A/R:

Superfanman217: Well, thank you very much! I'd give you a cookie if I could!

Seran58: Well, you're gonna be a very happy man… or woman.

Ayman El Kadouri: I appreciate the the thoughts and prayers for our Italian boy. Give em' hell and gunpowder!

Immage: Dammit! I feel like I really missed out on an opportunity here! That right there would be peak cinema! Maybe I can do something like that in the future…

Darkwarrior41: That sounds interesting actually. Is this related to your Gate crossover story?

Pifano98: Oof.

Haldir 639: I appreciate the compliment and you also bring up a very good point. I could always give some side stories after the main story to show how Lyle's actions have affected Bretonnian and the Old World at large, but that could also be something I do through the spinoffs if they gain enough attention. Plus you're also correct that that many around Bretonnia wouldn't just allow the new status quo to settle.

Rangda: Oh trust me those dwarves have those grudges written down. It's just a matter of being able to act upon them. And unfortunately so long as the majority of them hide out in Athel Loren, there isn't much Lyle can do about them…so long as they stay in their forests that is.

Women ruiz: The Red Duke was only going to wait for so long. After all, opportunities like this aren't the kind you pass up and like his cousins it wouldn't be a sporting for a vampire count to ignore an opportunity invade a country you're attached to. Also I have to say those are some very descriptive ideas you got there. It's nice to see I'm not the only who daydreams about bringing these ideas to life.

Jajo Camello: You'll see soon enough, but to answer your question just like Lyle will soon, it was because of timing. When you're dropping bombshells like that there's a time and place. And while I haven't played Styx I have heard it in passing. I might look it up if I find the time for it, so thanks for the suggestion.

Focus of the Future: Yeah I had been hoping that the meetup between Louen and Lyle would meet expectations, even in the Lichemaster's diminished state. The eventual clash between the two is going to be epic…or will it?

Zerkil: Well thank you very much! I was really hoping that their confrontation would live up to the hype!

dadg12346: Negotiations were mandatory for their survival indeed. They may have been able to put up a stiff fight if need be, but Louen would have most likely prevailed, especially with Lyle being so weakened. Also thanks for the cookie.

rc48177: You're not wrong about the matchup. The reality is that even though Lyle could maybe put up a decent fight, Louen would fold him and Krell if given the opportunity, especially in Lyle's weakened state right now.

Sherodx: Yeah, lol I admit, he kind of was in the early days of this fic.

Noob6: …oof.

…

When the meeting had ultimately concluded, the moment Lyle and the inner circle made it back to Castle Bastonne with chests bursting full of gold, Lyle seemed to slump in his saddle, sweat pouring over his brow and his chest heaving from the mere prospect of having to stay in that position for too long for everyone's estimates.

When the inner circle and those close to him scrambled to let him down gently into a makeshift stretcher that had been prepared ahead of time, many were surprised that his cloak got caught on something that was still stuck on the undead horse, only for many to widen their eyes at the sight of Nalga throwing the clock off, sweating under the cloak as well.

Fredericka couldn't stop her mouth from flapping. "Y…You were the on-

"Keepin' him from keelin' over? Yer damn right, lassy! Not an easy job either!" The dwarf huffed as she hopped off the skeletal steed. Not easy given how short and stout her body was, but not impossible either. But it didn't stop her from stomping over to the stretcher and getting Lyle's face. "Next time you're stayin' in bed! The fact that you were swoonin' around like a dwarf that can't hold his beer shoulda told ya-

An abrupt cough forced its way out of Lyle's mouth, his chest heaving with bits of spittle coming out of it, causing the dwarf and others nearby to reel back. After getting his breathing under control, the Lichemaster turned to the dwarf with a half-hearted smile. "...sorry 'bout that."

Biting her lip, her anger momentarily tempered, the dwarf stared at the undead carrying the stretcher. "Well, what are ye bag o' bones faffin' about for? Get him back to his room!" Though it was the mental command from Lyle himself that urged the skeletons forward, it was almost as if the bellow from the dwarf who was now dogging their heels acted as motivation for the undead marching up to the main castle itself with the many peasant musketeers and acolytes staring in concern at their Lichemaster.

Such concerns were momentarily alleviated when Lyle raised his arm, giving a thumbs up. Cheers broke out, even at the sorry state that their leader was in, which was quickly followed up by 'Make Bretonnia Great Again' breaking out amongst the hundreds of peasants in attendance.

All the while, the inner circle hastily followed their leader, truly realizing the lengths to which he went to stave off another ill-timed invasion.

…

"We can't keep doing this by ourselves." Lyle rasped after downing some tea that Fredericka had prepared for him. He lay on his bed looking not too unlike the many necromancers that worked for him, his complexion pale and sallow. While he nursed on the tea he had been given to help with his sore throat as he tried to croak out words, Nalga placed a wet rag over his forehead to help deal with the fever that was breaking out, hoping that his brain wouldn't melt from the heat, while looking at him with concern.

Inside the room was everyone and anyone of significance to the Barrow Legion. Fredericka, Schmitz, Tobias, Wendel, Sybille, and even Deni.

Picking up where he left o,ff, Lyle swallowed his throat and winced in pain before he continued. "It's only a matter of time before they get back from this 'grace' bullshit that they're calling this. Plus, at this point, it's not just him trying to swing at us. But, also the beastmen, the greenskins, whoever the hell wants to try and off us…or me."

"That's something we wanted to bring up Lyle." Fredericka began. "After this assassination attempt…I think we can conclude that it was the Wood Elves that tried to kill you."

"Yeah, ya mentioned to me when as such when I was on my near death bed-

"And I believe that after this…they had nearly succeeded in killing you earlier as well."

That drew wide eyes from everyone, especially Lyle and Schmitz, with the bald necromancer staring oddly at her. "They did?"

