A/R:
Women ruiz: Lyle is definitely is gonna need help, and it's gonna come in sooner than you realize. And it's gonna come in the form of allies beyond the ones that you listed. I can't say too much about too many of the factions you listed, but I think the Tomb Kings would be personally insulted by the idea of working with Lyle since nearly all of them despite necromancers. The only exception I could think of would be Arkhan the Black. And be honest, would you ever trust someone like Arkhan when someone as back-stabby as Manfred barely could?
Annoying POW Marine: You do have a point. The oldness and vagueness of the Lore of Fantasy Warhammer is both a blessing and a curse. The vagueness of it often leaves you grasping at straws on how to make the personality of some of these characters but it also gives you freedom on how you can write them. A double edged sword that you succinctly described and possibly why I find writing for Warhammer in general so easy compared to other possible universes.
Also I was tempted to use the twins and Drycha, but I feel that given the direction of my story he would make more sense, especially since in the Total War campaign Durthu is quite literally in that area. Also thanks for the compliments for how I wrote Franz, I was really hoping I would get him down right as well as I could! When I eventually do get to the vermintide crew, don't be afraid to tell me if I'm getting them down right! I'd feel shame if I wasn't.
Wangbu: Yeah Lyle definitely doesn't have the time nor the resources to deal with the vermintide. Throw into the fact that as you say, the End Times are coming and as of now they're still woefully unprepared.
Dadg12346: Careful now! That's some serious temptation that you're putting onto my plate!
Darkwarrior41: It's hard not to admire the main man, Karl himself. When he has to endure as much as he does concerning all the issues of the Empire and how he tackles them head on, is something we all wish we could emulate. Also, don't worry I'll be sending you a PM message concerning the crossover. I've already come up with an idea where we could intersect, it's just that it's gonna take some chapters to reach that point.
Aymen El Kadouri: I'm glad to see there's excitement about the Uberzeik Five eventually appearing in the story. Also don't forget the name about my boy Saltspyre! Put some respect on that witch hunter's name, lol!
Montykinomovie: It's 5. It will always be 5, game mechanics be damned!
The Spirit of Cain: Yeah, you're not too far off the mark with your prediction there. Lyle is definitely not gonna have an easy time with his initial meeting with our five favorite rat-slayers, especially considering the incredible feats they've all accomplished throughout the years and all the foes that they've managed to slay.
Doggo McBonk: The chaos Gods have been watching. And as you pay attention to the story, you'll notice that one of them is paying very special attention toward him.
Zerkil: Hey I completely understand, man. How can anyone not be overwhelmed by the Imperial and manly majesty that is our big boy Karl?
…
"The undead and the short-lifers have made common cause. Your visions have failed us, Prophetess." Durthu voice rumbled beneath his oaken bark as he loomed over the unfazed female wood elf who stared back up at him while standing in his literal shadow. "Your ambushed failed as well, and possibly this campaign." The spirit's tone rumbled like a burgeoning earthquake, beggin release. "The mayflies, as you call them, are coming together, and your ambush has born little fruit of halting them."
Prophetess Naieth had a calm and almost serene expression as the ancient and worthy tree spirit dressed her down. She wore a hood on her head with ancient-looking antlers that were a part of it, and a forest green shawl came down to the ankles of her bare feet. In her grasp was an ancient yet formidable wooden staff with Asrai engravings, which she held in her right hand. She felt no danger that would come from this meeting, as her visions told her, but one should always be prepared.
After all, the forest folk were ancient yet sometimes fickle in their friends and foes. "My visions did come true, Durthu. The army of the Barrow Legion would fall into my ambush. However, those same visions did not promise victory. That all hinged on whether or not you would be able to stop Duke Cassyon's pegasus corp from reaching my forces." Her voice was not hard nor angry. It was as calm as a serene wind as she kept staring up into the 'eyes' of the tree spirit. "And I'm afraid once they did get past your siege forces, the fate of that battle was already sealed."
Durthu could feel his roots shift beneath his feet at the unspoken accusation, but he didn't rise to the bait as kind of a bait like that could have been. Instead, he glowered at the castle that the besieged men had retreated into once it became apparent that they wouldn't break through. Not that it mattered. Durthu now knew that the forces sallying out hadn't been trying to break through but to successfully catch his attention.
And now he had to suffer the consequences of not seeing such a disgusting mayfly ploy sooner. "We are now pinned between two armies. The besieged mayflies and the undead encamped on our left. What's worse is that they have proven wise enough to stray far from the forests to catch them unawares or to sap their strength any further." As much as Durthu wanted to rail against the Asrai for the part they had to play in the situation, they now found themselves in the tree spirit was wise and long-lived enough to know it would only impede chances for victory…at the moment. "One of the forces must be destroyed before they have any chance of linking up. If those pegasi were willing to assist the undead, then it's clear they've made common cause."
"I'm afraid I must agree with you in that regard, Durthu. The visions I've seen. The man with a blue hue surrounded his soul. He surrounds himself with not just the souls of the damned but also the commoners of Bretonnia." Naieth blinked slowly as she ran through the visions she had been experiencing. Amongst the Asrai, she was amongst the most experienced and talented diviners who could see into the future and the many strands it could branch into. It was both a blessing and a curse for her to see so many possibilities, forcing her to have to try and remember as well as compartmentalize the different visions that she had. Thankfully, a long, elven life afforded her the practice of mastering what could have been a curse, and her visions had proven to be a boon to her fellow Asrai. "As it is now, the Bretonnians and the undead are no doubt making common cause as we speak, and I fear we may no longer have the initiative since conducting any further raids or ambushes would prove to be difficult."
"We cannot simply retire back to Athel Loren! Not empty-handed! We must take this castle for the amber reserves regardless of cost!" The Oaken spirit bristled, his bark-like limbs cracking in anger at the mere thought of retreat. "That's nothing to say of the many injustices of this dukedom, in particular, has visited upon my kind with their encroachment on the surrounding forests!"
