A/R:
Women ruiz: True, but then the story would take WAY too long, lol. And while THAT would be fun, I don't want to clog up the story with any more chaos than it already has. Poor Bretonnia has already been through enough thanks to me.
Haldir639: I know right? It's such a shame that Simmire simply can't accept her feelings about Grom and instead puts on such a stoic facade to deal with the grief of what he's now become. Real tear-jerking stuff.
Nagash44: They would probably sneer or turn their noses up at him, seeing him as not pushing the full extent of what necromancy can do and think that he's too soft.
DarkWarrior: Ya know what I think I'll take you up on your offer for that small cameo appearance. I'll message you later this week once I have some breathing room from work.
montykinomovie: lol wut?
Annoying POW marine: Yeah alerts has been really wonky with this website. The infrastructure could be better. And no, I just update whenever I have a chapter ready, which is usually once or twice a week. And yes, I thought it would be interesting for Gromm to have something to that degree of a harem, because of the plans I have for him going forward in Bretonnia. And it truly is interesting how he and Lyle are on their similar yet branching paths from one another with both trying to recover from their own separate issues.
Aymen El Kadouri: Maybe…if he even gets the chance.
Focus of the Future: Damn, I actually never thought of it like that, but that's an excellent comparison. I'll legit take that as a compliment, especially considering the gravitas of DUNE. Thank you very much.
Rangda: Yeah I really need to pay more attention to my own edits. Other than that, yeah it's definitely filler, but it's filler that'll have major consequences for Bretonnia, especially Aquitaine. And to answer your question, yes it is a bit foolish for a temple to be so far away from a village, but they thought it woud work because it had holy barriers set up through not only followers of Shallya, but the Lady of the Lake herself, so for the longest time it WAS safe…until it wasn't lol. Still, I completely understand your point.
Zerkil: He's just snoozin' for a bit.
dadg12346: Those damned elves don't even have the temerity to be small in number. Instead you gotta deal with them in all flavors. Edgy sweatlords, higher than thou prats, and eco-terrorist hippies which Lyle now has to deal with. And no problem man, I'm just glad to hear your guys' thoughts on my story every time without fail! You guys are the reason I can keep going at such a quick rate!
montykinomovie: Yeah he is indeed a dick. Thank you!
…
"So you were a noble before you joined the Barrow Legion?" Emmerich asked as he oversaw the grand banquet that was being organized, checking a list in his hand to make sure all of the meals that were slated to be cooked were indeed being cooked.
Wendel shrugged, checking his own list as he saw servants get what seemed to be a near-endless trail of servants and cooks carrying in bowls upon bowls of noodles. "From the province of Wissenland, yes. I was supposed to marry this woman in Wissenburg, but by the Gods, did she give me a fright. I would wager that she had blood that was colder than even our undead, and it wasn't an experience I looked forward to in the slightest."
"So…what? You became a necromancer to get away from a bad marriage?" Both Emmerich and Wendel were managing vastly different parts of the banquet, with Emmerich overseeing the more Bastonnian classic cuisine, which often consisted of the most unique beasts that could be found in the land, courtesy of his father's unique hunting tendencies and those who followed his example. Often consisting of Boar, Manticore meat, and even bat wings.
Wendel, on the other hand, focused more on food that was more native to Lyle's homeland…which was curiously Tilean in nature, consisting of spaghetti, meatballs, different variations of pasta, and many other thin meats paired up with breads that Wendel couldn't and didn't bother to try and pronounce. "It was…look, my parents had been trying to hide my true magical aptitude from the College of Altdorf since I was their only son, and after I was wed…my wife…well, when she found out about my gift or curse, depending on how you look at it, she held it over me. Desiring to use it to further her own family."
"Ah…you have my apologies. I've seen many friends get into a nasty marriage or two." Emmerich winced. "It's…part of why I was never in a rush to help my father forge any lasting alliance of my own. That was also partly due to him being busy with his hunts."
"Heh. For my father, it was his guns. Much like our Northern cousins in Hochland, you can't consider yourself a true Wissenlander unless you can fire one."
"Oh? So you can fire one yourself."
"Ah…I can pull the trigger, yes. Whether my shot hits its target…"
"It's quite alright." Emmerich smiled as he checked off another box on his list with another servant passing him by. "I can hold a sword, but how well I swing it depends on too much for my father's liking." As the heir to Bastonne eyed more servants bringing in pieces of a bear carcass, which required some assistance from the undead, which they had more than gotten used to at this point, he rechecked his clipboard. "So, how did you wind up with Kemmler?"
"Apparently, my 'beloved' let slip to one of her fellow ladies about my secret, who gossiped this to another servant who knew Kemmler through someone else. Once word got back to Kemmler…"
"The amount of people that man had in his ear is frightening." Emmerich shivered, reminding himself of the terrifying stories that his father would tell him about the stories of what the former Lichemaster had been up to.
"Oh, you should have seen me when he approached me himself. I nearly wet myself when I saw him. I could…I remember meeting him to this very day. The powerful waves of Dhar were practically wrapped around him. I knew he was hardly the kind of man my family would ever want me to associate myself with, but I was desperate for a way out of the life I'd come to resent so…so I joined him. Though, to be honest, I hadn't been with him too long until he finally died, and even now, I'm a bit relieved that he did…Erm. Don't tell anyone I said that. I've come to greatly appreciate Master Spoletta's form of leadership since he was brought on."
"I can do that. I know a thing or two about wanting to keep a secret."
The two then settled into a comfortable silence…well, if you could even call it silence with so many undead and servants milling about. At one point, Emmerich would have been ill at ease with so many corpses running about, staring silently like the terrifying sentinels that they were. Yet after having to endure their presence for quite some time now and assuming the 'duties' that Lyle would foist upon him, busying himself was an excellent remedy to his many issues, as Emmerich had come to learn. Whether it was dealing 'justice' to the lords and ladies who partook in the slave trade, deciding who would run what lands from those who had their lands confiscated, or combing over the amount of corruption that had been allowed to fester under his father's reign, Emmerich had come to appreciate in a way how thorough Lyle wanted to be when gutting the rot of the previous administration.
It was hard work, but it was what he signed up for. That and to make sure that Lyle didn't wind up becoming a tyrannical monster that would abuse his people…which was comical when he thought about it since he wouldn't be able to do much otherwise to stop him if it came to that. Thankfully, however, it did not come to that, and Spoletta had proven to be strangely chivalrous and honorable in his own unorthodox way, and this grand banquet that he was planning to throw for the many peasants of the dukedom was but another example of this. He wasn't worried about running out of food. The number of games and beasts that Emmerich's father and his beast slayers hunted left more than enough stores for them to divy up. It was just preparing for the logistics of it all that had proven trying.