"Seriously?" Lyle muttered. "I mean, when th-

"The arrow." Wendel muttered. Touching the eye-patch that was in front of his eye. "Y-you mean-

"Holy shit." Lyle whispered, looking at Fredericka as wildly as his body would allow. "H-how long did you-

"I suspected, but I didn't know for sure." Fredericka lied, not desiring to lose Lyle's trust a second time. "I didn't think much of it at the time, especially since they didn't try a second attempt. I thought much like you it was some peasant from the Bretonnians…but now-

"It was all bullshit." Lyle sighed, closing his eyes. "It wasn't Gerome and the knights; it was those fuckin'...fuckin' hippy tree-huggin' elves." The curses flew out of his mouth as a result of the frustration, sickness, and annoyance. "It was all complete and utter crap. All of it. I fought Gerome and those knights for nothin'."

"Not for nothing." Schmitz harpumphed, offended. "We would have had to fight that lot one way or another. If the elves truly had something to do with this, and let's face it…they did. Blood would have had to be shed for us to survive-

"And that's what those tree huggers wanted, Schmitz!" Lyle spat, nearly making the older man jump at the vitriol. "They wanted us to fight for…for…Goddamnit, Freddy! You know 'em' better than me, why! What the hell are they pullin' here!? They trick me into fighting Gerome and the Bretonnians and now they want me dead? What'd I ever do to them!? Wh-" Lyle then started coughing again, which wasn't as bad of a fit as it could have been, with Nalga patting him heartily on the back, urging him to ease himself.

Fredericka sighed in relief that Lyle hadn't suspected what she had originally concealed. "We can only guess master, but we have very good guesses all the same. Our former master Kemmler made a habit of raiding Athel Loren a handful of times and killing many of the elven denizens to raid them for artifacts. They may see you as a threat that could turn your undead if you defeat the Bretonnians."

Malding at the emergence of yet another threat that was adding to a building headache, Lyle scowled. "Well, if that's what they wanted, then maybe I should-" Another coughing fit ensued, cooling Lyle's temper before he shook his head. "We'll…worry about it later."

Many sighed at that, especially those like Fredericka and Tobias, who knew they couldn't realistically invade Athel Loren right now. It was something that they knew would have to be explained in depth to Lyle in the future, but when you had enemies that were possibly everywhere, it was crucial not to overextend.

Especially when you had just survived a four-way battle that was crucial to your survival. Something that was at the forefront of everyone's mind.

"First things first." Lyle began, holding up a finger. "Do any of us know the real reason why King Louen decided to up and bail? Don't get me wrong, he seems like a stand-up guy, but I highly doubt that he decided to just live and let live cause he felt like it."

Sybille arched an eyebrow. "What happened to calling him King Louis?"

"Meh. Don't seem right anymore." Lyle admitted uneasily. "After meeting him face to face…eh just don't feel right is all-look let's stay on track people. Anybody got anythin' for me?"

Deni, who strangely didn't seem as chipper or bubbly as usual, sniffed. "I…I believe I can offer an idea of an answer, Monsieur Lyle."

"Lay it on me. I'm all ears."

"I've yet to receive word or confirmation from my sources, which are…slower than usual." The vampire admitted with a grudging annoyance, which might have had something to do with her mood. "It certainly isn't Norscans. They don't seem all too eager to test their mettle after so many of them fell against the blade of Alvin. But I do know one thing. The King's armies are traipsing north. North and further north, which can only mean one thing if you are a Brettonian."

"Mousillon." Sybille sighed, rolling her eyes. "The Red Duke stirs yet again, and stir he shall."

"They're vampires like you, yet you do not have sources of when they stir?" Schmitz cut in with a healthy dose of suspicion. "You mean to have us believe that?"

"Do not test my patience by testing my credibility." Many blinked at how harsh the usual flowery woman was, even Schmitz had to swallow his tongue when he felt the vampire's cold gaze on her. "The blood of the Dragon does not mingle with the blood of Lahmia. The Duke is careful as to who he allows into his court, and my sisters are no different…perhaps even more so. I can only guess what goes on in that madman's mind."

Not liking being the odd man out, Lyle sighed and drank another gulp of tea before speaking up. "Bring me up to speed people."

"Mousillon is a truly damned land, Master Lyle." Fredericka supplied. "It's a land that for years upon years has been infested with vampires, led by who many believe to be the same vampire that started it all. The Red Duke."

"You said years upon years. How many years we talkin'?"

"Centuries long."

"And the Bretonnians never bothered to deal with the problem permanently?"

"I don't think you truly understand what little Frederick means by the word damned, boy." Sybille huffed. "That is a land not even I would dare to trapse, at least without reason. It's like the people and the earth within Mousillon are cursed. Oh, the Red Duke has been struck down by Bretonnian Kings in the past, but like the Godsdamned Von Carstiens of Sylvania, he returns as an even greater pain in this Kingdom's side. And knowing the King's luck, the Red Duke might see your invasion as an opportunity to swing again. Not that I think the fool will succeed, but alas."

"It also doesn't help that whenever Bretonnia has tried to route out the vampiric corruption and secret societies that dwelled within; other conflicts, crises, and invasions have pulled their resources." Fredericka continued. "It's a wretched pimple that has survived being burst, and Bretonnia is poorer for it."

"Okay. Well, lemme ask you this. Ya think they'd be willing to play ball with us?"

Deni's frown tightened. "I find it hard to believe the Red Duke would turn down an opportunity to expand his domain further. But whether he would desire to work with you is another matter entirely. That and cooperation with his ilk offers a dangerous invitation for treachery."

Schmitz resisted the urge to snort and roll his eyes, eyeing the vampire carefully.

"He's a vampire like you though, ain't he? Can you, I'unno…write him a letter or somethin'?"

