Quick Note: Eight Peaks Royale was uploaded a few days ago. Check it out now on my profile if you have the Chance!

A/R:

Darkwarrior41: Thanks for the heads up, I'll check it out. I'll let you know if we can work something out.

Kracknon: Lol, I appreciate the viciousness you got there, especially since it's understandable. And yeah elves in general make it very hard to like them when so many have their noses up their own taints, and Simmire doesn't make that any easier.

Haldir639: That proto-drucci analysis is actually more accurate than I even originally considered, but you described it quite well all the same. Granted Simmire isn't quite as sweaty and edgy as your average Druchii but the loose morals are for closer than many would care to admit. Very well thought out on your part.

Women ruiz: I'd say he's going more down the Elspeth route given his American patriotism shining through with the use of guns. But, that isn't to say that something couldn't convince him to be more lichy.

Cellphius: If he learns who really has Yasmine he most definitely would. The only problem is, that he and his army weren't the ones who took the troll meat. You'll learn more on that the next chapter.

Aymen El Kadouri: I salute you soldier. Job well done.

Seran58: Understandable, have a nice day.

Rangda: Your village description is actually more on point than you think, especially since Simmire had little chance to get upward mobility due to her lack of noble bearing. I'm incredibly impressed you came up with that analogy! As for the corpses, it's more realistic that the Barrow Legion will harvest there body parts to improve upon the corpses that they already have, since they need a more consistent gold flow to buy the material they need to maintain a bigger army. Something that they'll be fixing very soon in the coming chapters. And as for the land reforms, that's something that is going to be addressed either next chapter or the chapter afterwards, so stay tuned. I'm loving the in-depth thought here.

dadg12346: Heh, I was wondering if anyone remembered what happened the last time Lyle held a party. Glad to see someone understand the perils that come with this move. Balthazar's drip is incomparable, but not quite what they'll go for. You'll be seeing how in the future.

rc48177: That's something I noticed too, from all the books I've read in the Warhammer universe. Rarely any of them have had the common kind of elf that don't come from a noble line that focuses on them. Even a personal favorite of mine like Malus Darkblade had some noble lineage, even if his own father hated and tried to kill him on numerous occasions. I'm glad that you think I was able to do something like this justice.

Focus of the Future: I'm glad that you could see it from another perspective. Simmire isn't a good person by any means, but it's not that she's going out of her way to be cruel for the sake of being cruel. This was just a better alternative to dying from performing back-breaking labor or getting tossed into Grom's pot. The fact that she's managed to negotiate herself into a position of power where she has some influence over other goblins in fact is moreso a cherry on top for her…and more so if certain things go her way.

And yes Nalga is indeed, Best Girl. After all, how many girls can you say would keep their boy-toy from falling down, lol.

Zerkil: I nearly spit out my coffee at the idea of Nalga forcibly gluing a beard to Lyle's face. Thanks for that. ;). I wouldn't go as far as to say Simmire is a sociopath, but she definitely has the tendencies of one. She's moreso a survivor whose willing to whatever it takes to get ahead, despite her situation, but I don't blame you for thinking she is one. As for your troll meat theory it's actually very interesting, except for the fact that I can tell you that neither looters nor even Lyle has possession of it. You'll learn who in the coming chapters, but it's going to be quite an important mcguffin going forward, believe that.

Jajo Camello: Your outlook on Simmire is actually quite unique. And while you're definitely correct to be interested in seeing how she can keep this ship together here's something else to consider. Is there an opportunity for her to improve her position with Grom incapacitated and if so what can she gain out of it?

Uros Osium: Thanks for the seal of approval. I'm glad that I could concoct an elven character with great interest behind her! And as for the vote, don't worry about it man! Just be sure to leave a review in the story since the first chapter is up now!

"It stretches?" Lyle remarked plainly as he continued to lay in bed, feeling much better after yesterday but not good enough to go walking around without a cane yet. "The material stretching is that big of a deal?"

Deni's left eye twitched, annoyed at not just having to wait a day but four days for him to be in any condition to speak with her again. She would have forced the issue if Nalga and Sybille hadn't dissuaded her. And even then, she was all too willing to voice her impatience until Krell stepped out of the room, blue ax and all, asking what the uptake in volume was about. It didn't help the vampire's nerves that the hulking Undead Wight was standing beside his bed even now, glowing blue eyes pointedly faced in her direction and, to a lesser degree, Rucnic, who looked as though he wanted to be anywhere but there.

And if Lyle were being honest, he would instead be focused on other topics that should be taking precedence right now. Such as focusing on the coming PR campaign he was about to embark upon in the form of the party he had been prepping. He had food to make sure that Emmerich and Wendel weren't screwing up, messages that he had to oversee, construction to double-check, as well as a sense of irritation that had been building in the Lichemaster's bones at being bed-ridden for the past few days.