"I was hardly suggesting such a thing. You are correct, especially concerning the amber reserves. But we cannot press onwards as we had before. If we fully invest in the siege, we leave ourselves open to the army outside of it. If we do the opposite, the besiegers could sally out and inflict greater losses than last time."
"...then the destruction of the undead army must take precedence." Durthu rumbled, his gaze turning to the direction of the encamped army some leagues away. "The bones of their debased creations will go back to the earth, and the blood of their necromancers will soak our roots. This Lyle Spoletta will-
"-Will not die easily." Naieth interrupted, frustrating the spirit. "I…Whenever I try to gleam anything about his future or any visions specific about him, I'm interrupted by a wave of fog…almost reminiscent of a certain goddess I know. It's a dense blue fog that I'm struggling to see through."
"Are your damnable clairvoyant powers failing yet again?" Durthu growled in frustration. "They've already failed us before, I will not have them fail us again!"
"It is not a matter of them failing us. I feel as though…there is a powerful spirit protecting Lyle from any form of divination. I fear even a god may have a hand in this."
"...do not tell me that Naggash is awakened yet again."
"No. I've felt Naggash's presence, but this simply is not it. It's…confounding. It's why I believe our ambush failed. I could see where the Barrow Legion would be, but I did not know what Lyle Spoletta would do specifically or where he was within the army to assassinate him. It's part of the reason why the battle drew out as long as it di-
"Then I suggest that you find a way to gleam past this fog prophetess." Durthu bit out impatiently. "It is not just your kind who stand to lose a great deal if we fail to take this damnable castle, which stands as an affront to nature and which the mayflies are popular for erecting." He loomed over the wooed elf, who continued to stand unfazed. "Our memories are long. Do not forget that. Until your visions have any fruit to grow from their branches, do not pester me as I think of a course to battle." The large treeant then moved his massive form away from the elf, going into the more forested area to commune with the rest of his kind.
Naieth wasn't overly offended by Durthu's rancor, where many of her kind were. Even now, she was sure that some of the way watchers who were watching from the shadows on the very slim off-chance that something would go awry were grinding their teeth at the impertinence of Durthu. She'd lived long enough to fully understand the growing enmity between her kind and the spirits of Athel-Loren. Truthfully, Durthu was being somewhat restrained in their conversations despite the stress of the situation, and she was sure that was because Naieth was respected, even amongst other tree spirits.
But that would only extend so far if their mission failed here. Things were growing rather dire in Athel Loren concerning the events transpiring in Bretonnia and beyond, especially in Bretonnia since Athel Loren had interests and influence within the court of their human neighbors. To ensure that certain assurances and plans were in place considering the chaos in Bretonnia, an influx of amber was needed, so if this mission failed…
Naieth sighed and walked away from the meeting place. The sooner she divined the future again, the better. Yet the blue clouds that impeded any view of Lyle Spoletta only served to unnerve her further, making her usually uncanny talent of seeing beyond the present more challenging.
…
"Calm yourself Cassyon." Jacquette tittered as she drank her tea within the carriage as she side-eyed her son. "Drink your tea and cool your nerves. You just got down, slaying my would killers and galivanting about as a true grail knight of the lady. All is well."
"You almost died, mother."
"Through no fault of your own."
"Could have been through his fault." The Duke said hotly, staring right at Lyle Spoletta sitting across from him with a small smirk on his face. On either side were Sybille and Fredericka, the latter of which stared coolly. In everyone's grasp was cup of tea and a saucer, at the request of Jacquette. Typically, wine would be the drink of choice for Bretonnian nobility, but the widow believed that such drinks of that nature would not help this fateful meeting. To her relief, Lord Lyle seemed to agree, accommodating her easily. The noblewoman had a faint fear that he had poisoned the tea, only to roll her eyes at the thought. He'd gone through too much trouble to keep her alive and to gain specific promises to see Jacquette's life end now.
No. Her more significant concern was sitting right next to her. "If it wasn't for him, I would be in the dirt as those knife ears would prefer. If you loathe my nagging that much-
"I didn't-" Cassyon turned his eyes toward Lyle, then his mother, rage, and regret burning in his eyes and his breast passionately. "Mother, don't defend this fiend!"
"I am not defending this 'fiend' as you call him. I am merely stating the obvious. And if you want our ancestral seat back, I'd suggest you stick with noticing the obvious as I am."
"I can see what I can see…mother." The youngest Duke of Bretonnia ground, his anger against the necromancer before him forgotten for his usual rancor against his mother. "I can see that he's brought an army of the dead. The dead that is composed of people within our own country, led by a necromancer that is deposing dukes, lords, and barons, left and right, and seeks to invoke an age of darkness upon us all like his ilk Kemmler would love nothing more to do."
"You call it an age of darkness. I call it an age of Enlightenment." Lyle smiled his pearly whites at the duke. "That's what we called it back home anyways."
"You are a considerable amount of leagues away from your home, foreigner. Woe to you for visiting its corrupted ideals on this fair land."
"Woe to you and other nobles for sure. But it don't gotta be that way so long as you play ball."
"I'm not here to play anything, foreigner! You've brought an army to my ancestral home and I-
"Cassyon." His mother started tersely. "What did I say about calming yourself?"
"And why are YOU so calm in the face of this monster coming here to-
"I can leave."
Cassyon found himself short. "I…I beg your pardon?"
"I can leave. Right here, right now." Lyle shrugged, sipping his tea casually with a smile. "I mean, if I offend you this much, I'd hate to trigger you even further and hurt your feelings, my lord. At least this way, I don't have to waste any more manpower, and you get the privileged honor of hero-balling your way to saving your castle and dukedom all by yourself! Everyone wins! Even the elves considering their position!"
Cassyon slowly turned his gaze to his mother, who was giving him a withering side-eye. He was sure that her words would be a great more harsh for the situation if they weren't in front of multiple individuals. It was then that he remembered one of her oldest lessons. Always present a united front, even if you don't agree with one another.