Thankfully, they had a few more days before Lyle commenced the banquet, along with several other 'changes' he would be bringing to Bretonnia as a whole. Emmerich could only hope it didn't wind up with too many people dying, but it could always be worse in some ways. At least the Lichemaster hadn't harmed him for his father's crimes.
Emmerich was about to refocus on the actual duties he should be invested in, including ensuring that they had all the ingredients necessary and that it would all be done in a timely manner when a sharp gasp caught his attention. Wendel had dropped his papers and the charcoal he'd been using to check the boxes as was needed. At a loss for what would cause this and why Wendel was staring open-mouthed, he followed his Imperial and necromantic counterpart and felt his face erupt in a dark shade of red.
Emmerich had always been wary of the vampire that Lyle had allowed into his ancestral castle. Personally, he wanted nothing to do with the pale-skinned Lahmian, but he also wanted nothing to do with the undead guarding his home, so he had to compromise on that issue. He didn't expect to compromise on gazing at a woman who seemed normal from the top up, considering that Emmerich always saw Lady Deni with dark and gothic clothing that had both Sylvanian and Bretonnian roots.
From the bottom down, however, seeing a woman with tight-fitting, stretchy pants that had a color scheme of dark and blue patterns that resembled a serpent wrapping around one's legs didn't leave much to the imagination…especially once the young heir imagined his dear cousin wearing that and immediately banished the thought, feeling as though steam was about to blow through his ears.
Many of the servants stopped and stared as well, with many of the women looking on in envy, not just at the figure that Deni was proudly showing off but also at how unique and exotic these pants were if they could even be called that. Even some skeletons stopped and stared, with one's jaw quite literally hitting the floor before it continued onward, carrying a platter of butter.
With a swagger and a sway of her hips, Deni grinned, not at all minding being the center of attention as she approached Wendel, who had to remember to swallow the spit gathering in his mouth, trying to will himself to look away but being unable to do so. The way the material of the pants seemed to hug her legs and her…posterior tightly. The smile on her lips told him everything about how intentional this was.
"A fortune indeed. It seems that Spoletta might have been onto something when he mentioned the possibilities of the material those goblins concocted." She shifted her position when she was only a few feet away from the pair. She leaned on one side and then tilted to the other side of her hip, showing off her black high-heeled boots, which seemed to go impressively well with the pants. "He called them. 'Yoga pants', whatever in the Old World that means. I was thinking of something more exotic that rolls off the tongue, but that's something to consider for another time. But it not only looks exquisite but also comfortable. By Neferrata, the comfort!" The woman grinned, running a hand up her leg before grasping the material of the yoga pants, showing off with pride with how it stretched as she pulled before snapping back and hugging her thigh as it did previously. "Something this comfortable should not have such an incredible look and design, yet it seems fortune favors my coven…and your Legion Monsieur Wendel. Tell me. Would you not agree?"
Wendel tried forming a syllable and even dared to create a cogent simile to unclog his brain at what he saw. He only snapped out of the trance he found himself in once Deni had stepped forward and patted his cheek, her coquettish nature shining through as her fangs poked through her lips. "Oh Wendy, my dear? It's rude to keep a lady waiting."
Wendel tried to speak, God he did, but the word salad that came out of his mouth only made the crimson on his face rise faster. "Nice is look."
"Oh?"
"Y-you look nice! Very nice!"
"Oh? How sad. Just very nice?"
"Magnificent! L-lusterous! G-gor-B-eau-
"Oh, come now, Wendel, I'm only teasing you, my dear." Deni tittered behind her hand. "Your face tells me all I need to know." She then turned her visage toward Emmerich. "And what of you, my little lord? Am I not…desirable?"
Much like Wendel, Emmerich found it hard to speak, but through a mix of fear and…other desires, he tried to place his cousin's face on that face. Thank the Lady; she was so pale that his attempts to resist would have been less successful. "It…It will definitely be the talk of this castle, Lady Deni."
"Oh, I most certainly hope so. Especially as my sisters and I work with our dear Lichemaster to sell these luxurious pants to the noble ladies of Bretonnia."
This time, Emmerich did sputter. "Wh-wh-you'll what?"
"Oh yes! You see, Monsieur Spoletta has been looking for a way to expand his fiscal options, and my sisters have been exploring ways to undermine those HERRIDANS back in Cathay with their silk trade. All we need to do is find a way to…sell the product without the stench of having this work of art traced back to us. After all, it would not do for the ladies of Bretonnia to know that they now have clothing constructed by those who tarry with the undead." She shrugged, looking rather pleased with herself. "We might lie and say it came all the way from Ind. Yes, that sounds believable enough. Certainly enough to make those wretched excuses for blood sisters in the east to scream in indignation-ohhh I can see it now."
It really said a lot about how utterly spiteful women could be in order to one-up one another. The fact that this vampiress and her sisters went this far to undermine other vampires in Cathay, a nation that Emmerich himself knew little about, showed how utterly petty they could be to the point where it was frightening. It honestly reminded him a bit of his dear cousin whenever one of the other ladies in waiting would speak ill of him..and she'd see to making sure that they received a level of recompense for the words they uttered, even if Emmerich didn't ask for it.
Yes. Women were terrifying, yet for some reason, that only served to excite and worry him all the same.
"Also speaking of our future ventures, my dear Emmerich, if it's not too much trouble, could you find our dear Lichemaster? He mentioned he may have an idea earlier today on how to put my coven's plans into action, but I've yet to see hide or hair of him. I've been looking for him for quite some time, but good heavens, he's been hard to find since he left his bed." The vampire huffed, putting a dramatic hand on her hip. "I'm actually starting to think fondly of the days he was bedridden, at least I knew where he was."
"I-I can help with that m'la-" Wendel began only to remember the list on his feet and how everyone was still pointedly staring at her. Getting to his knees to pick up what he had dropped, he looked bashfully at the floor. "W-well. I still have to help prepare the fea-
"Oh, don't you worry, your dear face, my dear Wendy?" Deni hushed, pressing her cold fingers to his face, making him flinch. "The party must go on, and it HAS been quite some time since I've seen one of this magnitude. Make it have some flair and pizazz. For me, if you would."
"I-I can do that."
"Tres Bien, Monsieur. I'm so sorry about the extra work I'm foisting upon your strong and noble shoulders." She then turned to Emmerich. "Do find Monsieur Spoletta Lord Emmerich. My retainers and I are searching high and low for your family castle, and we can see no hide or hair of him. I'll be most disappointed otherwise.
Emmerich didn't know why that was his problem, especially considering that, as the vampire had just mentioned, this was his ancestral home. But the last thing he needed was a vampire angry at him, even if he did have Spoletta's protection.
If nothing else, it would allow the young man to distance himself from the chaos in the castle and maybe get some fresh air. After all, Deni had mentioned that she and her retainers had looked everywhere inside the castle. It made him wonder if they'd bothered to look outside of it.
