world you live in.
A Broken Siege: The Hanuiat and the Dark Elves have reached ceasefire, and the Ulrican Crusaders have made out like bandits-- thousands of tons of gold and jewels ripped from the treasury of the Dark Elves, slaves rescued, much glory earned in battle, and permanent missionaries sent to the natives of Naggorath.
The Ulricans return to the Empire valiant conquerors, and the Crusade redoubled with man-power from many nations.
Now, the Ulricans seek a conquest long in waiting-- to claim the Middle Mountains, and the fruits of that terrible range.
Boat Machine Broke: There is not a small craft to be purchased in Marienburg! Someone, somewhere, has been buying them, all of them, or at least as many as might be transported. Large ships can still be found, but if your desire is only just to own a small craft for pleasure, you will be denied.
Death In Ostland: Alexander Von Raukov, a cruel, spiteful bastard of a man, passed away. There was much celebration as his grandson took the reins; many hope he can rebuild faith.
High Elves
A Dragon's Roar: The Elves of Ulthuan have ever feared for the great Beasts that fight with: Dragons. For long Millenia have they slumbered, their numbers falling, and their rest a shackle around them.
However, it seems all is not lost-- for a plan has been formulated by the Phoenix King. Working with the Asrai, a great boon has been discovered:
Forest Dragons and...Dragon Dragons? can interbreed. Though the result is most of the time one of the strange, changed beasts of the Wood Elves, enriching their number greatly with new eggs; a fair enough number are born the plain kind.
Beyond that aid, too, the recovery of the Amulet of Sunfire seems to have roused some lost fire into the souls of Drake and Elf alike-- still not nearly as many as might once have filled the skies of Ulthuan, but more than has been seen in a very long time, since before Bretonnia even existed.
Dwarfs
Ekrund: The noble expedition to Ekrun has made some progress, however a great many of the warriors who once fought their have been killed-- reinforcements are needed, gravely at that.
Gunnisson Travels: The Clan of Gunnisson has made its way into the manling land of Bretonnia, where the direct descendant of the old King of Silverspear waits for them. Though they are also related to the last king, they are born of cousins and uncles and aunts and so on, and so can not call together a force like a skald prince.
Ready for War: King Thodrek Silverspear readies for battle; and to that purpose, he has set himself to training an army, along with his companions. Aided by the King of Karak Norn, he outfits his new recruits in steel and readies them for war; the sound of hammers on Anvils fills the air as war-suits are made from strong metals-- purchased, of course, from the greater holds, yes, but also from manling, particularly his old friends among the Bretonnians. (+250 Gold in trade)
Badlands
Mourkain Under Siege: "No slaves, no masters-- only men." So declared Jurian, Son of Jaelle of the Strigany and Armin of Ostland. Claiming descent of the humans who once ruled that city, he has led a force of men-- adventurers, mercenaries, and believers, all of them claiming Strigan blood-- to retake the city that was fallen. He is aided in this endeavor by the Bretonnians of Parravon-- and, surprisingly, his half-brother Arnulf, having recently claimed the Runefang Brain Wounder. Relatively young, he is a veteran already, having been in the Battle of Under-Altdorf as an Attaché.
They seek to remove both the Vampires and the Tomb Kings.
Darklands: The Darklands have, for centuries, been the stomping grounds of evil.
Black tar bubbling to the surface, cruel greenskins living the desert life, human bandits fleeing to it.
Last year, a mighty Rain-forest of redwood trees was birthed there, under the direction of Asrai Wizards.
And so a battle began to claim it.
The Lizardmen were the first destroyed-- allied to no-one, and desired by nothing, they fled at the call of their masters.
Next, a mighty Waaagh! of countless greenskins formed in the shade of the trees, and so marched towards the Elves. So too the Dawi Zharr- they, ever lustful for power, might exploit the forest for centuries, or millenia, and live like kings and grind the world under their boots.
Against these, the noble elves-- the strange forces of the Asrai, led by the Dragon Rider Alanarth and his twelve (!!!) children and the Asrai, led by Teclis of Ulthuan, in the remnants of the Black Fortress.
The battle raged for seven days and seven nights. Orc killed elf killed dwarf killed goblin, as three armies battled for control of this vast forest and all the riches and life within.
The Greenskins gave first, when the Hobgoblins betrayed-- as they ever have-- their kin to aid the Chaos Dwarfs. Many thousand died, but many more fled into the bush, goblins and orcs and other beasts of the most savage nature that must be removed 'er long.