"...what is it exactly that you want, Spoletta?" The hot-tempered duke ground out slowly.
"My main squeeze by my side with me lying in a bed after throwing a game-winning touchdown. But, since I literally don't have the time to do that, I gotta settle for helping you…with concessions." Lyle said as he jerked his head towards Fredericka, who continued to stare icily at the pair of nobles before taking out a small stack of documents, which she presented to the duke.
After a moment of considering whether a trap within the documents would be moot, Cassyon decided to read them through, his brow furrowing. As seconds turned to minutes and his eyes flittered through the documents, Cassyon looked aback at the necromancer before returning his eyes to read what was before him to ensure he wasn't losing his mind.
"Half of the peasantries' harvest at most? Freedom of movement? Wh-what on…what is this!?" He was more confused than shocked. He was expecting indemnities, large sums of money, or even large tractions of land. But, rights for the peasantry? What game was this necromancer playing? And who was he to pretend as though he knew what the peasants needed or deserved? This foreigner? Truly, he was baffled unlike ever before, even when he had been bested in battle?
What was this man's game? "Y…you want to give peasants the right to bear arms? Firearms at that? And…a pact of non-aggression AND a mandatory trade agreement?" He said aloud, shaking his head and trying to wrap his head around all of this. Any other time, he would have thrown out the mere idea of conducting economic commerce with a grave-robbing necromancer…yet when his ancestral home and the well-being of his people hanging in the balance, forcing him to keep perusing the documents.
"This…this is the price of your saving my people?"
"You said it, my man, not me."
"Can you give me and my son the carriage, Lord Spoletta?"
"I can do that. Yeah." Lyle said as he looked at Sybille and Fredericka. "C'mon ladies, let's give the family their private reunion."
Sybille shrugged. "It was getting stuffy in here anyway. At my age, I need my fresh air." Fredericka continued to be uncharacteristically quiet as she followed her compatriots, leaving the two nobles alone in the reinforced carriage that had been Jacquette's home for the past few days.
"Mother…" Cassyon began slowly as he set the documents, running a gauntlet through his dark brown hair. "You're asking me to choose between my king and this necromancer."
"I'm asking you to choose between your pride and your people, my son." She sighed tiredly. "The terms are more than fair. Better than we could expect considering what we could have been dealing with if Kemmler still drew breath, Lady-damn him."
Cassyon wanted to scream and protest, but again he reigned himself in, knowing full well if his voice raised too high, those dark cloa-...wait he couldn't call them that anymore considering they wore uniforms. Well, either way, the last thing he wanted them to hear was him shouting at his mother.
Speaking of his mother, he knew she was no fool. She hadn't lasted as long as she did by being one. So whenever he got tired of dealing with his prissy and annoying stewards, advisors, or anyone else who wasted his time, he could at least trust her to be straight to the point, even if it sometimes galled him. "This…Spoletta. What does he want, Mother?"
"The people's affection." She said simply.
"...truly?"
"Truly. Don't underestimate him, my son. He is not the everyday necromancer. Just because he follows the teachings of Naggash doesn't mean he acts the same way as Naggash." She leaned in closely to her son to ensure the message sank in. "Just because he is Kemmler's Successor doesn't mean he is Kemmler's student. He has honor as unorthodox as it is. He cares for others. He is willing to spend gold and food to gain the favor of those around him. He truly believes in the cause he is fighting for, and what makes him so dangerous is what he is willing to do to see his goals through. Even if it means dealing with nobles like us."
"Nobles like us?"
"He's a man of the peasantry. He wants their love, and they want his love in turn. I saw it in a festival he held for a few days, and I saw it as he marched with the peasantry he has brought with him on this campaign. They see him as a hero, and he's eating it up."
"But…mother, surely this is just a ploy to use them as tool-
"It's not."
"How…are you so sure?"
"He has the same enthusiasm and devotion that you have with your pegasus, Argent, and other Pegasus. Same as your father too. It's the genuine article."
Cassyon looked taken aback, petulantly pouting and reeling at the mere thought of being compared to this necromancer before forcing himself to come back down to reality. "Then I have no choice but to agree?"
"You should know better than to ask me questions you already know the answer to, my boy."
"And what of the king?" The young duke huffed as he raised and dropped his hands on his lap. "What am I to tell him when he learns that I've broken bread with the enemy?"
"You tell him you did what you had to do to survive after he failed to beat Rick Helgan in the field and went North to leave us to fend for ourselves."
"W-...wait, King Louen fought Lyle Spoletta and lost?"
"Not necessarily." Jacquette shook her head. "There was a battle. A grand battle that I've learned of that took place at Castle Bastonne, some Greenskins, beastmen, and the vanguard of King Louen's army. Spoletta survived all of them and held the castle, forcing Louen to abandon the siege to deal with some threat up north. We're on our own now, my son. We have been for quite some time."
Having been isolated due to the siege for so long, Cassyon had been relatively ignorant along with anyone else in Parravon, of what had been happening as of late besides the Barrow Legion growing in power and deposing his fellow dukes. To learn that there would be no assistance, however…
"Mother I…if I approve this document it could be tantamount to not just being a traitor but sacrilage. The ladies tenants of Chivalry threaten to be upended if I go through with this, to give the peasants this many rights undermines our authority, it could spread like an infection!"
"Then don't sign it." His mother said blandly, sitting back in her seat. "Don't sign it, take your fellow knights and fly back to your castle. Perhaps if you follow those tenants you and those grail knights hold so tightly to your breast, the Lady might give you victory…This time."
"Mother, don't."
Silence ensued between the two family members. It was another attempt to avoid any sign of division, for they both knew that these arguments could escalate quickly if either one allowed it to get to that point.
The truth was that both of them knew what had to be done. For all of his impetuousness and love for battle over statesmanship, Cassyon wasn't so foolish and headstrong to believe that he could break the wood elves' siege. For even if he somehow won against them in battle, what was stopping them from getting reinforcements and finishing off his diminished army?