"...after I have a private word with you, Spoletta."

Nobody missed how that didn't sound like a request, which prompted Sybille and Schmitz to keep a close hand on their staves just in case.

However, Lyle moved on without desiring to make a mountain out of a molehill, especially with a pounding headache thanks to the Hags-Bane. "Well, while we're on the topic of making friends, I guess now's as good as any time to bring up some changes I think are gonna have ta' go down sooner rather than later." Lyle began looking at each one of the members of his inner circle seriously. "We need a rebrand…or maybe even a revamp, and I'm including each and every one of you in said revamp." When Lyle was met with confused looks and perturbed expressions, he elaborated. "Guys, I'm gonna be honest: if we're gonna keep going the way we are and try to take over this entire country, which I assume is the goal, you all need to get a makeover. And I mean All o' you and the acolytes."

"A…makeover?" Wendel asked. "Are you asking us to put on makeup like a highborn master Lyle?"

"Well, I'm not so sure about that, but for some of you, it definitely wouldn't hurt."

"For what purpose?" Tobias interrupted for the first time, looking lost. "I don't see how focusing on our appearance should be a matter of import, Master Lyle, not when you yourself have seen the many threats we must face."

"Uh-huh. And if we're gonna be lookin' to survive those threats, we can't do it alone. Take those musketeers me and Nalga here trained up. You saw how good those boys n' gals were with those rifles! And that was just with the barebones of training! Imagine if we had more of em' and with more time to train em'! More volunteers from the villages and the cities and other places where people wanna make a difference. Think about it! It'll be like an in-depth PR campaign across the country!"

"Oh, come now, don't tell me you want to rely only on those in-bred peasants." Schmitz sighed, pinching his nose. "Why rely on them when we have access to one of the most powerful forms of magic in all of the Old World with legions of undead!?" When he met Lyle's unimpressed glance, the necromancer leered. "I'm not saying they weren't helpful during the siege, but to expand their power this much-

"Is necessary if we're gonna win this. One of the big reasons we can only make such a large army on such short notice is cause we need a lot of material to make and maintain the undead, and relying solely on that will sink our bank account. Can't let that happen. Sure, we got a lot of gold to act as a cushion thanks to the hostage trade-off, but until we get a revenue stream, that ain't gonna fly with me."

Tobias politely raised his hand. "I hesitate to agree with Schmitz, Master Lyle, but I must question you again. What purpose does our appearance have to do with arming the peasants?"

"Everyth-" A hacking cough erupted in Lyle's throat, prompting another hacking fit. "Everything." Lyle repeated more softly, massaging his throat for a moment. "Look guys, I'm just gonna be honest with ya, 'cause' for a while I've been guilty of this for a while too. We all look like a buncha sweaty try-hard edgelords who live in their parents' basements."

Everyone not named Nalga or Deni balked at Lyle at the crass and frankly accurate words that came from their Lichemaster's mouth, with Sybille looking the least offended as she looked herself up and down, especially since she noticeably wasn't wearing any shoes even now and shrugged. She couldn't disagree with what was in front of her. On the other hand, Deni had a dour mood momentarily lifted as she tittered behind a dainty mouth, amused once more by Lyle's blunt attitude while Nalga openly chortled.

Wendel himself stammered at Lyle's cutting verbiage. "M-master Lyle. S-surely we don't look that bad-

"Wendel, my man, I like ya, especially since I now know ya took an arrow for me, but if I didn't know you were a necromancer, I'd think that you were the kinda guy to be in the back of a white van while trying to invite little kids inside, especially with that eye-patch." Wendel didn't know the full connotations of that, but he was sure it wasn't good since little kids were involved. "If we're gonna appease the masses, you all need to look the part and act the part. In all of your cases, especially lookin' the part cause, those getups ain't doin' you any favors."

"But, master Lyle." Fredericka replied, feeling very self-conscious all of a sudden, grabbing her own cloak. "I know you hail from a different world of a different fashion, but this is how all necromancers dress across all the old world."

"Uh-huh. And how many countries have you guys conquered lookin' like a bunch of deranged homeless people who floated down the river a bit too long?"

"Well…" Tobias began weakly. "The Von-Carstien vampires have-

"I'm talkin' necromancers, not pale-skins like Deni here." The silence that followed was deafening, with many of the necromancers looking at each other and themselves feeling very called out. "Look, I'm not trying to say this to be a dick; I'm just sayin' this 'cause if we're gonna rule this country. And I mean actually rule, we need ta' make ourselves presentable. Proper-like."

"You could use a beard."

"Huh?" Lyle blinked, looking at Nalga, who stared at him critically.

"You could use a beard. A thick one. Ya know since we're criticizing people's appearances now."

"...oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah."

A couple of heartbeats later, Lyle tore his eyes away from the dwarven woman who was starting to stick closer to his side these days and noticed how everyone was staring. Thanking God that his complexion was still pale thanks to the Hags-Bane, the Lichemaster continued. "Look, I'm just tellin' you all to be prepared, 'cause this is what's gonna happen on top of what I'm gonna be havin' you do in the comin' days. First n' foremost, Freddy…get me a pen n' paper…or feather n' paper, whatever."

"I'll have to go to the Solar." She replied, glad for the fact that her master was no longer tearing down everyone's physical appearances for the moment. "What do you need to write?"

"A warning to King Louen that his new favorite Grail Knight might be screwin' some Chaos God on the side."

Fredericka raised her eyebrows but didn't object. At least not directly. "Why…why did you wait to tell him now? Why not tell him at the meeting?"

"Wasn't the time for it. Things could have boiled over, and tempers could have flared. I got my ass out of bed back then to get us out of a fight, not into one. If Louen doesn't buy my claims and raises a fit over it, then that does us no good for getting the gold and the peace we want…plus if I tell him later and even if he doesn't believe me right away…"

"It could sew division and doubt within his mind." The young woman finished, nodding. "That is…rather devious of you, master."