Sadly, this couldn't wait, and Lyle Spoletta didn't want to be accused of keeping a lady waiting, even if her skin was as pale as porcelain, as he voiced her complaints. "Their silk stretches when there should be little to no give. The material and clothing that we have made from it have done the opposite. It is subpar. Sub-standard. Beneath expectations-

"Oh, shove off, ya dead git!" Rucnic grumbled, scratching his wrinkly nose and rolling his eyes. "We gave ya what ya wanted, and ya got what ya wanted, so quit your wingin' and-

"What WE wanted was a product and material that met the expectations that could rival those whores in the East. To undercut the market they had in the silk industry, all you've done is make this venture pointless and fruitless."

"And dat's moi problem how?" Rucnic spat. "Ya wanted spida' silk and ya got spida' silk and Oi'm tired o' hearin' your gripin' to last me two lifetimes!"

"Hm. Perhaps you are right." Deni began scathingly with an imperious look. "Perhaps I was a fool to believe that anything of use could be scrounged up from creatures that know only how to despoil and destroy everything in their path.

"Ooooooh, loike, bein' able ta drink blood is any betta'! Least we're honest about our ways!"

Lyle's eyes shifted over to Krell, who in turn shifted those glowing blue eyes of his as if asking, 'May I silence them personally?' And though that was tempting, the Lichemaster wasn't so willing to throw away potential allies as much as they DID bicker at one another or at him in this case.

"Mind if I see it?" Lyle asked, wanting to get to the heart of the matter since he only had so much in his day.

"Excuse me?" Deni replied.

"Do you have some material? The one you're complaining about, I'd like ta see it for myself."

"And what could you see that I cannot? Are you questioning my ability to discern the most extraordinary material from the lowest of the l-

"Deni, just show some of the damned cloth that you're bitchin' about so we can move on with our day? I'm on a tight schedule, and I'd rather not spend it watching you two go back and forth here."

Tightening her face into an unintentional pout while flexing her fingers as if she was going to try and scratch his face off, Deni decided to instead use her other hand to reach within her petticoat and ruthlessly yank out a piece of dark black material that was no bigger than the size of a hand and tossed it to Lyle as if it were a piece of trash that she wanted nothing to do with. As Lyle grasped it and felt it in his hand, he couldn't help but notice how familiar it felt. Not through something he wore but something his sisters would wear.

"Feel how it is coarser than how silk must be? How it stretches when pulled?" It was impossible to miss for Lyle as Deni ran down the clothes as if they were made of cockroach guts. "How am I to make flowing robes and dresses that speak of elegance and opulence with something like this?"

Rucnic folded his arms, tapping his foot on the ground. "Oi'd rather be shovelin' squig shite than be here."

The only thing that stopped Deni from tearing out the throat of the goblin was her pride in her womanly demeanor and that she wasn't sure if Krell would return the favor to her even if such violence wasn't directed toward his ward.

Before she could further consider unleashing the pent-up frustration at the idea of becoming a laughingstock back at her sister's coven, Lyle suddenly handed it back to her. "Make more of this, but turn it into a pair of pants for women like you."

Thrown for a loop, Deni had to take a moment to gather herself by pulling out her fan and using it to put some wind on her dead skin. "Pardon?"

"You heard what I said." Lyle added with a smile that bespoke one who knew more than her. It both frustrated and sparked a beat of hope within her. "Make some pants out of it for a strappin' woman like yourself, and then try it on. Once you put it on, you'll realize you're sitting on a goldmine here."

The Lahmian flickered her eyes to the necromancer and the material he held, warily grabbing it and scrutinizing it once more, trying to see what he noticed about this piece of cloth she hadn't thought of before. Could he have noticed something? Non. Impossible. Surely not. Lyle had proven himself a capable leader but a man of fashion? One that rivaled herself and her sisters? He certainly didn't dress the part himself, so what would he know?

"If this is a jest on your part-

"If you don't like the idea, pack up your bags and go home." The necromancer shrugged. "Just trust me, you'll be surprised by how well this turns out. Also, when you realize how much money you can get together, ya mind comin' back ta visit me real quick? I've got some outfit ideas I wanna run by you to see if you and your ladies can create some uniforms for myself and the rest of the necromancers. As I mentioned before, they're in serious need of a glow-up."

"Hmph! You speak as if I'll be impressed by making pants out of…of Zis!" The woman huffed, her accent bleeding through her with her haughtiness. "If you waste my time-

"Then you can go. No skin off either of our bones, don't you think?"

That was a lose-lose situation for the vampire. Because she knew full well that if she came back to her sisters empty-handed without what they had initially desired, then it would look bad to prospective and future clients and to Deni toward her fellow sisters as well. She wouldn't be kicked out, but her standing within the sisterhood would no doubt take a hit. And if that happened…

Well, she might as well walk to Sylvania with her tail between her legs in hopes of avoiding the scorn of her sisters. Not wanting to give the Lichemaster any other satisfaction, she raised her chin high and walked out with as much dignity as possible before returning to Rucnic. "I'll need more of your silk now…goblin."