Grabbing the documents again, Cassyon tried to will himself to accept the multiple agreements that he would have no choice but honor on his word of the Lady and-
Wait. There was something that he had missed. Something he had overlooked in the wake of all the other agreements that had dominated his attention at the moment from which he was trying to wrap his head around all of this.
"Bloodbowl?" The young duke muttered aloud, catching his mother's attention.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Bloodbowl. It says here that Spoletta wants to recreate a blood bowl league here within Bretonnia to reignite the local commerce between our duchy while also promoting bread and circuses." He looked up at his mother, a childlike fascination in his eyes. "You didn't mention that he was a fan of Bloodbowl."
"I…well he had a blood bowl game at the festival. I'm not so sure he cares for the rules howe-my son, why does this matter?"
"Mother, you know I've always wanted to start a Bloodbowl team, and it's been a dream of mine!"
"Cassyon I-" She pinched her brow, trying to keep herself from losing it. "My son, don't you think we have bigger priorities we should foc-
"But, you're missing the point, mother, this man wants to reignite the Bloodbowl league, the Bloodbowl league, I repeat!" The young duke nearly shouted excitedly. "I remember when not even King Louen or other local barons could get around to it, but this could actually come true! I could own my own team, just like father wanted for himself! We wouldn't have to settle for just watching sevens anymore, like when me and the lads would do when we were growing up and grew bored of jousting!"
Jacquette wanted to cuff her son on the back of her head for having his eyes glazed over for childhood sports, only to feel herself hold her tongue. Why was she getting upset? Was this not an opportunity to pounce on as she had in the past?
"It…it is something that your father would have wanted." She muttered to herself, feigning as though she was truly thinking it over. "Plus, it would be a great way to foster love between yourself and your people after surviving the siege."
"Yes, yes, exactly! I mean, if Spoletta wants to start a Bloodbowl league, then I find it hard to believe that he would be using some kind of scheme to stab us in the back. It would be unnecessary, especially since he clearly could have just killed us all when he had the chance, right?"
Jacquette thinned her lips at the statement, figuring that stab in the back could come from the very people he was liberating, aimed right at their backs if they weren't careful. But, that could be worried about later. Saving their ancestral castle came first. "You're finally seeing sense. I'm not saying you need to make Spoletta your lover my son-
"Mother!"
"-But, we'll need some form of dialogue and cooperation with him going forward. If this were Kemmler or Lady forbid a Von Carstein, I wouldn't even entertain the idea. But, this is neither of those cases, my son."
The idea of actually reviving the Bretonnian Blood Bowl League had finally taken a back seat to the mind of the Duke of Parravon, and the reality of the situation settled back in his forehead. His head hurt just thinking about the inner workings of this politicking he had to find now himself doing, much rather enjoying the idea of riding Argent, but ultimately, there was too much on the line not to, especially since his mother looked to him so expectantly.
Yes, fulfilling a childhood dream of his of reviving the bloodbowl league in Bretonnia was something he'd love to accomplish, but he couldn't lose sight of the ultimate goal. Regaining his duchy and, most importantly, KEEPING it. There may have been no provisions within the documents that he could see that would entail him losing land, but one couldn't be too careful. Necromancers were necromancers, after all, and the discrepancy of their chivalry couldn't be ignored.
But, even with all the reasons to enlist the Barrow Legion's help, there was still a niggling thread of doubt that held him back from signing these documents.
The man behind the legion. Or rather the face of it.
It was why, five minutes later, after having a deep and hard head-pounding think, he found himself alone with Spoletta standing near a tree where they were both out of earshot from their respective allies. Standing next to Spoletta was the unnerving and ginormous form of Krell, holding his ax. Standing just behind him was Argent, his loyal and lifelong pegasus standing behind him, seemingly glaring and huffing at the Undead Champion.
Yes. Better this way. Cassyon preferred to learn about his foes and allies directly rather than the unchivalrous skullduggery that could invade and permeate the courts. Yet Lyle didn't seem put off or unnerved by the one-on-one meeting. Just as before, he seemed loose and confident, with a smirk written on his face. "Gettting a bit too stuffy inside the carriage? Aight, I feel ya. I mean, after al-
"You're a fan of Bloodbowl?"
"Excuse me?"
"Bloodbowl. I heard from my mother that you had a game at some festival you held."
Momentarily confused by the question, Lyle scratched the back of his head. "Uh…yeah, I did. Didn't like the rule-breaking and the other falderal that was goin' on with the bribing n' whatnot, but yeah, I don't dislike the game. Prefer football myself, but if I could tighten up on the rules a bit more, then I wouldn't mind a game of Bloodbowl."
"Yes, precisely!" Lyle was once again taken aback, this time by the sudden aggressive enthusiasm from the young duke who shouted so suddenly. "Those damned goblins and the other referees in their fetid guild make the games so damnably dubious it galls me at the thought! I'm glad that SOMEBODY besides my childhood friends agree on that front!"
"Well, how the hell could you not?" Lyle scoffed. "I saw weapons being used in the game that I saw. Weapons! Illegal moves or what should have been illegal moves, I was ready to storm the field right then and there and whip some asses myself!"
"I damn near did the same during a game of Sevens when some imperials secretly tossed some caltrops onto the field! Caltrops! If it weren't for my mother, I would have done so myself!"
"Caltrops? W-what spikes?"
"May as well have been! They were sending a damn message, those imperial bastards. Since they know how much pride we have in our cavalry! They ended the career of one of the players on the Bretonnian side and faced no repercussions! Didn't help that it was an Imperial referee overseeing the match!"
"Aw, now that's just damn low! And you guys didn't start swingin' on them?"
"We Bretonnians have higher class! If it was those unseasoned beer-swilling curs back in the Empire, there would have been a fight but in the Duchy of Parravon! We would never stoop to their low!"