Fatted by these new servants and by aid from the Witch-King, seeking to weaken his hated foes, the Dawi Zharr turned towards the Elves. The fighting was fierce, a return to the darkest days of the War of the Beard. Blood was shed thick to stain the soil, and leaves drank so deep of blood that the leaves turned red. No mercy was asked nor given, the most barbarous of battles, and in the end the elves fell back to their new fortress. The poison of Forest Dragon breath filled the air, and spirits ripped apart reality as wizard dueled wizard.
The night fell.
All hope seemed lost. The Dwarfs readied themselves to claim this whole strength. Fed by these new resources, the Chaos Dwarfs would have turned to grinding first their fellow slaves of darkness to heel, then the rest of the World. Their generals readied themselves for a siege.
But then a horn blew.
And over in the trees, Estalian appeared. Turning about, but not quick enough, the corrupted Dwarfs were shredded by fire from the soldiers, as Diestros rushed to earn glory and knights charged, pinning the Dawi Zharr's formation like kindling.
For you see, never do the Estalians forget a friend-- and long, long has Alarnath been a friend to that people.
With the Dawi in such disarray, the Elves took to battle and crushed the Chaos Dwarfs where they stood, putting them to flight. It was bloody work, but in the end the Elves stood victorious.
And so now do the Darklands belong to the Elves, though perhaps a better name should be found for them now that no longer are they so twisted and evil.
Special
Report on Children: Prince Geraud sends word: Merovee has begun spending a great much of his time not in training in the poorer districts, distributing alms and charity. Oh boy. He has also begun training with the Dragon Prince he became friends with last year.
From Baron Corentin, meanwhile, you hear that Abraham has begun wrestling the other children-- wrestling proper at that, not, well, scrapping.
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- Location
- West Michigan
The Dawi Zharr don't... have... any holdings outside the Darklands. Are they completely gone now? Did they retreat to the Mountains of Mourn? Does the jungle just not stretch all the way north?
The simultaneous demise of an entire faction, even a minor one, and breaking of a major faction's (greenskins) stronghold is a Big Deal.
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
More that the Forest did not literally consume their cities, but rather instead grows around them. So like, the Dawi Zharr have their cities/forts and a few miles around them as their own, still. Probably not for very much longer, but.
The orcs, too, still infest the forests, though they have also fled; to where, only they and the gods know.
And yeah, this is one of those "Really Important Years" that would get taught in history class.
DevilsAdvocate
Always follow the golden rule.
When is the character sheet going to be updated?
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I got Godfrey's Character Sheet all updated and added the new traits to Morgyan's and Philip's.
Also, question for the thread. I didn't exactly make it a secret that, as a matter of honor, one of your children would be going to aid Thodrek when he went to reclaim the Silver Spear. If I started a mini quest for that, would there be any interest?
Also, question for the thread. I didn't exactly make it a secret that, as a matter of honor, one of your children would be going to aid Thodrek when he went to reclaim the Silver Spear. If I started a mini quest for that, would there be any interest?
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King Arthur
The Once and Future King
- Location
- Mountains of Appalachia
I'd be interested.
Knighthood
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Knighthood
(Source)
"Thou shalt bring the head of the beastmen who slew poor Jean!"
-Maid Maria
It is often supposed that to be a noble in Bretonnia, one must be born to it. Certainly, that is the easiest way-- one cannot deny the aid of education from birth in producing, arming, and readying the Knights of Bretonnia-- the deadliest humans of the Old World. Further, as a favor and for sake of honor and friendship alike, it is not uncommon for sons to serve as the Household Knights of distant kin, something that would not be offered to any random person who just so happened to wander in.
However, that is not where true knighthood-- and thus, true nobility-- derive. Rather, it is of deeds-- of attestation to honor, and glory. The first-born son of the King and the lowliest bastard-born pig-farmer girl alike share at least one thing in common-- if they can perform a Tour of Errancy, they will be a knight; and if they cannot, they will not.
Further, this too is a part of how villages and other lands are ruled. The most morally good maiden in the village is chosen by the village, and to each applicant she offers deeds she believes would be worthy, and they set out to fulfill them-- who returns first receiving lordship of that village, and up and up it goes, and so the lower nobility, who most directly rule the peasants, are chosen. While the deed is often of a martial nature, it is not unknown that a more cerebral task, such as solving the riddle of a Fay, or some other such deed.