"Damn right, I can be. Heheh-*Cough Cough* Lyle sounded like he was roaring in pain when he shot up in his bed, coughing into his fist, urging Fredericka to scramble and give him another cup of warm tea, which he eagerly downed into his throat. Everyone winced in seeing the state of him, but Sybille especially couldn't help but note how resilient his body was in fighting the Hags-Bane poison that was still burning its way through him even now. Someone who had gotten such a large dose as him would have been unable to speak for a few days at minimum.

It truly spoke to how adaptive and strong his immune system was. It made the witch question with morbid curiosity if everyone had as strong or comparable of an immune system as him, and if so, how? Oh, if only they didn't need him at the moment. He would be an interesting test subject to put under the knife and see what made him tick.

Whatever her future intentions were, it behooved her to move to his side with the other two women already crowding around him, looking at the young Lichemaster sternly. "Enough talking. Whatever orders you have can come later after you've burned through the rest of the Hags Bane. Yo-

"Can talk a bit longer, in case you forgot." The door to the room opened with the sound of a familiar raspy voice, and to their surprise, it was the same zombie from before, once again acting as Lyle's mouthpiece. "Just gotta switch up the tongues here, that's all."

Sybille couldn't hide her curiosity, especially since they weren't under the gaze of the Bretonnians now. "Your new magic? I've yet to see a necromancer speak directly through their undead."

"Mmhmm." The zombie nodded, sweeping its glowing blue eyes to the slightly perturbed necromancers. "Here's what's gonna happen, boys n' girls. If we're gonna win this, we need the people of Bretonnia. And if we're gonna appeal to the masses, we need to be able to get on their good side. Tobias."

Flinching at the zombie calling out his name, he faltered about whether he should look to Lyle or it, and the bookish necromancer settled on it. "Yes, master Lyle?"

"You're good with numbers n' logistics n' whatnot. I want you to get a list from Emmerich and his paperboy about all the villages near Bastonne, even small towns or cities. Get the current musketeers to go out and deliver messages to those population centers and invite them here."

"Invite them toward what, Master Lyle?"

"For the party, of course."

"P-party? What ki-

"Wendel, you're gonna be the one to start organizing the party, specifically the food portion of it. I've seen the food stores here, and from the ridiculous amount of beasts that the old Duke here hunted, we got plenty of meat to spare. Get some food prepped for hundreds if not thousands of bellies, like a banquet or a potluck."

"M-me? Why me? I-I've never-

"Don't worry, I'll have some zombies help you out…after disinfecting their hands, of course…maybe skeletons are better, I'unno I gotta think about it. I'll have recipes for ya."

The zombie then turned to Schmitz, who sighed in exasperation. "Please tell me that you don't expect me to entertain the ill-born-

"Not even in your nightmares, you cranky old bastard. Just focus on building up the defenses here at the castle and fixin' the walls. I don't wanna take any chances." Schmitz sighed in relief, glad he could distance himself from the hectic waste of resources, in his opinion. But, if this was going to happen at least he could wash his hands of it. "Freddy, I need you to lemme know the first moment I get a messenger bird from Ave that she says is specially trained from the convent she would go to. She should be sendin' it to me soon."

Fredericka couldn't hide the confusion. "Messenger from…what?"

"Confidential. Don't worry, you'll know soon enough."

Fredericka, for a moment, felt offended that he wouldn't tell her now, only to feel herself go still and fight the urge to flick her eyes toward the pale-skinned woman who stared pointedly at her. "...understood, Master Lyle."

"And as for lookin' the part, Deni, I'm gonna need your help. My fashion sense ain't the greatest, so I'm going to

"I'll need your time in private, Lord Spoletta." The woman tittered, rudely yet graciously interrupting the zombie. "If you don't mind, of course." She was about to wait for an answer before she seemingly got an idea. "Actually…I don't mind you bringing that unsightly lump of green flesh here to explain his shortcomings if his wizened old knees could bring him here. I could have my retainers carry him here if his age has caught up too quickly."

The latent hostility from before was practically laid bare for all to see, and some were relieved to see that not all of it was directed at Lyle. Schmitz looked as though he wanted to shoot his mouth off at the disrespect regardless, only to get a look from Fredericka, who was halting his words. It didn't do much to stop Sybille from considering giving the vampire a gaze of Nagash and besmirching her well-done makeup and fluffy outfit and corset.

Lyle sighed, wishing he could have it easy just once, feeling weary when he saw Nalga fingering a small ax sticking out of her boot, making sure to lean close to him as if shielding his body. Not an easy feat, given how short and stout she was, but it warmed his heart all the same.

But, ultimately, Lyle shrugged, knowing that he had an easy out to put this off, especially since his eyelids were getting ever so heavier. "Well, you're gonna have to wait on that, Ma'am. Better to put it off until tomorrow or the day after."

Deni couldn't hide her offense. "I beg your pardon?"

"Yeah, it's this thing called sleep. It calls to me. When I wake ya'll better have your shit together cause I-" And then Lyle was out like a light, his eyelids claiming victory over his sight and senses, his body working overtime to burn out the poison in his body.

…

Yasmine stumbled forward, the leash around her neck uncomfortable due to the bone collar already around it as she was pulled past the haphazard encampment that the goblins who had taken her had erected on short notice. It was a near thing. An oh-so-very near thing when she thought for sure she'd have her heart carved out by the beastmen who had taken her or if they'd try to corrupt her body or use her soul as a sacrifice to their dark gods. But it was cold comfort for when night goblins and goblin wolf riders descended upon her kidnappers with a fury that frightened even her, taking the damsel as their own prize.