"Only if ya quit howndin' me ya damned pale-skin."

Leaving the room without such a promise, Deni left the scene with Rucnic grumbling under his breath and leaving a short while after, looking ready to impale someone.

"You should have let me butcher the lot of them." Krell mentioned, shaking his skeletal head. "It would spare you precious time that could be focused on butchering your enemies."

"Well, killing your allies can be pretty counterproductive for that, Krell."

"Bah. Kemmler did not need allies. At least not of that kind. He needed only servants, both living and dead."

"Yeah, and how's that goin' for him?"

"Hm. Touche."

It wasn't lost on anyone how Krell hadn't disappeared after being summoned in the last battle, even after Lyle had become terribly incapacitated from the Hags-Bane he'd suffered. Sybille and Fredericka chalked it up to him becoming more skilled and attuned with his magic, which, to be fair, wasn't technically incorrect. And personally, Lyle didn't mind having the big hulking skeleton around, even with there being no immediate battle. If there was anything he learned from the aftermath of that castle defense, he desperately needed better protection. Even if you were to discount that assassination attempt, the close calls he had with those warlords earlier were enough to give him a healthy amount of PTSD if he knew how lucky he was.

The last thing he needed right now was more close calls to shave more years off his lifespan.

Returning to the topic, however, Deni and Rucnic no longer aired their grievances, which gave them space to deal with other problems. Namely, an aforementioned problem that could contribute to his possible PTSD. "Say, Krell. I'd heard that you and Kemmler used to raid the place where the hippy elves live… what's it cal-

"Athel Loren. Wretched place."

"Hey man, you don't gotta convince me. The fact that these guys can't even face me man to man and instead have to keep firin' arrows at me like a couple of Vigglacio's tells me everythin' I need ta know."

"Most wise you are to notice the core trait of the knife ears that dwell within the forest master." The Wight commented with disdain. "They do not dare to give pitched battle like true warriors and instead stick to their trees and foliage, striking where you least expect it. Whether it be arrows, traps, spears, or even the very forest spirits themselves, you'll find no sanctuary in that pile of kindling, which is all it's good for."

"Wait…forest spirits? Don't you tell me those damned trees are alive too?"

"I COULD tell you that, Master. Though I believe you'd be disappointed with the reality if you were to march there and see for yourself. It would be hilarious, though."

That right there was a game-changer. Maybe it wasn't just arrogance or stupidity that got the elves to try and not hide that they tried assassinating him. Perhaps it was because they believed he couldn't do anything…and the worrying part was that he was starting to see why.

"How exactly do these forest spirits…act? What do they do? Are they like ghosts or what?"

The Wight shrugged, causing his armor to clink together. "I don't know its specifics. Never cared to. All I know and have seen is that they take over trees, plants, multiple foliage parts, or sometimes different parts of trees fusing together. It matters not in the end because the result is always the same. An enraged spirit that has more strength than a plant like them should, taking their wrath out on you for stepping on their turf." A rumbling chuckle went through his bone cage. "And I enjoyed every second of that fury. It always made for a great fight, even if it's slightly disappointing to not see blood when I cut those damned trees to size."

"So they can be killed?"

"Not easily."

"Shit." A bunch of pissed-off, arrogant, higher-than-thou hippies, Lyle could handle. An army of pissed-off trees with 'Get off my lawn' energy was a different monster altogether. And if these trees were anything like the ones from Lord of the Rings, then Lyle's confidence was taking irreparable damage. "Please tell me they got any weaknesses."

"They burn as well as any bit of kindling. Kemmler was fond of using balefire to keep those walking branches at bay. Always fun to watch those spirits scream."

That made perfect sense to Lyle, but to him, that was just a temporary solution. Something told him that if someone really wanted to, they could have tried burning the surrounding forest and still not have succeeded in their ultimate goal. "Any other weakness? Anything that can give us an edge? I'm open to solutions here because these knife-eared bastards, as you called them, seem pretty dead-set on making me past tense."

"Hm. There is one solution. Something that Kemmler has actually written notes about that I couldn't be bothered to read through myself."

"That being…?"

"Burn the Oak of Ages."

"Oak of Ages?"

"Some giant tree the knife ears worship or something to that degree. Again, I couldn't bring myself to care enough since it wasn't something that could give me a proper fight, but Kemmler once thought of incinerating that tree in some petty revenge for his failed attack on Athel Loren itself years ago."

"And if it did burn down? What would happen?"

"I believe the tree spirits would weaken and possibly the elves themselves. It could make them vulnerable." The Wight chuckled darkly, tightening the grip on its ax. "Terribly vulnerable."

"Oh yeah?" Lyle asked with a sense of rising hope. "And how easily would I be able to read this Oak?"

"Not easily. It's right in the middle of the Athel Loren."