Lyle smirked and leaned forward. "But, you wanted to, didn't ya?"
The Duke rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Again. My mother was there to make sure cooler heads prevailed, but I was a boy, still. But, I never forgot that injustice and the insult in good order. Never!"
"And you shouldn't! Back home, where football reigns supreme, me and my precious Jets got screwed time and time again by our crappy owner who doesn't know how to draft a quarterback or much less get a coach who can put his team together! We ain't won a damn thing since the sixties! I wasn't even alive for us to win a championship, and time and time again, we get screwed from even tasting prosperity!"
"That honestly sounds like a unique form of torture. But, at the very least, you have a team to root for. Oh, we have Sevens teams in Parravo,n but it's not the same. You either have a Bloodbowl team, or you do not, and given the chaos throughout the Old Worl,d I doubt we could gain enough traction to-
"The hell we can't! That's quitter talk, and I ain't gonna stand for it! Especially when I can see the clear passion in ya, and that's all you need to keep a sport alive!" Lyle said with passion of his own. "I mean, for Christ's sake, just because your team is down and out or, in your cas,e nonexistent, doesn't mean ya gotta give up hope! I mean, the Eagles fans back in Philly, in my home country, didn't give up until they won a Lombardy some years back!"
…
"What in the Gods' name are they on about?" Sybille asked cantankerously as she stood up and leaned against the reinforced carriage, shaking one of her boots to get some gravel and dirt that had accumulated inside.
"I'd wager my family's entire castle that it's about that Gods' damned Bloodbowl that all the men in my family fawn over."
"They're young men. They have their hobbies." Sybille huffed, shrugging before smirking to herself. "Even my own father was a fan of the sport and tried to get me into it, bless his soul. Didnt work, but I appreciated the time looking back on it. Ahhh, to be young again in the South."
"The south?" Jacquette repeated with mild curiosity. "Are you from the Border Princes?"
"Something like that." Came the vague reply. "It matters little. My father would sometimes bring my mother and me to BloodBowl games, which are rather popular where I came from, much to my mother's annoyance. She didn't care for the egregious violence you see."
Jacquette raised her eyebrows, looking at Sybille in a different light. "You came from a noble house then?"
"A wealthy house." Sybille corrected. "Wealthy enough to appear noble." The witch frowned as she then took off her other boot, shaking out the grass and dust that had also accumulated inside of it. "It's quite easy to do if you have the gold and connections, something I'm sure must grate someone who was born into it like yourself."
"It galls me to a certain level, yes." Jacquette readily admitted. "But, I fear it's something I'm going to have to get used to if your necromancer has his way."
"You're rather accepting of it, I must admit."
"Not accepting. Resigned." Jacquette groused as she folded her arms. "Given our situation, we're lucky that we'll be lucky to keep our land. Fortunate that you're leader has a heart, not filled with necromantic ooze or whatever it is that flows in your kind veins. No offense."
"None taken. But, do take care not to mistake our vaunted Lichemaster's kindness with weakness. I'd tell you the horror stories of what I've seen him do to Nobles, who he deemed unfit to live." Sybille cackled with a toothy grin, keeping her boots off, given how uncomfortable they felt for a moment. "But, I'd hate to sully your womanly innocence."
"I've heard stories. From my knights who've heard talk from his peasants and from what I've heard personally." The Bretonnian noblewoman admitted as her eyes narrowed. "It's quite telling when those same peasants speak with such glowing enthusiasm about such acts as if he's Gille's born in the flesh…or, more accurately, those evasive Brigands who rob the nobility around the land."
Sybille mock bowed as low as her old bones allowed her. "You have my sympathies."
Jacquette rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, thank you very much. I-" Her following words were interrupted by a sudden sharp laugh from her son and Spoletta, who were both clearly enjoying whatever the other said. It simultaneously concerned, annoyed, and assuaged the coming thoughts in her mind, especially since their current interaction drew such cursory glances from others, both necromantic and peasant alike. "I don't know whether to be relieved or concerned."
"Both would fit for me." Sybille admitted plainly as she continued leaning against the carriage, watching the interaction with mild interest. "If it means anything for you, the burgeoning comradery between our Lichemaster and your son, the Duke, means he's less likely to approve a hostile takeover of your duchy…as logical and easy as that would be for him, though I'm sure you've already considered that."
"You're more blunt than I expected an old crone like you to be."
"And you're not as foolish as some foppish harriden like someone of your ilk would normally be. Why bother trying to dance around the obvious?"
"Touche."
"Must be hard finding a woman to tie down your boy who has no interest in sitting still and enjoys a sport where people batter each other to near death."
"It's not hard at all when the match is already made and the marriage already conceived." Jacquette nearly spat in bitterness. "It doesn't help that he hasn't conceived any children with a said match yet or that said wife can often be mistaken for a troll."
Sybille raised an eyebrow. "You resent your spawn that much?"
"I had nothing to do with it. That was my late husband's decision to tie a particularly powerful house to ours." The noblewoman eyed her smiling son as he chatted animatedly with Lyle. "I'm still trying to find creative ways to have that annulled, but in Bretonnia, vows in all manner are not taken lightly."
"Hm. All the more reason you should pray to your Lady that Lyle succeeds in his ambitions. He brings change to your land after all, and perhaps that change can be to your advantage."
"Are you trying to bribe me, crone?"
"Merely stating what you're no doubt already considering, fop."
Instead of being offended, Jacquette turned and stared Sybille in the eye, with the older gray-haired-haired witch smirking back at her. It was then that the Paravonese noblewoman smirked back. "I think you're starting to grow on me, Crone."
"Don't get used to it, Fop. You'll owe me and my master a great debt when all is said and done."
"And perhaps that can be repaid in a…number of ways."
"I'm listening."
…
"-nd the damned elves! I mean, seriously! Screw em' and their damned trees n' anyone that like's em'! I mean, don't get me wrong, I ain't racist or nothin'!" Lyle said with raised hands. "But, they're the ones that started this beef that I got with em'!"