Trading one set of captives for another, which was followed by an uncomfortable ride on the back of a wolf, With her arms bound behind her back and rope around her neck much like the bone collar, Yasmine panted as she was pulled furiously and quickly past the many other goblins who were working or arguing frantically or angrily with one another to make camp within the middle of the forest that they had made their base of operations.

Everything about what she had seen, even from the night goblins that were dragging her around like a pack mule, seemed disorderly. Frantic. Now, if these were just your run-of-the-mill greenskins, that wouldn't be anything to bat an eye at, especially given how utterly tribal and mutinous these beasts could be.

But, no. This was a different breed of franticness plaguing what had to be Grom, the Paunche's tribe. The goblins seemed especially surly with one another. Their eyes shifted on a swivel as if they were expecting someone or something to come and club them in the back of the head or worse. The night goblins that were dragging them, in particular, were hurrying along, and Yasmine was getting pulled to the point where she had to break out in a light jog just to keep up with them.

Eventually, they reached an utterly queer sight. It was a large grouping of other humans much like her, who were all moving about lifting boxes and crates of equipment, supplies, clothes, and weapons while chatting with one another a mile a minute. When the night goblins pulled her forward, it took Yasmine a moment to realize, especially with the collars around their necks, that these were slaves and that not all were humans. Many elves were among them, and the nervousness could be felt even by them, not just because they were slaves.

The lead night goblin pulling her along came up to one elven slave in particular that Yasmine couldn't help but notice was much better dressed than the rest of her slave counterparts while barking orders at others. Her attention was inevitably and literally pulled away from them, however, when Zulz, the night goblin in question, pulled jerkily on her dress, drawing out a frown until she looked down and saw who it was. "Zulz. You're alive." The woman noted blandly with only the barest hint of relief. "If you came back in one piece I can only assume you were successful in our lord's dying wish."
Zulz, the goblin in question stared bug-eyed at the elf, with many of his night goblins gasping and choking. "D-dyin'!? D-don't tell me-

"He's not quite there yet, but it doesn't look…optimistic, to put it mildly." Simmire, the elf-slave, noted with a downward curve of her lip.

"A-and da shroom specialists? D-da wise shamans!? Wh-what are de-

"Working around the clock to keep him in the world of the living, I assure you. Already, they're working overtime to sew up his stomach and guts…the problem is that a good deal of your goblin needleworkers died in the retreat from Castle Bastonne. It's a slog of slow work at the moment."

"Krumpin' beasties!" Zulz cursed out uselessly, stomping the ground in frustration. "Krumpin' Kr-Krump em' all! Ohhhh if so many of da boyz didn't get themselves killed off-

"It's regrettable, but nothing can be done about them." Simmire then knelt next to the night goblin, and though she tried to keep her voice down, Yasmine trained her ears to pick up what was said. "Zulz. Some of my fellow slaves picked up word from two other well-known goblins. Mizik blue-eye and Kaf squit-eata' were trying to plead their cases to those who would listen. They're looking to take advantage."

Zulz ground his teeth hard against one another, his beady red eyes widening in shock and outrage as they darted around. "N-now? Da boss's body ain't even cool yet, bu-

"It's alright. I already dealt with it. I paid off two nasty skulkers to handle the issue discreetly in Mizik's case…not so much with Kaf since I never cared for him much. Plus, it could send a message."

Yasmine widened her eyes, not at the death of these would-be upstarts within the broken-ax tribe but at the fact that this elven slave was going out of her way to prevent a mutiny within. Was there something she was missing here?

Regardless, Zulz seemed relieved at the news. "Good. Good, good, good. Good work, Yasmine, you'z a good pointy-ear slave."

To Yasmine's further confusion, the woman seemed to smirk in pride. "I do my best." She leaned closer to Zulz's ear, and the damsel had to really lean, nearly breaking subtlety to hear. "But, Zulz. The tribe has never been more vulnerable than now. You need to put on a brave face now more than ever while his immensity is on the mend. The boyz need a boss, as you would put it, now more than ever, and it's imperative that you fill that gap."

"Impera-what now?"

"...Important."

"Well, why didn't ya say so!" Zulz grumbled back, annoyed at the big elven words being thrown around, before grumbling more to himself. "B-but how do I do dat anyways? ERmmmm…G-give speeches or promises of more lootz, scraps n' slaves? Errr…w-wait, you're not sayin' I replace da boss, do I?"

"Heavens no. Grom still draws breath. To do that would be treason." Her look then became conspiratorial. "And you're no traitor to da greatest Gobbo eva', are you, Zulz?"

"Krump, no!"

"All the boyz need right now is a firm hand. Most of them know that Grom is wounded, but they don't all know how bad his condition is. Keeping it that way is of the utmost importance."

"C-can I go see him, ya think?"

It wasn't lost on Yasmine that the goblin seemed so out of sorts with his position and the sad state of the tribe that he was asking a slave of all things for advice on whether or not he should see his dying war boss. It was a queer request that was met with a warm smile. "Of course, Zulz. He is your boss, after all. Remember what I said. It's best you surround yourself with the most loyal night goblins you can find, now more than ever. The two would-be usurpers won't be the last. Not until the boys see their boss bellowing orders again."

"Y-yeah! Right! I-I knew dat!" The goblin tried huffing out with a puffed-up chest as if he had originally thought of the idea. Yet that frantic worry plaguing him and other goblins couldn't be missed even as he left toward where Yasmine could only assume was the direction in which Grom was being kept.

Now alone with the other slaves, including this Simmire character, the elf turned a pointed look at her before approaching, still holding onto that clipboard of hers. "So it was a spell-caster…or more specifically, a damsel that the beastmen had caught. Even on his deathbed, Grom's intuition seems to have paid off."