…
"Stick 14! Stick 14! Set! Hike!" Lyle then pulled back, the skeleton acting as his center, hiking the pig-skinned football to him as the offensive line fanned out, blocking zombies that tried to push past them. With the extra flesh on them, they had some decent success, forcing him to pull back further as he searched for targets. On an outrout was a skeleton that he had sent out. Another was making a dig route, but the zombie that had managed to trail it was a bit too close for his liking. So he threw to the out route and whooped triumphantly, seeing the skeleton managing to leave the zombie in the dust, catching it with ease.
"And he's good!" Lyle roared out. To the twenty! To the ten! Touchdown, ladies n' gentlemen! Touchdown! Who the hell says I peaked in high school!? I don't see Mahomes or Rogers throwing to corpses!" Many peasants who were standing around who had arrived early thanks to the banquet invitations clapped and hollered; many who had at first been unnerved and terrified at the prospect of being ruled by necromancers were finding themselves thoroughly entertained by the impromptu game that he had started performing. Already, there were hundreds of peasants fighting to get a spot to see the scrimmage that Lyle was having…with none other than Fredericka, who was on the other side, actually looking frustrated at how Lyle had outmaneuvered her zombies.
At first, the dark-haired girl had rebuffed or at least tried to rebuke Lyle's attempts to have this…game when so much more could be accomplished, especially after Lyle had just gotten out of being bedridden a few days ago.
But alas, if Lyle wanted something done, the best she could do was go along with it on her own terms. This led to her controlling 11 undead zombies to try to stop Lyle's skeletons from getting into a makeshift endzone. At first, she found the whole process childish and a waste of time, only to realize the strategy and focus that came with it. After all, even if controlling 11 zombies was child's play to her at this point, having them all do 11 individual tasks to prevent Lyle from scoring was more herculean of an effort than she thought it would be.
It didn't help that she wound up becoming much more competitive as Lyle found ways and methods past her defense, even when she was SURE she would surely have him. The worst part was that it was clear that the Lichemaster wasn't one hundred percent, but it was more than enough to thwart her efforts.
She knew that her master had more experience in this game, much like how she had more experience in being an actual necromancer, but STILL! His constant show-boating only served to make her that much more hungry to see him brought low! Especially as peasants cheered him on!
Still, it wasn't genuine anger that Fredericka felt toward Lyle. After all, he was doing what he did best: ingratiating himself with the masses, giving them a show, and even offering refreshments. Wine and cheese had been given to them, and the hundreds in attendance were having a blast cheering the leader of the Barrow Legion on as he not only played with poise and precision but acted every bit the showman that he was.
It did make Fredericka wonder. Was Lyle doing this intentionally to ingratiate himself with the peasants he was inviting, or was he simply cutting loose, as some would say, since he'd been cooped up in bed for so long? Perhaps the answer was somewhere in between? It was hard to tell with him, given how spontaneous and impulsive he could be.
"Alright, people, we're taking a break for now! Consider it half-time before we get back to it!" Many of the peasants groaned in disappointment while some shrugged and focused on polishing their cheese, downing their wine, and having more food in front of them than they would see in days and weeks, happy to be full and satisfied with a show.
Lyle, however, huffed and puffed to himself, making sure to take a few moments to catch his breath. He was better. Much better than he was a while back, but he still had a few kinks work out. Being strapped to a bed had made his body unused to physical activity, and this was evidently a way to get back into the swing of things. He even made sure to take and gulp down a flask of water from Krell, who stood a few yards back to shadow him, his eyes looking pointedly at the peasants, with many taking care not to get his attention. The terrifying visage he struck was more than enough to make some of the cheers that went Lyle's way a bit nervous sounding, especially if Krell felt they were edging a bit too close to the field in excitement.
Just as Fredericka was approaching Lyle to make sure he wasn't pushing himself too hard since he was the lynchpin in their entire operation, she saw the young heir of the castle himself looking on in fascination at the proceedings as he drew close to Lyle.
Before Emmerich could get too close to Lyle, the young bookworm's breathing hitched as he was intercepted by Krell. "Can I trust you're not armed…boy?"
No matter how many times Emmerich had met the terrifying Wight face to skull, there was something utterly chilling about being in its mere presence. As those blue ghastly eyes stared through Emmerich, he knew that if it wanted to, the undead champion could end his life if it dared, and it was only through Lyle's will that never came to pass.
And that once again proved to be the case. "Awright, come on, Krell, he's good, he's good." Once, Krell shifted aside but still stared at the smaller Bastonnian Heir as he walked to Lyle. "Emmerich, my man! How goes it? Got someone to help take over the food prep process?"
"In a…manner of speaking." Emmerich coughed, tugging at his collar. He still wasn't quite sure how to address Lyle. Was he a lord? He wasn't sure he could call him master. "Lady Deni was looking for you. She was fond of the…ahem. Clothing that she managed to acquire and wanted to speak with you regarding distribution."
"Heh. Right on cue, too. I mean, kinda knew that already, but I just wanted to put it off until I got my lil' ace in the hole sorted out." Lyle snorted to himself, sounding rather impressed by whatever he had conjured up. He then immediately let out a huff of disappointment, putting his hands on his hips. "'Course, this means I gotta stop with the play and get back to work. Damn shame." Turning to the crowd, Lyle made sure to speak loud enough to get their attention. "Hey everyone, got some bad news! Sadly, some business just picked up, and we gotta end the game for today!"
The chorus of disappointed bemoaning that came from the peasants genuinely tugged on Lyle's heartstrings. Even if none of them had the heart to boo him, it was clear they were wanting more.
"I know, I know. Trust me, I'm as bummed as you all are! Just remember, though, this was just a scrimmage! We got an actual game on the day of da banquet. But please just keep enjoying the wine and cheese appetizers! All on me! I'll see y'all in a few days!"
Then the disappointment turned to cheers, especially when the masses that numbered in the hundreds, which would soon be thousands, remembered the food and liquid that had yet to be stuffed into their bellies, which they turned to correct in a quick fashion. Many shouted thanks, praises, and even blessings of the Lady on Lyle, with the last part making him cringe and have secondhand embarrassment. He at least had the temerity not to correct them and just be glad they were happy all the same, turning back to Emmerich and Fredericka, who joined the pair.
"Damn shame we gotta cut this early. Havin' a good ol' blast from the past back there."
"Lyle." Emmerich began looking at the zombies and skeletons as they disappeared from the pitch and went back to assisting with chores. "Were you…trying to play Blood Bowl or…some variation of it?"
"Blood Bowl? Good lord, does everything in this world gotta sound edgy?...wait are you actually serious? There's a sport with that name?"