"Why'd you have to get my hopes like that?" Lyle whined, falling back into his bed and staring in frustration at the ceiling. "I mean, damn, you had me thinking I could actually smack those bastards around."

The Wight grunted, seemingly uncaring about how inconvenienced his new MasterMaster felt at that moment.

Feeling that he wouldn't get anything else valuable from his Wight, Lyle closed his eyes and focused on more important matters in his control. After all, even if he entertained the widely appealing goal of putting a whooping on his eco-terrorist neighbors, he had to cede that there wasn't much that could be done about them right now. They were nestled away in their magical forest, and he had to accept that there were other fish to fry.

With a King who was only momentarily distracted, he needed to prioritize appeasing the masses as much as possible while rebuilding his power base. It was another one of those moments where the weight of responsibility weighed heavily on his brow.

But he sucked it up. He had to do so with so many counting on him.

He could only hope that everyone else would follow him on the path to success.

"But, there is the Wild hunt you should be wary of."

Lyle jerked his head back to stationary Wight, looking at him perplexed. "Excuse me?"

"The Wild Hunt Master. If there was ever a thing to fear when it comes to those tree-hugging knife ears, the Wild Hunt would be one of the few things about them to fear. Even Master Kemmler was smart enough to strike during the winter where there would be no chance of running into it."

"The hell does winter have to do with this hunt?"

The low chuckle that came out of the Undead Cmampion's visage boded ill for the coming explanation, and unless Lyle was starting to lose it, he was beginning to wonder if Krell was bathing in his unease. "The Wild Hunt is an extraordinary time of the year for the Knife Ears. It's one of the few times they can gather the stones to venture from their fairy-filled forest and face their enemies head-on with the boldest and most bloodthirsty of their kind. I know this because I hoped Kemmler would be bold enough to face such enemies so I could wet my blade with their blood, but his cowardice won the day."

"...okay? And why do they wait for this special time?"

"It is summer that they wait for. And it is summer in which their King, Orion, is reborn from within their forest. And it is with their King that he sounds his warhorn, sending throngs of wood elves, Wild Riders, and worshippers of their God Kournos that they hunt for every enemy they deem worth their time." Lyle was sure that if Krell had the facial muscles, they would be giving a bloody smile right now. "And I await the day that they come for you, Master. Think of the carnage. The blood that we can paint the walls of this castle or the grass fields for when they arrive.

"...remind me, what season is it?"

Again came the laughs that sounded like grating echoes from a decrepit cavern. "We're nearing the end of Spring Master. You should pay better attention to these things! After all, what will your precious peasants wonder if you don't know when their harvest has arrived? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"Dammit, Ham! Slow your arse down!" Jori barked out, sitting in a wagon with the two other musketeer volunteers who had gone with them on this venture. "You're gonna get us tilted over ya damned-

"Oi, pipe down back there!" Ham shouted, looking uncomfortable on his horse as it continued to pull the wagon. "Don't know if ya noticed or not, but ridin' these things ain't like farmin' or slingin' cow shite, Jori!"

The other peasant male in the wagon, Maurice, a deeply tan-skinned peasant from long days out in the sun, looked nervously toward Jori. "Should…should we not have someone else ride the horse?"

The balding peasant frowned, wondering if any of them could do better than Ham, and finding the answer sounded like a danger and a risk. The problem was that with them all being peasants, they had minimal experience when it came to riding horses and any form of livestock. Ham was the only one with expertise since Jori and Maurice had no riding skills, and the third wagon occupant was too busy snoozing to seemingly care about such things. A woman with thin dark hair who looked as though she had drool coming out of the corner of her mouth.

Jori would never understand how anyone could sleep through such a dreadful and rickety ride, but if learning how to ride in the future would solve that, then he would do whatever he could to take lessons if Lord Lyle permitted it. Granted, this wouldn't be a problem since Eudon was old enough to learn-

The bald peasant sighed only to glare as the wagon rolled over a rock, making another jolting shake that elicited a withering look to the back of Ham's head. The look faded in seconds as he reflected on Eudon and the decision he and Jori had yet to make. They hadn't forgotten Lord Lyle's offer of possibly resurrecting their oldest and arguably wisest friend. Sure, he was a crotchety old shit, but just thinking that made Jori feel the worst kind of guilt about the end he had suffered.

Should they bring him back? Would it be fair to tear him away from the Lady's embrace to put him back in his corpse? Sure, Ave had been brought back, but Jori and Ham didn't need to converse with one another about how she hadn't been the same. Could the same thing be said about Eudoon? Would he want to be back?

Just as he had before, the peasant threw that idea into the back of his mind, deciding to focus on the here and now, especially as they mercifully came to a stop just outside the village in question. "Made it…I think anyway. Map I got could be better, least in my opinion."