The damsel in question blinked, narrowing her eyes. "How did you come to that conclusion?"

Simmire rolled her eyes. "I'm an elf, human. Granted, an elf that was low on the nobility ladder back in Ulthuan, but an elf all the same. And though that collar has a dreadfully rudimentary design, I've seen similar magic dampeners back home. The fact that you're a woman only confirmed what you could have possibly been."

Before Yasmine could reply, another female elf slave came rushing toward Simmire, who leaned toward their direction. Yasmine couldn't help but notice how, unlike many other slaves, this elf-slave was wearing a silver collar, which, while of lower quality to Yasmine's golden one, was still better quality to the leather or cloth collars around the necks of other slaves. She also seemed to be in elven clothes of comparable quality to Yasmine's, displaying some better preferential treatment. When this female elf whispered into Yasmine's own pointed ears, she frowned and cursed. "Another one so soon?"

"They grow like weeds, Simmire. It's fitting, given their complexion."

"Absolutely." Yasmine huffed before giving a nod. "Will the skulkers still be up to the job?"

"They will…but they're going to want more this time."

"Teeth wasn't enough?"

The elf-slave slowly shook her head. "He wants some of the golden teeth this time."

"Of course he does." Yasmine huffed before putting a delicate finger to her chin, thinking on the matter for a moment. "Ask him if he's willing to have a personal slave instead. One of the humans, of course. If not, then just give him what he wants."

The elf hesitated momentarily before nodding, rushing off from whence she came. Yasmine could only stare at the entire exchange with wide eyes, not at all missing the implications of what she just witnessed.

Acting as if nothing had happened, Simmire readressed the damsel with a slight twist of her head. "So may I have the name of the woman who was fortunate enough to be saved from an unholy beastmen ritual?"

"Saved is a very loose term to use given my new circumstances." Yasmine smirked, looking the elven woman up and down. "I must admit, though, that an elven slave giving orders to a bunch of goblins is new to me. My name is Yasmine however, if you must know.

"Orders?" The elf smiled mocking confusion. "Perish the thought, what I give are mere suggestions."

"Yet here you are working so seamlessly to keep this wretched yet diminishing greenskin horde together." Leaning forward, Yasmine leaned forward, her voice low. "If you know what I am, then you know I can help free us and everyone else if you find a magic practitioner who can get this collar off. You don't have to put on an act."

"How courteous of you. Truly it is, but that courtesy is terribly misplaced." Simmire responded. "As much as things look dire at the moment, I have things well in hand."

"Well in hand?" Yasmine said slowly, looking around her at the other slaves working tirelessly around them, with some stray looks being sent their way. "You call being the slaves of an army of greenskins something that is well in hand? Well, perhaps this is elven talk that I am unfamiliar with that you could appraise me of?"

"Oh, I assure you this is nothing elvish-...actually, I suppose it is." Simmire hummed to herself in slight realization. "But, I don't expect someone such as yourself to understand even if you damsels are of higher learning than your illiterate, peasant-born counterparts." Simmire then looked the damsel up and down before raising an eyebrow. "Can I trust you to behave if I have your arms freed?"

The irony. An elven slave asking her. A damsel to watch her behavior in the middle of a greenskin camp. Oh, how low she had fallen. But, knowing that so long as this bone collar was stuck around her neck, Yasmine knew she had to play nice if she wanted any hope of escaping. "I can promise that much."

A few cuts of a knife through the rope that had bound her wrists together, Yasmine sighed, flexing her arms and taking a shuddering breath at how roughly the beastmen had treated her and how ironically lucky she was to have been kidnapped by this desperate greenskins. "Could I trouble you to also remove the cloth collar around my neck? It chafes with the bone collar I already have."

"Afraid not. I know those cloth collars are hardly comfortable, but they're important for the tribe, you see. All of us slaves have a place, and it's important to remember who is in theirs." Yasmine found the satisfied smile on the elf's lips a tad irritating. "But fret not. If you do your part and play nice, we could get a more comfortable collar in the future."

"You say that as if you're planning to keep me long-term." Yasmine snarked, folding her arms. "Bold of you to assume, even for an elf."

Simmire didn't verbally respond; she only jerked her head and moved away from the rest of the slaves, the invitation to follow clear. Yasmine was starting to become warier and warier of this woman by the moment, but again, in this situation, it is best not to put her life in any more peril than necessary.

As her bare feet tread across the rugged ground that had been shifted from the sheer mass of humanity constantly walking and running across it, Yasmine picked up several other curious bits from her stroll through this tribe. She noticed even more collar variations, with a handful of silver and some bronze, but the majority of cloth collars were heavily comprised of humans. Men and women sweating through their rags at the hard labor they had to do, moving equipment to and fro, and not at the order of goblins who were clearly more preoccupied with licking their wounds at their failed assault at Castle Bastonne.

No. It was the bronze-collared slaves that seemed to be shouting and barking orders. Some of these slaves seemed to have slightly better clothes than their cloth-collared counterparts, and while some of them were humans, there were more elven slaves that were wearing the bronze collars…and as for the silver collars, which were without a doubt the best dressed, they were all elves, with all of them all being women. Well, mostly from what Yasmine could see. She did see one or two human women wearing silver collars, but they were few and far between.

It was hard to miss the very real hierarchy and favoritism that was playing out before her, which only made Yasmine wonder just what in all of the Old World she had stumbled onto. As she followed the ringleader of this controlled chaos, Simmire gestured for the damsel to follow her inside a large and surprisingly well-made tent that had to be of an elven design, with the gold-collared elf making sure to kick off her sandals before stepping inside. After they entered, Simmire gestured for the damsel to sit across from her on a boar-skin rug, which was only slightly uncomfortable compared to the floor.