"I haven't…played it myself or seen a game of it. There hasn't been any actual play in Bretonnia for quite some time, but there was an official rulebook within the library I sequestered myself in when avoiding my father. I couldn't help but notice the way you played seemed vaguely similar to the rules and pictures I had read."
"Huh. Didn't strike ya as a sports guy, Emmerich."
"I'm not." The heir replied shortly. "I was just curious, is all. And once my curiosity was sated, I moved onto more productive pieces of literature."
"Oh, I know you're not disrespecting the art of competitive sports, my boy."
"I'm not disrespecting it, I just find other subjects more…engaging."
Before it looked as though the Lichemaster was about to unleash a very impassioned speech on the subject matter, Fredericka coughed loudly. "Master Lyle. You mentioned you had business to attend to."
"Tch. Awright, awright, I guess I can educate ya later, kid." Lyle huffed petulantly at Emmerich before shrugging. "But yeah. Business first. Business being not too far away from us as a matter of fact." Lyle said with a jerk of his head as he moved toward the left of the pitch. When Emmerich turned to look at what Lyle meant, he blinked and gaped, wondering how he hadn't seen the familiar noble staring at the proceedings with muted interest.
It was none other than Lord Gerome, the former lord of Gisoreux, who was now tensing up at seeing Lyle approach him. Though Gerome wouldn't admit it to anyone, it was more so Krell he was staring at with trepidation, having haunting memories of the defeats this monster helped hand to him for what felt so long ago. Yet he reasoned that if Lyle truly wanted him dead, he would have gone through such an act long ago instead of dallying around the point. It was odd that Lyle had him brought out here to watch the scrimmage along with so many of the peasants, which, while mildly entertaining, didn't change how anxious and homesick he was.
When Gerome noticed Emmerich, the lord bowed shortly to the young heir, even if he technically wasn't his correct liege lord. "Lord Emmerich. I trust that…Spoletta has treated you well."
"As well as one can in our position."
Before the two could say anything anymore, Lyle clapped his hands, getting the former lord's attention with a big smile. "So didja like the show Gerome? Just wanted to make sure it appeals to the common masses and upper crust alike when I get this shindig on."
Gerome stared blankly at Lyle. "If I say it was good, will you let me go?"
"I mean, I'm lettin' you go today regardless, so it's no skin off my bones…or theirs." Lyle stated, jerking a thumb to the skeletons, helping clean up the pitch."
"...I prefer the Blood Bowl or 7s rules. Growing up, it was a fairly common game for us nobles."
"Ya'll are just a buncha philistines." Lyle sighed, shaking his head. "Philistines, I tell ya."
"You…mentioned you were letting me go."
"Ah yeah. I did say that, huh?"
"And you're not simply getting my hopes up."
"Nah, we're good. I just need ya to do one last thing for me, and you can head back to Gisoreux."
"Ah…I figured it would hardly be that easy."
"Listen, Gerome." Lyle began, folding his arms behind him. "Thing is, the only reason why I didn't off you like the rest of the dirtbags who participated in that nasty little slave trade, is cause' you knew it was bad and had the balls to do something about it. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have been able to save some decent people from a fate worse than death."
To his credit, the noble lowered his head. "I…I know. I shamed the Lady many times when I fought you, Spoletta. But I shamed her the greatest when I partook in that evil. I recognize that. Just…just tell me what the price for my actions are and be done with it."
"Well, you can consider yourself an officially former lord of Gisoreux, 'cause you ain't welcome there anymore. You still partook in a nasty crime, my man, and you gotta pay for that. That bein' said, you can go there, take whatever is yours, including your family, and go back to King Louen for all I care. What ya do after you leave, I honestly…well, okay, that's not completely true. I need ya to done last thing for me."
"If you're asking me to spy on King Louen, then cut me down here and now." The disgraced lord ground out defiantly. "I admit I've committed grave sins, but I will not add treason to it."
"May I cut him down?" Krell suddenly asked, making it feel as though a spike of ice thrust its way into Gerome's innards. "It would be a break from the boredom."
The unimpressed look Lyle gave to the hulking wight gave Gerome a little piece of mind, but not entirely. The sooner he was gone, the better.
Thankfully, Lyle shook his head. "Oh, don't worry. I don't need ya to tell me anything. The exact opposite. I got a gift for ya."
The Artoisian didn't hide his confusion. "A…gift? For me?"
"Well, okay, not for you, but your wife. A little gift as a form of apology for putting her under house arrest for so long."
Suddenly Gerome bristled, becoming defensive. "... that's it? A…a gift for my wife?" Gerome knew that if this had been literally any other necromancer there was a good chance that this would be a curse or a plague that could be unleashed upon his family and his home settlement. Yet if Lyle went out of his way to save some villagers, he doubted he'd suddenly commit war crimes upon villagers and other people who hadn't done anything to him personally. "What is the gift?"
"Just some new clothes. Ya know, the kind that a fancy lady like yours I'm they would appreciate. Heck you don't even gotta tell her that you got it from me if you don't want ta."
"And… that's it?"
"That's it."
"...why the gift? What do you gain from it?"
Lyle couldn't tell him the real reason. Otherwise, the scheme he and Deni had concocted would take longer than any of them would like in order to see the cash start coming in. "What, I'm incapable of doing something nice?"
"It just seems odd that you would reward my family when you yourself said I'm not welcome back in Gisoreux." Gerome narrowed his eyes. "You're always planning something, even when it seems you play the part of an impulsive child. What are you up to?"
Emmerich began to sweat as he looked toward Krell and perceptively shifted his weapon. "Lord Gerome, perhaps you shouldn't look a gift too closely an-
"Nah, nah. Gerome's right, I do have an ulterior motive." Lyle suddenly admitted, realizing that a half-truth would work best here if he wanted his goals to be realized. "The truth is Gerome…I feel bad for ya."
"...I don't understand."
"Well, lemme go back in time for ya. You remember when we first met?"
"Sometimes I wish I did not."
"Well…you remember that arrow that was fired and hit my man Wendel in the eye?"
Gerome tried to think back at the time, faintly remembering an arrow being fired. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't entirely sure how that had happened. He knows for sure he didn't tell his men to fire an arrow or for the peasantry to have been foolish enough to do that. Then again, maybe they were…
Yet that begged the question. Why would the Lichemaster focus on something so inane?
But, it seemed that Lyle noticed the nobles' confusion and where he was going with this. "That arrow is what started that beef between you n' me. Reason why I launched that attack on you in the first place, remember?"
"I recall we were close to coming to blows regardless."
"Maybe. But that arrow from the Wood Elves made sure it happened."
Gerome was about to say something else as a retort when he paused, taking in what Lyle said. "I…beg your pardon? The wood elves?"