"I, too! It just galls me to think they can traipse around and demand that we can't trespass on this land or this forest, or cut down this tree or that tre-it's all just maddening for the Lady's sake!" Cassyon De Parravon ranted. "Even before I assumed the Dukedom from my father, they've done nothing but give my father grief. I've heard rumors that my grandfather had a more amenable relationship with them, but sometimes I wonder if that's nothing more than Knife-ear whispers!"
"Trust me bro! After the crap I've been through, it's gotta be the latter! Those Knife-eared bastards can be trusted about as well as you can see em' when they're in a forest!"
"You're most likely right. I mean to hear that they're the reason why you're even in conflict with all of Bretonnia, to begin with…I'd refute it if I didn't suffer from their own form of unchivalrous skullduggery! When they invited months ago to supposed talks for purported 'land grabs' by nobles," He said with irritation and quotation marks. "The ambush that followed only reminded me about how trustworthy they are!"
"Heh. Ya think that's bad? See these scars on my cheeks?" Lyle said, pointing to the scars in question. "That's how close they came to taking me out a while back. Nearly did me in with some poison they pumped into the arrow that nearly domed me."
Smirking back confidently, the noble raised his head up and pointed at his neck, showing a long scar nearly across his Adam's apple. "Suffered a similar fate to you, except a bit lower. It was only thanks to the holy energy that flowed through me that allowed me to persevere through the poison that flowed through me, and yet, this was far from the initial ambush that I suffered."
Lyle whistled, impressed, and gave an impressed nod. "Lucky bastard."
"I believe the Lady had more to do with it than anything else, but if Ranald had anything to do with my fortune, I won't complain." The smile of pride and religious reverence then twitched away as a pained grimace formed on his face. "If only I…I could say the same about some of the men I took with me on the way, the ones who gave their lives for me to breathe a tad bit longer." For a moment, he wish he had a wineskin with him, only to curse when he realized it wasn't on his belt. He looked to Argent and saw that it was attached to his saddle, only for the pegasus to shove its head into his chest, keeping him from reaching it. Wincing at his erstwhile steed keeping him from taking the easy way out, Cassyon slowly turned to Spoletta, half expecting him to crack a joke, only to see a still expression on his face.
"...Losing people cause of the mistakes you make." Lyle began with a shrug, looking away with a scratch to the back of his head. "...it sucks. I took an L myself when I got my own boys into a fight we weren't gonna win. I bounced back, but it cost some lives after that."
Cassyon actually seemed to take his words seriously as he pet Argent's neck. "When you did suffer this setback," he began slowly with genuine curiosity. "How did you…come back from it? Do you still think about it, even no-
"Every time I go to sleep, I think about it." Lyle admitted with a grunt, folding his arms and still looking away. "Half a village full of people got killed 'cause I was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Damn, nearly half of them would have wound up slaves if I didn't bounce back. Someone I knew for a bit got hurt…she got hurt real bad I…" Lyle sighed, not even wanting to talk about it to this extent. "You just gotta keep going. Make sure that the shit that happened wasn't for nothing, ya know? Just even thinkin' about it bein' for nothin' is enough to make me sick."
"I…see." Cassyon muttered, looking down at his feet. "I guess sick isn't the word I would use. Not even anger, but it IS there. I guess-" He huffed, pursing his lips. "I keep wondering what I could have done differently. That ambush and the ones that followed, all to the point where I wound up hunkered in my own Lady-damned castle to the point where my mother must put herself at risk to save my hide! My hide! After I had jeopardized the lives of my people despite me being a grail knight, a grail knight chosen by the Lady herself, blessed with powers-
"So then ya get better." Lyle interrupted his voice hard. "Ya get better, and ya learn from it. Otherwise, it WILL all be for nothing like I said."
"It's hardly so simple." Cassyon laughed bitterly to himself as he leaned into his concerned pegasus. "Not so simple when you have the blood of your subjects on your friends."
The Lichemaster just snorted. "Yeah? So? What're ya gonna do then? Quit? Roll over n' give up?"
It was two simple questions that had meant the same thing, and for a moment, Cassyon took a great offense to them all the same. Yet the moment his eyes bulged and he gritted his teeth, the truth of the questions settled into his mind all the same, giving him a greater pause than he had felt in quite some time.
It felt hammered home when Lyle smiled cockily. "Sides'. Thought you wanted to make your dad proud and get that Bloodbowl Team together. You gonna tell him that you got too busy feelin' sorry for yourself to get the job done after kickin' some knife ear, ass?"
There was more pause from the young Duke, who seemed to be around Lyle's age. Yet after that moment, Cassyon chuckled before giving a brief stream of laughter that peeled from his lips. "Are you certain you're a necromancer? You're doing a very poor job at subverting and breaking my will as certain Grail Hermits claimed your kind would."
"Well, I can't speak for the rest of my goons n' mooks, but I prefer to break bones. Elven bones specifically at the moment, but I can do two things at once. I know it would improve my mood right now."
"...you remind me of some of my friends." Cassyon hummed nostalgically. "Despite your heretical vocation, It's hard to imagine they'd hate you if the ones who fell still drew breath."
"Well, then, why don't we bring the fight to the hippies in the forests and help em' know why they skulkin' and sneaky ways ain't tolerated in these parts."
Fresh memories of all the setbacks were quick to return with a vengeance into the forefront of the Duke's mind, rekindling his rancor. "Aye…I think I could get behind that."
…
"So it's vulnerable?"
"As…vulnerable is it will be." Syrne grunted out on her knees, bereft of her regal and elite dread lord armor and thrown into rags that were barely fit for even slaves that would serve royalty back home in Naggarond. Standing before her was none other than Simmire, who interrogated her and the rest of her Gilded Circle. "I was sent a small yet valuable force that, as you know, was crushed by the fat g-...his Immensity." Her eyes turned back to the goblin guards a little ways away with sticks that had already been levied against her legs for daring to speak any disrespect to the goblin who she wished had just ended her life. "Another force was sent south to further raid the coast of Bretonnia itself."