As soon as the damsel made herself comfortable, Simmire spoke. "When Grom the Paunch invaded Ulthuan and wreaked havoc over the outer eastern portion of the island, it was one of the most devastating raids I had ever witnessed to be visited upon my homeland. Even our Drucci cousins tended not to be so successful since their raids were often smaller and faster, focusing on easier targets that could be threaded into so soon." Finally setting her clipboard aside neatly on the ground for what seemed to be the first time since Yasmine had seen her, the elf smiled to herself. "Imagine it if you could. An elf like me, working her behind for over fifty years in a Tradeport with no prospects in your life. Your family has no real connections or status besides a sister who managed to get herself into the White Tower of Hoeth thanks to her magical talent, yet you're the spare who gets little attention because of that sibling's success. To be honest, I envy you human's short lives. They're so brief, yet at least the boredom, if you ever suffer through it, only lasts a generation. Myself? The boredom seemed to last for eons and eons as I checked boxes, sorted through trade supplies of spices, trinkets, gemstones, and more, watching them go in and out, day by day, gold trading hands and getting lost in the monotony." She seemed to shiver at the mere idea of it, the memory of returning to that Tradeport sounding more offensive to the elf than being a slave to a goblin warboss. "For a human like yourself, even if you are a magically empowered damsel, that would at least be tolerable. But for myself. I could do without it. I considered joining the military at one point just to break the monotony, but…"

Yasmine felt she could see where this was going. "But, then Grom came?"

"But then Grom came, in all of us, his hefty, hefty weight or Immensity as he likes to call it." The elf's lips turned upward. "You should have seen how terrified I was, along with everyone. Give the goblin credit, he knew where the money was. Sadly for me, I didn't have time to leave with many of my co-workers, so it didn't take long for him to surround and slap collars on us and throw us all in the piles of loot they had accumulated." She then looked back down at her clipboard fondly. "But, then Grom started running into a conundrum. His raid was successful. So successful I can't recall a time in our history books where an orc managed to have such a successful raid, much less a goblin. But, therein lay the issue. Grom was too successful for his own good. He had so much loot, slaves, and a mighty greenskin waagh that it greatly impeded his marching progress, especially since he knew he couldn't stay there indefinitely before more professional and organized armies from Ulthuan descended upon him with a furious vengeance. So there I was, sifting through the chests of loot, bursting at the brim that we were forced to carry and bemoaning at the hard and back-breaking labor of it all…well, my fellow elves were. Me? I was lamenting the inefficiency. The disorganization. The sloppiness of this madness. It could all have been so much easier if this obese goblin actually knew what he was doing."

"And so you lent him your words." Yasmine nearly spat, fully understanding the elven woman's position.

"He lent me an ear, especially since it was obvious he needed the help, even if it grated his pride. The so-called greatest Gobbo needs an elf to help organize his loot. He didn't even allow me to be known until after we left Ulthuan, especially concerning how much I helped him."

"You…you betrayed your people." Yasmine clarified slowly, disbelief muddling her tone. "And helped Grom the Paunch make off with not just his ill-gotten gains but your own people and yourself as slaves?"

Despite the biting words, Simmire strangely seemed proud, the corners of her mouth going higher. "He wouldn't have succeeded without me. He wouldn't have survived running from the beastmen and the Bretonnians if it wasn't for my ability to organize our supplies and logistics, even if those damned animals sacked a few of our wagons." Simmire then stood up, walked to a corner of the tent, and grabbed a piece of elven tapestry that displayed the insignia of an elven noble house. "And even now, I act as a glue for the Broken Ax tribe. Do you honestly think that Zulz could keep it all together? Oh, he's a most excellent second in command, but…"

When the elf trailed off, Yasmine was utterly at a loss. She'd met all manner of ill-mannered knights who had skirted the law of the Lady. Men who had been led astray by dark and unholy forces. Yet to see someone so willing to betray their race…

"Why…why are you telling me this? Why bring me here?"

"You were taken by Zulz on the command of one of the last orders of Grom before he became bed-ridden. I'll give the fat goblin this, he has incredible cunning and a sense for opportunity. He saw someone was being taken by the beastmen, and he noticed the rest of the herd was leaving with them. Now that we know you were the prize, it makes sense that they would go through so much trouble for a damsel."

"That still doesn't answer my question…unless you aim to keep me in suspense?"

"A little. But, I see an opportunity with you, Yasmine."

"To escape, I hope?"

Simmire tittered. "If you think that, then you haven't been listening. I'm sure you've noticed the different types of collars that us slaves have?"

"It's been impossible to miss. Let me guess. A hierarchy system?"

"I guess that would have been a bit on the nose, especially considering how you Bretonnians control your peasants. Well done work there, by the way." Yasmine didn't see that as a compliment but held her tongue out of curiosity to hear what the traitorous elf had to say. "To be quite honest, it's a system that is not entirely my own. It's some inspiration I got from another tribe that came from the Gray Mountains. Led by some goblin who fancies organization like myself whose apparently trying to get to Karak Eight Peaks. The only reason I know about it, is because Grom likes to keep tabs on other prominent warbosses. Likes to ensure that any of the other 'gits don't start sniffin' around his turf,' as he put it."

"And that system being what?"

"Think of it as a reward system for the slaves, to give them a bit of hope to rise above their station. A system to maximize efficiency and bureaucracy while ensuring there's little in the way of division that could…impede our work effort."

"Oh I believe I can make out where you're going with this." Yasmine sighed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Seeing as to how you're wearing a gold collar, you're at the highest position of the slaves. The silver collars, which I noticed were conveniently elves much like yourself, answer directly to you, while the bronze and cloth collars follow shortly thereafter in the pecking order. A lovely system carved out to help yourself."