"Well if it is or isn't, I don't give a shite. Gettin' out either way." Jori huffed, hopping out of the wagon and stretching out his tailbone, wincing at the soreness he had garnered from the ride. Maurice was quick to follow behind, breathing out a tired sigh of relief at being on his own two feet while the woman continued to snooze inside the cart, looking utterly uninterested in her world until Jori yanked her hair, causing her to snort awake and look around with tired tears in her eyes. "Up and at it, woman! Lord Lyle's expectin' results, and I ain't keen on disappointin' him. Move it!"

The dark-haired woman, Liane, mumbled to herself and wiped her eyes, lazily rolling off the cart and lackadaisically following after the peasants with sagging her shoulders and slow steps, carrying a folder of parchments under her arm.

Jori had half a mind to give her a mouthful for that attitude but just shook his head and stalked off toward the village, which was starting to have a growing crowd upon their sudden arrival. That was all well and good for Jori, but he made sure to keep his musket on hand just in case like the rest of the compatriots he had come with, just to make sure nothing happened.

After all, he knew how his fellow peasants were, and the last thing he wanted was to get swarmed by some stupid superstitions.

As they got closer and closer to the crowd, Ham immediately ran back to Jori, practically bouncing in excitement. "Jori! Can I do the honors?"

"Eat shit."

"Oh, come on, now! Why not?"

"You'll say some stupid shite, and you'll get us burned at the stake."

"Oh, n' you think you can do betta'? They hear ya speak, you'll run out all of the good-lookin' ladies that can be wooed!"

"We're here to serve Lord Lyle's will, not to lay with the locals!"

"Can't we do both?"

Gods, he's such a child. "Later. Some other village-look this is one of the father villages in all of Bastonne, you damned taint-licker! We don't have time to waste!"

"So after my rousing speech, then? Sounds good to me!"

Jori wanted to blow a gasket, only for Maurice to place a hand on his shoulder and smile sadly. "Let's just get on with it, Jori. The longer we argue, the more time we'll wind up wastin'."

Jori pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, looking as Ham strode toward the now sizeable crowd that was looking at them warily. Jori cursed the way Ham had ridden that horse and cart here, for the noise it made HAD to have gotten their attention. He knew they would have had to speak to the crowd one way or another, but the peasant-turned-musketeer would have preferred to do so on their own terms.

Sadly with now what was becoming hundreds of peasants tentatively gathering at the front of the village, Ham took the time to make sure there were a decent amount of yards between himself and the people before him before he sucked some air into his lungs and proudly proclaimed the message that they had been beckoned to carry out. "Greetings, my fellow peasants! My name is Ham, and I have been appointed as the Harold of your new Lord or er…Duke…Kin-" He then turned to Ham. "Oi…Ham, what is the fancy title that Lord Lyle ha-

"Just call em' Lord, ya daft fool!" Jori whispered harshly. "Focus on the speech, nobody here is gonna give a shite about specifics!"

"Lord Lyle, as you probably have or maybe haven't heard, is now your new liege lord! Duke Bohemond of Bastonne has been ousted and now begins a new age-

"Bohemond is dead?" One peasant asked an older peasant woman who looked utterly stunned.

"Heard from the trader that he was fightin' the undead…the undead really killed Lord Bohemond?"

"Oh, by the Lady, it's true we're all doom-

"Now, now, now, let us not jump to conclusions!" Ham said quickly, waving his arms to try and reign in the crowd. "L-lord Bohemond was defeated in battle, it's true, but by the mercy of your new Lord Lyle Spoletta, he has not only spared the former Duke's life but has released him to the soon-to-be former King Louen Leoncur! And in his great compassion and mercy, he has decided to not only spare you, his new subjects, but to-

"It can't be! My grandfather fought in the last incursion that Mousillon made years ago, and he had to personally cut off his own brother's head after he'd been turned into a zombie!" The older mustache peasant who said this suddenly came to a realization, glaring hard at the peasants. "Say…you serve these necromancers? You serve Mousillon!?"

"Th-the Barrow Legion, actually! Nothing to do with Mousillon, absolutely nothing to do with them! Nothing at all!" Ham corrected rapidly, realizing he was losing the crowd. "A-after all, no one is as merciful as Lord Lyle is! I n' all me mates here got saved b-

"They're bloody heretics! All o' them turned away from the Lady!" An older wizened old lady who had the notable deformity of having two noses shouted at them, raising an arm that had no hand on it. "Even Shallya wouldn't dare to share them mercy!"

Grumbles began to spread like a virus throughout the crowd, with jeers and rude gestures being found aplenty and even young children joining. Boos could be heard, and some dared to step forward with undisguised threats that made Ham take a step back and consider unstrapping his rifle.

Jori was already one step ahead, stepping just behind Ham. Cursing internally as he knew exactly why this would be so difficult. He'd heard within his village and the stray passerby or trader that would come by their village that Bastonnians like themselves were often the most pious and proud within all of Bretonnia. Indeed with a trait like that, it was a source of pride to look back on when you had nothing else besides the literal shit that you farmed for your liege lord.