"And how many elves can we expect at Castle Bordelaux?"
"I'm not entirely sure." Syrne admitted, keeping her eyes at her back in case the goblins got ideas. "Over ten thousand. It's not the biggest force."
"Even with a Black Ark?"
"It's as I said. Some of those forces were sent south." Came the impatient reply. It stung even to stay kneeling with the growing bruises on her thighs and calves. "If you don't believe me, ask the men you deigned to spare. They'll tell you the same."
"We will. Pray they do tell us the same, or you'll wish that you stay the rest of your miserable life as a cloth collar." Simmire stared down at the Druchii, enjoying the feeling of superiority over her noble pale-skinned kin who had been bent so low. There was also irritation given the development of the battle, and while she was glad that she hadn't been traded from one master to another, it left her to decide what to do with the information about these newcomers to Bretonnia…a decision that would ultimately be up to the newly revived yet irritated Warboss of this tribe she had worked desperately to keep together.
Now, she needed to do what she could to turn this situation in her favor. "How many people have you're kind killed when you took Castle Bordelaux? How many did you enslave?"
Syrne narrowed her eyes, wondering what this elf wanted to do with this info but complying to preserve her own body and life. "Tens of thousands were killed. Even more were captured. I don't know the exact numbers. Running the numbers would be up the slavemasters who are in charge of breaking the new chattel in after loading them into the black ark…but then again, they may just be keeping them within that castle for convenience's sake since they can use it as a forward base to continue raiding operations. I don't think the expedition is planning on moving its main throng anytime soon unless it has good reason."
"So then we can assume that tens of thousands are captive to the tender mercies of this…what was her name?"
"Lilaeth."
"...the same Lilaeth who leads a personal vendetta against all elves from Ulthuan?"
"The very one."
"I…see." Simmire had heard of the Dark Elf Sorceress and the vengeful and spiteful outlook she had on her island cousins. Looking back on it, now she realized that it was truly a fortuitous decision to feed that Damsel to Grom. If she had been captured by Syrne here and then given to Lilaeth…the tortures she would have suffered would have made any hardship she had suffered up until now a minor inconvenience. In fact, as she turned to the elven members of her gilded circle and noticed the still, pale, and, in some cases, petrified faces they had, it seemed that their line of thinking wasn't too far from hers.
Of all the elves to come to the Old World. Why did it have to be her? She may not have been a noble elf, but all elves knew of the most infamous of their kind that had an ax to grind against them as if they were a Dawi grudgebearer. Though it was centuries ago, the memories were still fresh when that sorceress led a deep and painstaking raid into Ulthuan territory, only barely being repelled and earning the Witch King's disfavor as a reward for her efforts, demanding her to never fail him again.
"Why is she here?" Simmire nearly growled, a tinge of desperation in her voice. "Why has she come here of all places? Why is she lingering when she has gotten more than her fair share of pounds of flesh?"
"She had a deal with some Bretonnian nobles." Syrne admitted, finding no reason to lie at this point. "She gave them gold and silver for the peasants to be shipped to them, and she had cheap labor to fuel her dark rituals and her war machine. A war machine she was hoping to use to conduct another invasion into Ulthuan." She looked at the panicked expressions of the elven slaves, noting how fearful they seemed at the prospect, even if they weren't currently on Ulthuan itself. "Problem is that the slaves stopped coming. In fact, getting into contact with human nobles became harder. Lilaeth got impatient waiting for an answer and so decided to deal with the problem directly."
"And so here she is." Simmire swallowed.
"Yes…quite." Syrne repeated. She wished she could take pleasure in their anxiousness if her life wasn't currenlty in their hands as she spoke. "I…gave you everything that you asked for. Told you everything that I know."
"Everything that I want to know for now." Simmire bit back, trying to keep her emotions in check and finding that increasingly hard to do. "But, you'll be pleased to know that many of your still-breathing subordinates told me similar stories that you have just relayed to us…for that, you should be grateful to know that you won't be simply tossed into the pot like so many goblins would love nothing more than to do." Syrne then flinches as Simmire pulls out an object, and for a moment, the dark elf thinks it's something mean to strike her. Yet when she cringes and opens her eyes, she sees a bronze collar on the ground, confusing her.
A leveled yet calculating glare is seated on her face when she looks up. "We have a system here. A system you could find yourself climbing the ranks up should you continue to prove useful. You've noticed the cloth collars around here and how well they're treated. Prove yourself untrustworthy and less than useful, and I'll have that bronze collar at your feet taken before you have a moment to complain about your circumstances."
Syrne slowly grabbed the collar, looking at it with growing curiosity. On hand, she wanted to throw back at the elven bitch for daring to disrespect her so, but her parents did not raise a fool. There was clearly more at play given this Gilded circle before her and how they all wore silver collars, with Simmire wearing a golden one.
Once again, her self-preservation kicked in, and she did as she was evidently bid, replacing the cloth collar around her neck with the bronze one. Before she could speak, Simmire was already turning to speak to another of her kind. "Fanriel? I heard you needed a bronze collar to oversee some sewers, did you not? Would dear Syrne here be suitable?"
The still-faced and quiet member of the Gilded Collars stared unnervingly at the former Dreadlord. Her elven ears twitched, and her eyes narrowed even more, if that were even possible for her. "I do. Her help would…appreciated." The soft-spoken elf turned to one of the goblin guards. "If one of you could escort her to where the sewers are? It would be deeply appreciated."
The goblins looked at one another and then did a quick game of rock paper scissors to settle the issue. The goblin on the right cackled as he won the game, while the one on the left looked as though he wanted to spit before ultimately rolling his eyes and head. "Awright, come wit' me ya pale, knife ear git! Time is a wastin'!" Syrne barely had time to react when she was pulled to her feet and yanked toward the exit of the meeting area and toward where the rest of the slaves were. She barely had enough time to glance back at the cool looks at the other Guilded Circle. All four members were stoic, if not chilly, toward the dark elf as she eventually was guided out of their sight.