"And others. Especially for those who put the work in and prove their usefulness." Simmire smiled knowingly. "Getting a higher quality collar means more than just bossing people about. You get better amenities. Better food, clothes, rest time, and…even your own tent for those at silver."

Looking around herself, Yasmine began to appreciate just how large and expansive this tent truly was. You could fit at least a dozen or so people in here and still maybe have some elbow room if need be, with the fur rugs helping to act as furnishing. There was a well-made elven table with elven-made chairs on either side of it and even a trinket-styled mirror that would have made even the most foppish Bretonnian noble-woman jealous.

What was more ridiculous was a massive drawer that no doubt held countless clothes that would have had to be carried and set up as neatly as it did on the backs of other slaves. Yasmine certainly couldn't imagine any goblins willingly doing this unless Yasmine had authority that extended to those that were lower on the totem pole which she was unaware of.

Yasmine couldn't keep the bitterness out of her mouth. "I'm glad you sound so proud of yourself."

"I should be. It's not every day someone such as myself can turn my fortunes around for me and my kin. And though a few of my kind are still stuck doing menial jobs that are beneath us…should they put in the work and prove compliant for what should be done, that can change in time."

Now, there was dangerous ground to tread here. Though this woman was now worthy of being loathed, Yasmine knew she could hardly aim to anger her. Not with her delicate position. Not after getting out of the frying pan and potentially falling into the fire. "I feel as though you want something more specific."

Glad that there was not outright hostility from the damsel, Simmire proceeded. "Since you're a damsel, do you have any experience in the art of healing?"

Yasmine considered lying but felt it would be far too dangerous. "I can. I am a damsel who specializes in the lore of life."

"Excellent." Simmire noted as she picked up her clipboard and jotted something down. "Though my sister is a mage herself, I'm quite ignorant of the ways of magic. Would your magic be able to heal internal injuries?"

"Not with this collar around my neck."

"Noted." Simmire replied, not at all perturbed or offended by the half-refusal. "And does this magic work specifically only on those of your kind or anyone you direct the magic on?"

The damsel couldn't help but note how oddly specific that question was. Now that she thought about it, all of these questions were oddly specific. "I have used my magic on elves before, so it should work on anyone, I believe, save for someone already dead."

"Perfect. Now bef-

"Oi!" The head of a night goblin burst into the tent, looking more than a little suspicious. "I'm herein' a voice that ain-M-miss Simmire!" The goblin suddenly stammered, looking oddly like a child caught inside a cookie jar once he noticed the elf slave. "I-I thought…w-well I heard a voice that wasn't yours so-

"Is there a reason why you're interrupting me besides the fact that you heard voices, goblin?" Simmire asked pointedly, her voice not quite hostile but as cool as a sheet of ice. "I trust that some news has come up that would warrant this?"

Yasmine was baffled by how nervous and unsure the goblin suddenly seemed as if the pressure was cranked up to high. It was a moment in which she started to appreciate how much influence Simmire had despite her status. How essential was she that her influence extended this far for a slave?

Mercifully for the goblin, he seemed to have an answer once he found his tongue. "Z-zuls wanted to see ya. With da shroom pickas and healas. Wanted ta' talk about da boss I think. Meet wit' da boss or somethin'."

"Hm. Very well. Oh, and goblin?"

Said goblin gulped, looking every bit the coward its kind was known to be. "Yes?"

"This new slave here must be kept busy while I answer Zulz's summon." The elf gestured, making Yasmine feel put on the spot. "I heard that our dear Sous-chef needs all the help he can get to feed our…rowdy soldiers, especially given our recent losses and low morale. Do escort her there and ensure she's unharmed unless she shows disobedience, of course."

"I…I'll send some gobbos to wit' ya to meet wit' Zulz n' the bos-

"I can find my way and personal escorts, but I thank you for the care you have." Simmire stood up and dusted herself off, moving toward the tent flap and slipping her sandals back on. Before she left, she turned back toward the damsel. "We'll chat again, Yasmine. I do hope you don't mind a bit of physical labor. We all must do our part after all." Then, the elf brusquely moved away, leaving Yasmine and the goblin awkwardly alone.

It was easy to see how much the pride of the night goblin stung at being ordered around, and it only made the blonde more curious as to how Simmire managed to get so much influence. Did Grom favor her that much, or did this system that she borrowed from a gray mountain goblin warboss have more effectiveness in favoring the slaves than she could have ever conceived?

Sadly, while the goblin made sure not to harm her physically, it still had the audacity to verbally abuse her to make up for its stinging pride. "Well, what are ya lazin' about for humie? Get off your arse n' get movin'! There's boyz to be fed, and we'z wantin' some good grub now!"

Yasmine could only stare blankly at the goblin, hoping that Simmire didn't take too long with this meeting. She found herself caring less and less for the elf for every moment she spoke with her, but it had been a healthy amount of time since she had to participate in physical labor.

…

A/N: So I now have the results and the ensuing vote was a very tight one of 5-4. But by the narrow will of the people Eight Peak Royale shall be the spinoff that will be created first. For those who voted Mother of Mordheim, don't despair, because I may decide to revisit the idea in a future vote depending on how well the current spin-off does. I think I'll have the first chapter of the spinoff done before the next chapter of Kemmler's Successor so we'll see how it goes and whether it's up to all of your standards or not. I might even just upload both chapters at once, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

Now back to the main story at hand. Now that we have a momentary lull in the action The Barrow Legion must make sure they can hold onto their gains.

And Yasmine must learn to make do with her present situation. Going on that subject, what do you make of Simmire now that you've seen more of her and how she's adopted this system? Do you hate her? Not hate her? Give me your thoughts on this opportunistic elf while she makes the most of Grom's current condition and her current position.

Leave your reviews or any other thoughts that you got in the reviews as you usual and I shall see you guys next time! Take care and Good Night!