Problem was that it made the people of these lands stubborn with that sense of pride and piety, and though he, the people of Riffen, and other villages had learned of the ill-begotten deeds that had happened under Lord Bohemond's rule, the different villages that were farther out had yet to hear of it, and he doubted they would believe the truth outright. After all, many practically worshipped Bohemond nearly as much as they did the Lady with how physically he went out and dealt with threats to his Dukedom. He may have been a lousy ruler, but nobody could question his honor, chivalry, bravery, and dedication to the Lady.

This is why he stepped in with what he believed Ham should have led in with. "And Lord Lyle is charitable in that he has decided to give you all that he feels you deserve! Bountiful food and harvests for you all to enjoy!"

The veracity of the crowd suddenly dipped, many doing double takes or blinking as if to make sure they had heard. Jori smirked, knowing he had them hooked, with the same old woman from before chewing on that announcement, only to go back and glare fiercely. "Lies! You offer nothing but a shadow from the Lady's light! The protection that Duke Bohemond has granted us th-

While the crowd had been ranting and raving, Liane and Maurice had gone to the front of the cart. They pulled back the cover that had been concealing and partially holding in the olive branch that Tobias had afforded them, mentioning how it would make visiting villages and cities easier. A haul of the finest foods from Castle Bastonne, which Lord Lyle was more than willing to share, especially since most of his army didn't run its stomach.

Even the crotchety old woman's eyes had gone wide with the vast array of succor that could be seen from the wagon. Wheels of cheese, barrels of wine, whole hogs salted and cooked, hunks of beef, and baskets of vegetables that were now most definitely not going to go to waste with the way the peasants stared at them.

The bald musketeer could practically see the masses drool at what was before them, with many becoming deathly quiet at what was before them and deciding to strike while the iron was hot Jori pressed forward. "As my dear fellow musketeer, Ham here was mentioning. Lord Lyle is a merciful lord! And he not only wants to spare you but to make sure that you're well-fed and well-cared for! For he not only cares for those of us who were born and grew up in these here hamlets! He has no noble blood, the same as us. And he has no desire to see anyone grow hungry!" Emphasizing this point, Jori grabs a giant wheel of cheese and holds it up. "All ye gotta do is hear us out and listen to what he wants you all to know! You all can do that much, can you?"

The crowd stared hungrily at the cart, their sense of hunger overriding their sense of piety and pride. It was a feeling that Jori and the others knew all too well, especially since this was a Bastonnian village like his former one, the food variety here had to be limited, and that wasn't even speaking to the amount of food they would get. If their wafer-thin bodies were anything to buy, it couldn't have been a lot, and it was something they had to be mulling on as well.

There was some hesitation at first, but eventually, just as Jori thought they would. When a trickle of people came to accept the food-laden olive branch and the others saw that their fellow peasants weren't spontaneously combusting or turning into undead from eating the food before them, the trickle became a wave. Wave after wave of peasants were now suddenly fighting to get in line for the food offered before them, with Maurice and Liane having to wave their rifles around and club a few hands and heads to prevent any fights from breaking out. But, ultimately, it doesn't take long before the masses are now munching and sharing food with their families and friends. Their sour demeanors are now forgotten, and food and wine are being put into their bellies.

Jori smirked at the younger Ham. "Told ya on the way here ya shoulda let in with the food."

"I was gettin' there!" Ham whined petulantly. "Was gonna get there, the lot just got impatient is all."

Jori shook his head, deciding to spare the young lad's pride from needling into him further, letting the people of this village feast a bit longer before they continued. After all, why ruin a good thing? After all, it was hard not to relate to the ravenous hunger that had overtaken his fellow Bostonians.

In the end, as he and his fellow musketeers watched his fellow peasants gorge themselves on legs of Ham, slices of cheese, and more, it indeed showed how people ultimately ran on their stomachs…and wine in a Brettish peasant's case as he saw people drinking pints of wine that they could get from the barrels they had brought with them.

Despite this, however, one peasant who oddly enough didn't look relatively as thin or haggard as the rest of the lot was walking toward them with a stricken and stone-faced expression on their face. Ham seemed to have noticed him as he kept a hand on his musket, though in the back of his mind, Jori feared that many of his own people wouldn't know how the devices would work and, therefore, wouldn't see them as a threat. Truthfully, he could hardly blame them since the black powder weapon seemed so alien to him when he first used it, but he was relieved when the peasant raised his hands.

"Be at ease. I come in peace." He seemed to have long dark hair that was haggard as it was loose, with pale skin that had no right to be that pale. The only other peasant he had seen with skin that pale was Rudy before he got injured, and that was because most peasants from Artois had pale skin from working in the shade of their dense forests. What he said next only made the warning bells in his head go off faster. "I appreciate the goodwill you're bringing here, but you must leave. Quickly."

