Thursday, January 12, 2012

The Long Road to Ruin

For a few seconds of half-sleep before waking, Chael thought he was back in his beloved Bretonnia. The noisy battle preparations quickly reminded him that this was not the case. Not that it dampen his mood any. They had wintered well this past year. The damage to the former beastman capital was not as extensive as first feared. Diplomatic envoys had brought good news and our agents had uncovered no plots worth mentioning. Only those traitors on Asur's Rest had stopped the armistice from being a total success. They would be put down in due course. Other matters were more pressing.

Still, on a morning like this it was hard not to think of home. The damsels said The Lady had chosen to bless us after our bravery of months past. The removal of the taint of monstrosities surely helped too. Standing here in these verdant fields, it was the first time Delacroix was struck with the notion of making this new world his home. Home.

His calm was broken, as always, by his squire Herve. "M'lord, ser, you have a visitor, your Grace." His lack of etiquette was matched only by his general incompetence at everything. The commander waited. Silence. Chael tilted his head slightly. Herve nodded back. Chael extended his hand and waited. Herve caught his hand in his tunic and yelped. "WHOM is outside?!" The commander thundered. " Oh, er, Ambassador Ironhart, my Liege, ser" "Best send him to my quarters, tend to his needs and inform the Ambassador that I will be with him soon." With that Herve was gone. The first bad news of the day. And everything was going so well until then.

The reinforcements had arrived as scheduled. Scouting reports on their foe had brought welcome news about the lack of Minotaurs in the opposing force. Rank and file gors and ungors would be the bulk of opposition. The enemies lack of missile fire had also pleased him. The terrain, an open field with little to obstruct or hinder their cavalry, favored them slightly. Add in the numerical superiority of our troops and the better armor and training and things were looking good for Delacroix. But now the Ambassador.

" Rantaine, find Captain Bondurant, tell him to hoist the standard and muster the men. We ride within the hour." The snap to the order betrayed his growing unease. The commander was a soldier born , not a man for talking when a sword would do. Talking was for those who could not ride, those who could not fight. Old men and courtesans. He was slowly learning that not to be the case.

He found the Dwarf in his study, turning his nose up at the wine he had been offered. "Weak swill for weaker stomachs" He had not changed one bit from the boorish fustilarian who had been haranguing all and sundry about all the areas in which the Bretonnians where deficient compared to the stout and hearty folk of his kin. " So Ambassador, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company to, on this eve of glorious battle? Come to lead our vanguard?"
" What? And rob one of your men of that honor?" He made no attempt to hide the distaste in his voice. "No, I have come to advise you to retreat from Kislev. Well, to tell you to pull back. Return your forces to your capital."
" May I ask why?" Delacroix kept his voice as still as possible. These suggestions/orders were really becoming tiresome at this point. " I don't have time to explain the intricacies of diplomacy to you, boy. Do as you are bid. That is all I ask of you." "Well if that is all you want i will take its into consideration. Now I must be off. I have a foe to vanquish and people to free." With that Delacroix rose to leave. Ironhart rose and made to follow. The commander quicken his stride. He heard the dwarf once again demand he move his forces but choose to ignore the wretch this time. " Worry not Ambassador, I had Herve pack your provision for your trip back home. I am sure you will be well looked after. By the way, next time Moribus wants to contact me, get him to send a less odious toady."

Bondurant had been up to the task and the men were ready to go as he approached. With one fluid movement, bore out of thousands of hours of practice, he mounted his steed. Pulling his sword from its scabbard, he held it over his head and boomed, "TODAY THE EYES OF THIS NEW LAND ARE UPON US. WE WILL ANNIHILATE THESE FREAKS BEFORE US. MAKE THEM AN EXAMPLE TO THOSE WHO OPPOSE US. WE WILL SHOW THE WORLD WHAT BRETONNIAN STEEL IS MADE OF. FOR THE LADY!!! FOR DUTY!!! FOR BRETONNIA!!

(Posted for JK)


  1. So many typos. I am sorry. Will fix tomorrow.

  2. Your stalwart ally and friend lord Morbius wishes to send his most heartfelt congratulations on your most comprehensive victory. It appears our envoy to your Capital was waylaid by a Northman ambush or he would have surely expressed our pleasure to you himself...

    1. Well, we live in dangerous times. Your orge issue is becoming more vocal I see.

  3. Why yes. I've heard the talk, but no signs yet of the trousers.