The Earls and Barons too, do much the same, except attested by the lower Knights of the Realms as well. In general, the same family can expect to inherit the same land-- there is a strong tendency of not rocking the boat, and often the sons and heirs are well liked in the village/fief/etc. after a lifetime in it-- but it is not unknown for them to be deposed: the Berger family of Parravon were left wandering as Household Knights in service to various lords for three-hundred years after the Doom of Adam. Further, villages can change which fief they are a part of by inviting the lord of a neighboring fief to perform such a challenge.
It is different, however, for Dukes-- they, in accordance with decrees from Louis the Rash, are instead passed, father to son, and son to grandson, and so on, until the chain be broken, as a way of preserving the blessing of the Lady on these lines. Still, in deference to their own vassals and for the sake of good governance, often Dukes will seek out a quest or some challenge to prove themselves worthy of the Dukedom, a strong tradition. You, for instance, in reclaiming the Palais Des Fleur; Bohemond in his reclaiming the treasures of Bretonnia from the East; and your son seems set to perform a tour of duty as a Royal Hippogryph Knight (More on that later).
Still, it does sometimes...chafe, at you, that this is so different...
(Source)
"Thou shalt bring the head of the beastmen who slew poor Jean!"
-Maid Maria
It is often supposed that to be a noble in Bretonnia, one must be born to it. Certainly, that is the easiest way-- one cannot deny the aid of education from birth in producing, arming, and readying the Knights of Bretonnia-- the deadliest humans of the Old World. Further, as a favor and for sake of honor and friendship alike, it is not uncommon for sons to serve as the Household Knights of distant kin, something that would not be offered to any random person who just so happened to wander in.
However, that is not where true knighthood-- and thus, true nobility-- derive. Rather, it is of deeds-- of attestation to honor, and glory. The first-born son of the King and the lowliest bastard-born pig-farmer girl alike share at least one thing in common-- if they can perform a Tour of Errancy, they will be a knight; and if they cannot, they will not.
Further, this too is a part of how villages and other lands are ruled. The most morally good maiden in the village is chosen by the village, and to each applicant she offers deeds she believes would be worthy, and they set out to fulfill them-- who returns first receiving lordship of that village, and up and up it goes, and so the lower nobility, who most directly rule the peasants, are chosen. While the deed is often of a martial nature, it is not unknown that a more cerebral task, such as solving the riddle of a Fay, or some other such deed.
The Earls and Barons too, do much the same, except attested by the lower Knights of the Realms as well. In general, the same family can expect to inherit the same land-- there is a strong tendency of not rocking the boat, and often the sons and heirs are well liked in the village/fief/etc. after a lifetime in it-- but it is not unknown for them to be deposed: the Berger family of Parravon were left wandering as Household Knights in service to various lords for three-hundred years after the Doom of Adam. Further, villages can change which fief they are a part of by inviting the lord of a neighboring fief to perform such a challenge.
It is different, however, for Dukes-- they, in accordance with decrees from Louis the Rash, are instead passed, father to son, and son to grandson, and so on, until the chain be broken, as a way of preserving the blessing of the Lady on these lines. Still, in deference to their own vassals and for the sake of good governance, often Dukes will seek out a quest or some challenge to prove themselves worthy of the Dukedom, a strong tradition. You, for instance, in reclaiming the Palais Des Fleur; Bohemond in his reclaiming the treasures of Bretonnia from the East; and your son seems set to perform a tour of duty as a Royal Hippogryph Knight (More on that later).
Still, it does sometimes...chafe, at you, that this is so different...
King Arthur
The Once and Future King
That's some pure grade, undiluted Chivalry for you right there. Does wonders that stuff.
- Location
- Somewhere
Abraham is now on the fast track to become the Royarch of Brettonia?
lancelot
Completely worth it
This I don't get, I can't think of anything on his sheet or from what has been written of his character that would have him refuse a perfectly good Epic mount. Doubly so as he has seen just how deadly they can be.
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I'm not saying soaking in the magics of the Silver Lance of the Blessed and the Lady's Banner has been subtly molding you to be more like Gilles, but you should, perhaps, consider what exactly bearing the weapon and standard of the First King might do to someone.
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
They did not travel as Eves, but under pseudonym. That, plus the Northern Empire telling you to get bent, is what let them stay safe.
lancelot
Completely worth it
Wait was there a point where Gilles had the option to have a murder machine as a mount and didn't?
Also when did scorpions become dishonorable? Their basically useless against anything that isn't a super heavy unit, or a fortification so I'm not seeing where the problem is.