"Uh-huh. Turns out that was from them. And this-" Lyle pointed to both of his cheeks, showing off the scars that were evident, along with the noticeable black stubble that he had been growing in quick succession. "-Was from the Wood Elves earlier after I beat all o' those armies not too far back. Aimed right for my skull and got my mouth instead. It's why I didn't talk to you sooner."
"...How…wait, how did you know it was them?"
"There was a poison laced with the arrow. Hags Bane. Apparently, it's a favorite of theirs."
Gerome felt his eyes widen. He was familiar with the poison, not having used it himself, but with reports from passing knights from other dukedoms and nobles who encountered the wood elves. When your nation bordered on one of the most cantankerous, prideful, isolationist, and territorial peoples in the Old World, it was essential to know what their tools of trade were.
Yet that left a question. "I…why? Would they-
"-want us to fight it out in the first place on dat fateful day? Your guess is as good as mine." Lyle sighed, shaking his head. "I remember bein' so pissed at you. I thought you pulled a fast one and that your honor meant shit. I was half right, but even so, I don't like being fooled. Definitely not by guys that try to off me after doing so."
Gerome wanted to refute Lyle. He tried to refute the young man just as much as he tried to hate him. Yet, ultimately, he could do neither. Once again, Lyle showed his uncanny yet honorable nature, displaying guilt and a need to right a wrong that made him jealous. How could he hate a man when all he did with his power was try to help the weak and weary while making amends with his enemies? He even spared Duke Bohemond for the Lady's sake! Sure, Lyle may have been the cause of a great deal of his grief, but ultimately, it all could have gone so much worse if this was Kemmler he was dealing with. No, he could resent Lyle for how insignificant Gerome felt his chivalry was in comparison to him, but as a person? No. That would be beyond hypocritical. Oh, sure, one could resent and despise him for the Chaos he was sewing through the realm with his actions, but what was preferable? The Chaos that Lyle was sewing or the order that pervaded through Bretonnia? An order that had allowed a slave trade, and only the Lady knows what else underneath Duke Bohemond allowed.
He would never particularly care for Spoletta…but grudgingly had to respect him, especially if he truly spared his family. It was why he had to take the idea that the Wood Elves desired conflict between the Lichemaster and Bretonnia seriously. Because as maddening as it sounded, it wasn't THAT absurd.
After all, the Asrai and the Bretonnians always had a complicated relationship, to put it as mildly as possible. On the one hand, there were times when they would aid each other in battle, ironically, like when Kemmler attacked Athel Loren during winter, when King Louen needed help against Mousillon in the past, or other grave threats.
Yet, by that token, there were also times of tension and conflict. Border disputes with Parravon and Carcassonne. Reported kidnappings taking place not just within the peasantry but also some nobles claiming that some wood elves had stolen their children in the night…and the Wild Hunts…By the Lady the Wild Hunts. It only made Gerome wonder. Why? Why would they do it? Why start the conflict between Lyle and himself? Between the Lichemaster and all of Bretonnia. Sure, he and Lyle may have eventually fought, but it didn't have to be that very day. Maybe Gerome could have stalled? Perhaps he could have written to Duke Chillfroy and delayed negotiations to get reinforcements?
It was almost as if the elves WANTED them to lose that day.
And then they try to apparently kill Lyle a good while after that? Where was the sense in these decisions? What did they gain from all of this?
No. The more Gerome thought about it, the more terrifying sense Spoletta's claim started to make Elves had always been arrogant as they are long-lived, but he'd heard mumblings from his fellow nobles and even from his father about how it was difficult to trust those creatures and their subtle manipulations. Was this some grand game to weaken Bretonnia itself? Again, what did they gain from it? An invasion? A strategem of some sorts?
The former lord shook his head, feeling a headache coming. This was something he could have King Louen dwell on for when he reached him. For now, he decided it was best to go along with Spoletta's request, no matter how inane it seemed. Whatever gave him access to his dear family faster. Oh, how terribly long it had been. "Very well, Spoletta, I'll… I'll bring this up to the King when I reunite with him. I know not if he will do anything about it, but I will tell him all the same…and deliver your gift to my wife."
"Great to hear, man, great to hear!" Lyle grinned, patting the man's arm. "I'd ask if there were no hard feelings, but I won't go THAT far. And don't worry. I'll even give ya your weapons and armor. It was just collecting dust in Castle Bastonne after we thumped Bohemond, but you can have it back."
"I…appreciate it. I suppose asking for a horse wouldn't be too much trouble?"
"Already taken care of. Deni will meet up with ya for the gift givin' when you're ready to go."
"I'd prefer to go now if that's quite alright. The sooner I see my family-
"Oh sure, sure. I getcha, man, I getcha."
Gerome wasn't quite sure Lyle completely did, but again, he wouldn't argue the point.
And mercifully, it didn't take long for him to receive the gift, the relatively large package that had been to the landless noble from that unnerving vampiress, and onto the road toward north where he would eventually and hopefully reunite with his loved ones in a timely manner.
Yet even now, he couldn't be entirely at ease. And not just because he worried about whether his family was indeed all right. But, at the implications of how deep the wood elf manipulations ran with the fate of his family being directly affected.
He tightly gripped his reins. He would find answers to this. One way or another. The Asrai would have answers, especially with the madness possibly unleashed through their actions.
…
Even as the reinforced and barred doors to the temple trembled again and again, Valentine could only wonder how in the world had their protective wards failed them? There was a danger that came with having a temple in the middle of the forest, but it also afforded one benefit. It was perfect for assisting travelers and staying away from settlements that were at risk for these kinds of raids, but the blessed wards they had should have ensured their safety all the same, especially from the forces of Chaos. They were tailor-designed to hide the presence of the temple from anyone afflicted with Chaos, and the only reason Spoletta had managed to find them was because Ave knew of their location beforehand…would anyone truly betray them so easily? Someone perhaps who was a former patient?
However, those with a major amount of chaos-corruption would not only be unable to see the temple but also be unable to access it, at least not through sheer brute force.
Someone with power outside of Chaos would have had to betray them. Someone with not only powerful magics but powerful blessings from a god outside of the Chaos gods.
She could only hope, as she and her ten most senior priestesses, that their sacrifice would not be in vain. That in the end th-
Valentine and the rest of her sisters were thrown back when the door lurched forward from sheer force yet again. By the time they could even think of recovering, the door splintered until it utterly split in half, broken beyond repair as a hefty and furious minotaur roared, with steam coming out of his orifices. Besides, it was a couple of bestigors, and other gors. The beastmen poured into the room, over two dozen storming in. Before Valentine could even think of trying to resist, as laughable as she had to admit that would be, they were upon her and her other sisters, restraining and baying into their faces, their bodies reeking a wretched and musky scent that made the older woman want to puke.