"Oh, do we now?" Ham snarked, not letting go of his musket, keeping his eye trained on this stranger. "Is that a threat now? Yo-

"There's a Bretonnian army headed toward this general direction as we speak; if you tarry any longer, you'll all be in grave danger."

The pale-skinned man said it low enough so that the peasants of this village would not hear his words, but the musketeers most certainly could as they felt themselves stop, looking around for the army in question and then each other.

Ham looked wildly at the pale-skinned man, the wind sucked out of him, as he stared at him with shock. "You…wh-who are-

"You don't need to know my name, but I'm with Bertrand's Brigands. I was sent here to see if this army was coming personally and report back to Bertrand himself. You being here will give the wrong kind of attention you're looking for, especially since I've heard rumors that the Fay Enchantress herself is with this force."

Maurice felt his mouth open like a gasping fish, and even Liane looked significantly paler at the news. Jori could only sharply inhale, sucking in air between his teeth while Ham sputtered, finding that words were failing him at the moment, his eyes bugging like a wild animal that had been cornered.

Eventually, Ham did find words, even if they had no courage behind them. "You're joking."

"I wish I was." The pale man responded, looking around himself as if trying to assess any coming threats. "Like I said. All o' you lot need to run while you still can and have as much distance between yourself and the Enchantress. Been hearin' she's been on the lookout for sympathiza's, and given how you all don't have the high Brettonian foppish accent to ya, you're all peasants, I take it?"

"And…if we are?" Maurice asked nervously.

"Then you should double the speed you should be fleeing with right now. Because there've rumors. Rumblings that the Enchantress ain't all that happy to see even more peasants turnin' to your Lord Lyle. The lucky ones I've heard are getting killed quickly. Others are…being made an example of."

"To peasants?" Liane questioned, speaking for the first time. It threw Jori off with how he hadn't heard her voice until now. "You've seen her kill peasants personally?"

"Not personally, but from trusted sources. Fellow Brigands, whom I consider brothers and sisters." The pale man replied resolutely. "You've already wasted enough time. Go. Go now and-

"Wait. What about all the people here?" Ham suddenly asked aloud, coming to a sudden realization. "Th-the people here! What're they going to do when the Enchantress comes? Most peasants like us don't see food like this in our entire lives unless we get scraps of a feast! What's the Enchantress going to say if she sees them eatin' this much?"

The rare bit of insight made a cold, coiling grip snake around the innards of Jori and everyone else as they suddenly realized how correct he was. Defying what seemed to be reality, the pale man suddenly went even further pale, realizing this himself and kicking himself for not seeing this sooner. He should have joined the crowd and stopped the musketeers from giving the food out in the first place. Maybe he could have convinced the rest of the peasants to rebuff the food, but that would have drawn unnecessary attention to himself. Plus, even if he didn't, the last thing he wanted was to incite a riot against the gun-toting musketeers and cause unnecessary deaths.

It seemed that the Gods were determined to have some sort of blood spilled today, and he had no illusions that they could convince the people to hide the food successfully or give it back. Not without starting a riot right then and there.

Until it all came back to the Brigand's original point. "Leave. Now. Whatever happens when the Enchantress comes, it'll be much worse if she catches you here with these people."

Ham, however, was hesitant. "But…but we can't just leave 'em' all! W-we gave em' this problem an-

"Don't be an idiot, boy!" Jori growled, already edging toward the cart, his body filled with the jitters at what could be coming. "We may have muskets, but that won't mean shite the moment hundreds of knights start comin' toward us! Get your arse movin' and move it now!"

Maurice was already getting back in the cart with Liane, not too far behind him, but his concern returned to the crowd of people still happily feasting on the gift they had received. "Surely we can tell them what is to come? Can we n-

"No time for that! Just get movin, I said!" Jori was practically barking out at this point, the sense of urgency now plain to see for the peasants looking at the givers with a sense of confusion. Some looked like they wanted to thank their generous donation, and some even began to speak out to them. Though hesitant, Ham started to head toward the horse when he froze.

He felt it before he heard it. The sound of the earth itself shook with what sounded to be hundreds upon hundreds of hoof steps striking the earth.

"MOVE YOUR ARSE HAM! SHITE!"

The urgent bellow from Jori, who screamed so hard you could see his arteries bulging from his neck and veins from his bald head. Ham didn't waste any more time, scrambling onto the horse and nearly falling off it while clambering on. His movements were so erratic that he nearly got the horse to buck him off.

To his fortune, he managed to prevent the embarrassing prospect of that happening and urged the steed to pull him and his cart full of fellow musketeers out of dodge, with people yelling and screaming in confusion back at the village. Many pointed and scrambled to get out of the way of the coming stampede that was making their way toward the village, the reflection of the sun visible from the armor of the knights that could now be seen.

"The hell is this!?" Jori shouted, fumbling with his rifle as he held on tight to the wagon. "What are the Goddess-rotting odds that those damned knights would come the same time we did!?" Maurice and Liane also readied their muskets, getting ready to fire on any knight that got close to the wagon.