When the dark elf was guided, Simmire turned to the last goblin guard with a steady glare. "Leave us."
The goblin grumbled but ultimately did as he was, stomping away and actually looking relieved he didn't have to suffer the presence of the highest-ranking slaves.
Confident that they were as alone as they were going to be, Bjorghild broke the silence first, snorting in annoyance. "Surprised ya three didn't just gut her on the spot with how ye all were lookin' at her." She shrugged uncaringly, leaning on their meeting table. "Not that I would get it. She's just a bit paler than you lot."
"You're right. You don't get it, Borjghild." Ellania rebuked sharply, narrowing her eyes and folding her arms. "You weren't there when our pale cousins attacked our homes. When they betrayed their oaths to serve the rightful Phoenix King. When they damage-" The High Elf huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose before calming herself. "Simmire. Sparing that…that traitor-kin is one thing, but to make her a bronze collar…"
"I don't like it myself." Fanriel admitted, tucking a stray brown bit of hair behind her pointed ear, as cool as a cucumber as always. "But I understand it. It will do us good to keep tabs on someone who has been so high in Nagarothi society. Especially someone who knows so much on the rest of our cousins who find themselves on the coastline."
"Simmire…" Ellania began with a bout of trepidation. "Please tell me that you're not considering her giving her a silver collar. I beg of you-
"I could tell you that." Simmire admitted. "But, I don't see how lying to you would do you much good."
"I don't see how her breathing longer than necessary will do us much good either!"
Fanriel blinked slowly, regarding the outburst with casual annoyance. "It's regrettable, but I can see the method to the madness."
"Then please explain it to me before I succumb to the madness. Please! To trust one of our traitor kin…I would take another human joining our Gilded Circle to one of them!"
She then twisted her head toward Bjorghild. "...No offense."
"Some taken."
Fanriel's finger tapped the table impatiently as she raised an eyebrow. "Conflict with the traitors based on the coast of Southern Brettonia is inevitable. It's not a threat we can ignore, and more importantly, it's not a threat that Grom will ignore. We couldn't dissuade him if we tried, and even if we did, it wouldn't be to our advantage. Especially considering the other hostile forces in Bretonnia, we would have to confront if we avoided them."
"And how does keeping the dreadlord, bitch help us?" Bjorghild asked crassly, leaning lazily on the table.
"It helps us because she could have a hand in controlling any other druchii Grom captures. If we're to succeed in keeping the tribe together to further our interests, expansion of our slave numbers is inevitable. What's also inevitable is that many of those numbers will be druchii, and it's in our cousins' nature to be cunning and untrustworthy and plot to undermine others above them to satisfy their naked ambitions. If we uplift one of them and make sure to keep her on a tight leash…"
Ellania didn't say much of anything else but hardly looked satisfied. She clearly understood the reasoning, but the risks had also been laid out bare. And what massive risks they were, especially to the three elves who truly understood the nature of their traitor-kin.
It was why it was unsurprising that Bjorghild shrugged and just spat on the ground. "If they turn out to be traitorous shits, then just gut em' and send a message. It's what we did to the other of your kind that didn't play ball, right?"
Fanriel actually hesitated on that. "...that was…different."
"Different how?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"Tch. Heard that before."
Simmire had been content to allow Fanriel to explain this all for her while allowing the Golden-collared elf to observe the reactions of her fellow Gilded Collar members. Ellania's reaction had been predictable, and thankfully, Bjorghilde's reaction was better than she anticipated. Dare she say, that the Norscan's cavalier attitude with gutting traitors may be useful when the time comes. It was all relievin,g considering her own conflicting thoughts. If Grom was indeed successful in his battles against the druchii then having more of them in their ranks was indeed inevitable. And if this, Syrne proved to be a modicum amount of trustworthy and capable.
Truthfull,y she was less worried about controlling any future Druchii slaves and more concerned about the mental state of the Warboss steering the ship. Even after the battle was over, his mental state continued to be…unpredictable, though not entirely terrible.
After the battle, Grom had been uncharacteristically merciful to his dark elves foes. He'd only put a few of their kind into the pot, and those were druchii that were already dead or dying and made sure that the rest had been treated for wounds after being promptly pressed into the slave ranks, of course. He'd even made sure to check on the condition of his boyz after the battle, and while that may be due to how scarce his numbers were compared to previous times, it was still odd.
Simmire wasn't a fool. She knew that damsel she had him swallow had something to do with that, but it was just a wonder of how many more changes this Warboss would undergo especially since it was clear that Yasmine was still alive within Grom's gut.
It might do her some good to stay closer to the side of his Immensity to see these changes firsthand so she can properly react to them…at least for now.
…
A/N:
And so we get a bit of a breather before the next set of big battles take place that will ultimately decide the fate of Bretonnia on two different areas for vastly different reasons. I was surprised by how easy it was for me to write this chapter, because it flowed so well for me this time around. I didn't even intend to include a chapter about Grom's Warband but, I felt like it fit considering what's going to be happening soon.
Besides those stray thoughts going on in my mind, I've been playing a lot of Marvel Rivals recently, and I have to say it puts Overwatch to shame, especially considering how much I played the first Overwatch and how badly Blizzard bungled the Second Overwatch Release. It just shows me that people aren't necessarily sick of a specific type of genre, they just want a special and well done version of it. Anyways that was just me relaying what's going on with me lately.
Besides that please, leave your reviews and thoughts on this chapter as usual! What do you think of the collaboration between Cassyon and Lyle? Do you think they'll succeed? That they're partnership will last? That Grom the Krumpin' Paunch will be able to defeat the Dark Elves? Don't be afraid to tell me whatever you feel like saying, especially if it's in depth.