"You beasts of chaos!" One of her sisters shrieked, not cringing in fear as she was held down by a bestigor. "This is a place of peace and healing! A temple of Shallya herself! To even da-
"We do more than dare, whores." All of the women froze as chills crept down their spines. They could practically feel the taint of the dark gods reverberating in that voice when they heard the brayed voice. And when the dozens of beastmen, Minotaur included, parted ways, there they saw. The black wings and the red hood. Malagor Dark Omen snorted with steam coming out of his nose, his mood dark as it was his blessing. "We act upon those who insult our Dark Gods."
The Crow-Father moved or rather guided forward, his eyes narrowed into slits as huffed menacingly through his nose, the rest of his herd mimicking the simmering wrath boiling beneath their mismash of skin and flesh. "This mere temple is a bastion of blasphemy to the Gods, as are the whores who worship it." He then snorted, his nose twitching as he bared his teeth, glaring around the environment. "But, there's more than one form of blasphemy that parades about these halls."
Malagor stalked forward through the halls of the temple's first floor, and for a moment, Valentine felt dread with every step he took. He could do whatever he wanted to her. She could accept that. But, if he found out about the others hiding below…
Yet, to her confusion, he turned, glaring at her with those hateful rectangular eyes. "The False One was here. His scent proved to be true, in an ironic sense." He then stamped his hooves as he came back to her. "Where is the False One?"
"What…what false o-" Valentine felt her head jerk to the side as the goat-beast backhanded her, not quite dizzying her, but most definitely leaving a mark on her face. Malagor then DID make her dizzy when he yanked her hair, forcing his gaze into hers.
"The False One, whore! He who is touched by my Gods yet is not their true champion! The one with the blue streak! Is he here!?"
"Y-you mean Spoletta?"
"Spoletta…" one of the bestigors growled, openly spitting at one of the priestesses, making her flinch. "He has been here, Crow-Father."
"I know that now!" Malagor whirled, turning to the bestigor, making even that mighty beast flinch. "I need not your comments to tell me what I already hear!" Whirling back Valentine, who cringed at his horrid breath and rage, the bestigor continued. "What did he do here? Why was he here?"
"H-he needed help. Saving one of his own from the taint you carry. He…he succeeded."
"He? HE succeeded?" The crow-father asked carefully, leaning toward her. "Do you not mean YOU succeeded, whore of that useless fertility Goddess?"
Though she trembled at the continuous insults against her patron, Valentine answered the questions, hoping it could occupy his attention and not allow to drift what dwelled beneath his cloven hooves. "He…he used some form of magic I do not understand. He…he purged the boy of the corruption."
"...and where is this boy now?"
"Spoletta took him with him. Bringing him wi-
"YOU LIE, WHORE!" The Bray Shaman roared. "His scent is still strong here! His presence and magic hang like an ill-omen to my herd-kin! Where is this boy!?"
"He's not her-" She was smacked again and then rammed back first against the stonewall of the temple, and this time she was dizzied.
"Mother Valentine!" One of the sisters screamed, some now openly crying at how she was getting manhandled. Yet try as they might, none had the strength to match the beastmen, who took great pleasure at seeing a worshiper of Shallya get manhandled.
"The scent does not lie! We will-...hmph." The Bray-shaman then smirks, his lips curling back into a malignant grin. "If you will not tell us now. Then you will tell us in time. I am patient, and the Dark Gods are…to a point."
Valentine coughed, trying to get some air back in her lungs. "Wh-what ar-" The woman then had her breath taken away once more. Not because of Malagor hurting her. At least no in the literal sense. But when he grabbed the top of her robe and then tugged downward harshly, exposing her breasts as they felt the cold.
Valentine felt herself go still. She knew something like this was a possibility, but for it to now happen. She suddenly wanted to vomit when Malagor's tongue extended, grazing her neck and making her cry out in revulsion. "...mmm…yes…you will tell me in time. If not one of the other whores." Turning to his grinning herd-kin, Malagor chuckled darkly as the air became that much more sinister. "Enjoy the new mothers of our future Herd-kin, my brethren. But don't be too harsh on them. We'll need them somewhat whole to restore the numbers we lost at that Gods-Rotting castle."
When the girls started realizing precisely what the Crow Father meant by that, screams of horror deafened the room as they struggled and struggled with all their might. Yet the beastmen brayed and laughed as they tore off the clothes of the priests of Shallya, now determined to defile the temple and them along with it.
Valentine could only stare helplessly, tears starting to well up in her eyes. She wanted to remain strong as these debased creatures began to look at her flock in a way no creature ever should. She wanted all of what would be visited upon them to just go to her.
Yet even now, she feared for herself a-
The floor of the temple suddenly exploded upwards, filling the room with dust that caused everyone to flinch towards that direction. And just as quickly as the floor exploded, what appeared to be a light blue mist started flooding in, causing everything beyond the hole nearly impossible to see. The mist expands and seems to overtake the immediate area to the point where the beastmen begin to grow nervous, with the Minotaur braying in frustration, dropping the woman it had been holding and stamping its hooves.
Malagor himself tossed Valentine backward, his attention now fully on the sudden appearance of this mist caught utterly off guard. He squinted his eyes and scrunched up his nose, sniffing and balking backward at the cool and almost freezing scent that entered his nostrils. There was no mistaking it.' This was the scent of the false on…yet it wasn't…it seemed more. Pungent. Older, in a way. Ancient actually. As if it was something that had existed for some time yet had been forgotten.
The other bestigors and gors started snarling and growling. Partly in frustration, and though none would admit it, it was fear. The women were all but forgotten at this point as they directed their sight to the hole, which was now enveloped by the mist.
Then before Malagor was about to start barking orders, he heard it. The sound of an armored foot-stomp meeting stone. And another. And another. And after hearing it, they then saw it. Two electric blue eyes stood out from the remaining blue mist.
The Bray Shaman wasn't sure why he couldn't immediately understand why, but that nervousness soon started spreading to him as well. It went as to him taking a hoof-step backward when he saw those eyes. Spectral eyes that weren't looking at him as much as they were looking through him and the rest of the remnants of his herd.
Frustrated at his own heartbeat betraying such nervousness within his eardrums, Malagor reared back, gathering Wild Magic into his chest and letting a Bray Scream that made all the women wince at the sheer level of volume unleashed. Ultimately, it achieved some of the desired effects that Malagor was looking for. The mist that had been creeping forward like a miasma had been pushed back, and the owner of the terrifying visage from within was finally revealed.
Standing before everyone was none other than Rudy. Rudy was surrounded by what appeared to be a phantasmic-like armor that layered his body like a second skin. It was an ancient-looking armor with old engravings, yet many, including Valentine, didn't miss how she saw the old heraldry for the Duchy of Coroune. The Dukedom of King Louen Leoncur. Such armor was bulky as it was menacing, with even a helmet nearly concealing Rudy's face if not for the fact that this ghostly armor could still somewhat be seen through as if you were looking at a wraith or banshee.
But what was most noticeable was the long and mighty-looking sword, which also seemed to share the ghost-like properties of the armor.
And then Rudy spoke, his voice amplified and almost not his own. "For generations, I've been away from my homeland, and even now, you beasts are still bold enough to traps where you would not have dared when my brother and I slew through thou all like wheat." Rudy stepped forward, his glowing eyes narrowing into slits. "Fret not. I'll correct that in but a moment."
The beastmen all brayed and shouted at this…thing that wrapped itself around the peasant boy, and Malagor was one of them, even if he had a bit more…hesitation. He could sense something. Something ancient that was radiating off of this boy. There was no doubt the taint of Spoletta stuck to it with a vice, and ye-
Rudy moved-no. It was more like he glided forward, his feet practically shimmering forth as he swung his sword. The closest Bestigor, unfortunate enough to be in the radius of such a blade, suddenly found its head cleaved in two, with its kin balking at how quickly he had struck.
Two more Bestigors moved forward, axes and a great ax, respectively, snarling to cut the boy down to size. Yet, to their shock, the speed through which Rudy moved was more incredible than he had any right to be, with him deflecting the dual ax-wielding bestigor and slitting his throat open. The great ax wielding bestigor realized that another swing was heading right towards him and held up the haft of his great ax to block the attack…
…only for the ghostly blade to phase right through the haft.
The Bestigor didn't even have time to balk at the absurdity of it all when the blade sliced through him, bisecting him diagonally and killing the chaos-touched creature in an instant.
Those blue eyes looked up at the conglomeration of beastmen who were now suddenly lacking a bit more courage than they had previously, and what was worse was how the mist was starting to return. And oh, did it return with a vengeance. The temperature began to climb down once it began to pervade the room, and with it came chills that escalated up the backs of the servants of Chaos.
Fear. Utter fear that was pervasive throughout the beastmen ranks, not just from the cold and the chills but the eyes that began to lurch closer and closer as Rudy stepped nearer and nearer. It was then that Malagor realized something. There was something familiar about this fear. It was something he hadn't felt or had wanted to be near for quite some time, but now he suddenly began to realize it. He had been one of the few Beastmen to encounter the Legendary Green Knight and live to tell the tale, but it had been a near thing. A very, very near thing with many of his former herd-kin now past-tense as a result. It was quite easily one of the most horrifying experiences that was felt on an animalistic level, not just because of how he nearly died, but because of WHO the Green Knight was.
That's what this fear was. It wasn't a fear that was his own. It was a sense of terror that almost seemed generational in how it was felt.
And now he was getting that same feeling here: he couldn't hide the urgency and terror from his voice. "Forward! Kill the attainted one! Kill him, kill him, kill him! Do not let this cursed Man-filth draw any more breath than he has! For the Dark Gods!"
It was the Minotaur who bowed up and roared in challenge, carrying his dual axes and charged flanked by a couple of Bestigors and Gors who followed in after. Snarling at the walking bastion of blasphemy, Malagor cast Bestial Surge, invigorating his herd-kin, allowing them to surge faster at this ancient foe.
Yet, for all their efforts, it proved to be for naught in the end, for it seemed as though this ghastly amalgamation of flesh and phantasm proved to be nigh impossible to slay or even wound. When the Minotaur tried to use its horns to gore the boy, Rudy glided to the right, avoiding the assault. When two Gors tried to take advantage and swing their axes at him, Rudy blocked both attacks with that spectral blade and riposted to return the favor.
Realizing the danger that it was now in, one Gor hugged the wall so that Rudy wouldn't be able to slice his body unless he did so at an awkward angle or by leaving his body exposed. Yet once again, the ghost blade defied logic, and Rudy swung it normally, phasing through the wall and cutting the gor in half despite his position.
After seeing such an open mockery of physics and logic that couldn't simply be explained away by magic alone, the beastmen quickly started to lose their nerve when Rudy worked quickly, stabbing, slicing, and dicing pieces of the beastmen that happened to be close to him. As blood began to coat the ground, which was concealed due to the rising mist, the numbers of the children of Chaos didn't even number over a dozen anymore.
Malagor fired a bolt of wild magic at the ectoplasm construct, and yet the armor held firm, shimmering even if it bent slightly at Malagor's sheer power. The Bray shaman grew nervous and backed up. His attack should have done more. His magic was so much more than that.
The Minotaur clearly cared not whether it was effective or not, swinging its axes viciously as it tried to rend Rudy's body asunder. Despite such confidence or perhaps because of it, it was a great shock when, with one of those swings, the Minotaur came up one hand shorter and bayed in shock, stomping backward as blood seeped from the stump it now had. Thinking quickly and desperately as Rudy stalked forward like a spectral reaper, the beastmen wrapped its hand around the head of one of the nearby priestesses that were cowering nearby, and with a cry, she was jerked in front of the hulking monster being used as a shield. Yet, to both the woman and beastman's horror, Rudy doesn't stop moving forward, unfettered by the meatshield, as he thrusts his spectral blade forward, piercing both woman and chaos-afflicted.
Yet as the Minotaur lets go of the priestess and falls backward, its chest cavity is sliced open when Rudy swings upward; the woman touches her torso, realizing that she is unharmed as Rudy's hand snaked out and keeps her from falling.
She found herself lost in those spectral eyes as Rudy momentarily addressed. "Pardon Moi, Madomoseille. I did not mean to give thou a fright, for these beasts have accosted thou enough. Fret not. This will not last much longer." setting the woman to the wall, who looked at him with flushed cheeks, Rudy then returned to his work: Hacking and hewing just about any beastmen that was unfortunate enough to be within his cutting radius.
Realizing that it was better to get out while the getting was good, the remaining Gors turned on their hooves and stormed out of the temple, barging the doors open and running as fast as their corrupted bodies would allow.
Malagor however, stayed rooted on the spot. Both unable to muster the courage to flee and also muster the humility to do so. Losing the battle at Bastonne and that Damsel to those accursed greenskins had not only hurt his pride but also his standing amongst his fellow herd-kin with many fleeing off into other beastmen hordes or secret beastpaths not wanting to risk suffering any other ignoble defeats under Malagor.
Oh, how we would have made them pay. That's why this raid wasn't just a way to get a path at the False One, but to create a herd-stone out of the desiccation of this temple and its inhabitants. To create a rallying cry for more beastmen to flock back to the horde of Malagor once more.
Yet as the ghostly knight stepped over the corpses of those it had slain, with said corpses quickly becoming covered by the mist, Malagor had a growing seed of doubt in the back of his mind that such ambitions would ever come to pass. That this man-NO! This…this force of nature would trample him underhoof just as he had so many who cling to civilization in the past.
It was something that he greatly rejected as he gathered many different winds of magic around him, braying desperately, mostly in rejection to the fate that was inching towards him, step by step.
As one of the most blessed bray-shamans in all of the Old World, Malagor called upon the favor of his gods and the years upon years of his experience to use all of the magic that he had at his disposal. The winds of beasts, shadows, death, and the wild all came to him wrapping around him like a second skin before gathering around his blasphemous staff allowing the Despoiler of the Sacred to unleash a massive torrent of combined magic right at the phantom knight that inched closer to him by the second. Many other magic users who would have attempted such an attack would have possibly exploded into a red mist on the spot, or had their bodies twisted and malformed into pulsating chaos spawn.
Yet to Malagor's horror the phantom knight held out a hand seemingly stopping the overwhelming magical attack dead in its tracks. The magic was diffusing into what seemed to be more and more mist which began to fill the room until it was up to Malgor's chest.
HOW!? HOW!? How could this mere man with a ghost from the past manage to nullify his magic! Even undead ghosts had vulnerabilities to magic, he had seen so himse-
Wait. No. It wasn't nullifying his magic. It was…converting it. Turning it from one type of magic to another altogether.
Sadly for Malagor, the mist had become so thick now that he had underestimated how close the possessed peasant boy was. With a swing of his ghastly sword, Malagor's staff had been rented into two, and his ability to use his magic had suddenly become much more limited than it had previously been. Stumbling back after how close that was to his head being severed from his shoulders, Malagor suddenly thought that running with his remaining Gors was an ingenious idea and turned to flee, only for the offhand of Rudy to snake out and grab his throat into a vice, lifting him into the air.
Malagor tried a Bray Scream. He tried to, scratching and clawing, yet whenever he tried anything, the ice-cold grip around his neck like a serpent clutching its prey. Rudy's possessed fingers may as well have been like stone with how fruitless the Crow-Father's attempts were at prying them open.
"Creature of Chaos. Child of of the Dark Gods." Rudy sneered as he looked into Malagor's frightened eyes with his glowing blue sockets. "I can feel the sins that crawl up and down thy back. I can see the cruelty that thou hath inflicted for years upon years. No more. No. More. My brother's descendants may have tolerated what thou hast done to our land for generations, but I will not."
"A-a thousand curses upon you, you damned phantom! My death will change nothing! The Dark Gods will still come! They will still visit the inevitable upon your la-" Malagor sputtered and coughed when the phantom's hands dug into his throat further, Rudy's eyes narrowing.
"Mayhaps right. Perhaps me and my own descendant came to this world too late. Perhaps I returned home too late…but thou won't be able to enjoy such an occurrence…soon to be former child of Chaos."
Malagor glared in defiance, mustering every bit of courage in the face of death. Yet instead of either his throat getting crushed or Rudy plunging the phantom blade into his guts and spilling his entrails on the misty ground, Malagor instead screamed. Screamed at the sudden burning that was erupting on his face. Rudy dropped his blade, which then dissipated, and then used his now free hand to press it into Malagor's face, burning him further, causing a light blue flame to start breaking out on the Crow-Father's head.
Malagor screamed and screamed, and he screamed further as the flames began to coat his body to the point where he was entirely engulfed, even as Rudy held him up, his braying screams filled the temple.
All the while, Valentine held her clothes to her chest to hide her bosom while she stared in shock and wonder…and relief to see justice being visited upon Malagor and these monsters along with the rest of them. Yet to their surprise, the flames began to dissipate with time, and when they were fully dead, all the women gasped at what they saw.
Rudy released Malagor's throat, and what was left may as well have been a different person entirely. Gone were the cloven hooves and the angular face. Gone were the fur and the rectangular eyes. Gone were the horns and the wings that Malagor was so well known for.
In its place was a man. A pale-skinned and long jet-black haired young man who stared at his hands, looking in horror at what he'd become. His hand came to his head, grasping for horns that were no longer there. He looked to his feet which now had five toes each instead of the cloven hooves that he once had. He even reached backward for the wings that were now non-existant.
"The Gods." The man muttered as he sat there, naked with his dark eyes wide, horror plain to see on his face. "I…I cannot feel them. N-no, I cannot hear them! I…I…" He lunged at Rudy grasping his pants and staring at him with a mix of furry and terror. "What have you done to me!?"
"A fate worse than death…for your ilk. But perhaps in time thou can see it as a blessing."
Malagor cried out and stood up on his legs to attack the boy, only for his legs to give out form underneath him. He tried to stand once more, but his balance was off. With his ability to stand on hooves now robbed on him, his sense of equilibrium was now completely off, especially without the weight of his horns and wings.
Finally giving up on being able to muster any meaningful attack, Malagor roared in horror at his current state. Unable to bear with the silence that his Gods now greeted him with. His inability to feel and manipulate the winds of magic. How cold and utterly alone he now felt. He had none of his herd. He had none of his power. And he had none of his Gods.
All he could do was scream until it felt like his throat was bleeding.
Rudy however stared imperiously, with not an ounce of sympathy. "Hmph. So you're one of the children of Chaos that was born with such a taint. Mayhaps it will be humbling for you to walk the Old World like us 'man-filth' wouldn't thou agree?" The phantom then moves forward heading toward the exit of the temple before turning his gaze toward Valentine, who strangely felt no fear from the possessed boys gaze. "Thou may want to consider vacating your flock elsewhere, Mademoiselle…though my descendant needs me to be there for him sooner rather than later, I can hardly call myself a knight if I leave ladies like yourself to the elements."
Valentine slowly nodded, hugging her clothes to her bossom as the rest of her sisters got up and stared in wonder and utter relief at their savior. "I…yes…thank you. But…who are what are you? And the boy? I know this is not the boy Rudy I am speaking to? Is he-
"The boy merely rests. I only move through him, for my descendant left his mark on him. As for who I am." The knight then fully turned to the women of Shallya, kneeling before them all. "You may call me…The Blue Knight. And forgive me for taking so long to rid my homeland of evil. I've not been in my homeland of Bretonnia since its inception."
…
A/R:
And so here we see a new player partake in the game…or rather re-insert himself into the game. I don't expect you guys to know who the Blue Knight is but I will cut to the chase and say yes, he does have some relation to the Green Knight of Bretonnia. Beyond that I'm not gonna spoil anything else or the significance of him being in this story.
All the while Lyle prepares for the coming party that he's throwing for good PR, ignorant of most of the major moves or chaos that is being poured into Bretonnia as we speak. But, hey. Maybe his party can finally go on without a hitch?...Maybe? Hopefully?
Also if Lyle did start a Blood Bowl team in Bretonnia what do you think he should name it? I'm just curious to hear your thoughts on that and I may take suggestions.
Other than, please leave your reviews as always since I love and appreciate them and you guys so much and I'll see you all next time for the next chapter of Eight Peaks Royale.