The good news, at least from Ham's perspective, was that maybe, just maybe, they could outrun the knights. Perhaps if they lightened the load and removed any excess food in their cart, they could still get more speed from their horse. After all, those knights in their heavy armor couldn't keep up with them in the long term. Even the horses were armored for the Lady's sake, so surely they had to have an advantage he-

Jori felt his breath taken away when a stray root flew out from the ground and wrapped itself around his neck, yanking him off the horse, much to the screams that he could have sworn were from Jori and the others.

It was a bit hard to tell when the young peasant found himself unable to breathe with black spots that eventually overtook his vision.

Armand d'Aqutaine stood upon the ramparts of Castle Bordelaux, thrumming his fingers nervously upon the walls as he surveyed the grandest port in all of Bretonnia and, in his humble opinion, the Old World. Sure those Marienburgers liked to brag that they had the grandest tradeport, but his lineage had something to say about that.

It was easier to dwell on what he should be proud of instead of what he should be ashamed of. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath of the scent of home. The smell of salt wafting in from the sea. The smell of fish filled the markets below with many shouting prices and markups, given the tumultuous times of war and upheaval that his nation was enduring. He could even smell that tiny bit of smoke from further within his castle.

Anyone else would have only paid the barest of mind toward such a smell, shrugging it off to a fireplace being used. But, Armand. Never Armand. Especially not now.

His fingers drummed faster and faster on the ramparts, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow as he started to hear rushing footsteps behind him, making sure to keep a finger on the sword strapped to his hip. Though he was a grail knight, he couldn't help but feel nervous. Not at the idea of dying but at who else he would have to kill or punish for what was to come.

When he turned, his shoulders sagged in relief at the sight of his retainer. Who dabbed his brow from the soot and sweat that coated it, looking even more nervous and unnerved than he.

"It's done?" Armand queried.

"Turned to cinder. All of it."

"All of it?"

"All…that we know of. Our interrogators are still working through the dozens of conspirators in our dungeons."

"By the Goddess." The grail knight groaned, leaning entirely on the ramparts in frustration and annoyance.

"Be at peace, my Lord. We're on the homestretch, as they say." The steward intoned, trying to keep his own spirits up. "If we had discovered this later, after all the

"Then shame would be the least of our worries. If the King heard about this-

"Then he will have heard how you purged the reprobates for daring to dabble in the slavery that blossomed in Bastonne-

"-With paperwork that was signed in my name, something that many will try to take advantage o-We've spoken of this enough." Armand grunted, waving his hand as if trying to swipe away the issue. "What's done is done. I care not what happens to those who helped ship out the people we were sworn to protect to the Drucchi, I want nothing more than to wash my hands of this…this stain."

The retainer held his tongue for a moment before poking at the actual matter with a knife. "Will you…write to your brother Alberic? I know he's still in Lustria during the Errantry War, but…"

Armand turned around slowly, knowing the full implication of what his retainer was asking. Instead of answering, the grail knight winced and did as he had done before. Looking out the sea his family had overseen for generations upon generations. After all, nothing could beat that sea salt scent, so why not savor it?

It seemed these days that there was nothing but shock and upheaval in Bretonnia, and not in a good way that would encourage men to go out and fulfill their grail vows as he once did. Duke's dying. Some living but being overthrown. Most of it being traced back to the arrival of the Barrow Legion's suddenly new Lichemaster.

Lyle Spoletta. Armand wasn't sure if he should curse or praise that name for the sinister deeds he had unintentionally uncovered. The chaos he'd unleashed would see a man of his report swinging in a gibbet if he had any say in it. Even if he HAD uncovered the trade coming from HIS port, it was still a black eye, mainly because it was a necromancer of all things that uncovered it.

When word got back that the Duke of Bastonne had not only been overthrown but that his steward had been part of a slave trade that originated within the aforementioned Dukedom, Armand could only shake his head at how Bohemond had allowed such misdeeds to fester within his own borders. There had been rumors that he trusted his steward and other retainers to run the realm as he personally slew threats, but to let things fester to such an extent…

When his retainer, Roch, couldn't help but notice that many of his aids, fellow nobles, and vassals started getting nervous, moving their assets, and disposing of paperwork, Armand raised an eyebrow. A very nervous eyebrow was raised as the situation developed and the full implications of what all those below him had been doing. To say that they were trying to cover their tracks wouldn't convey what they were attempting to do justice. They had gone even so far as to attempt to assassinate one another to keep any loose lips still in the chaos.

Sadly, in their attempts to silence any source of their ill deeds, Roch had stumbled across the webwork of intrigue, malpractice, and illuminating decisions they had made to get to this point; they ironically only made smoke through which the retainer saw the fire.

Once he told Armand of the fire, he did everything he could to smother it. For a moment, he considered telling the King himself of what happened, only for Roch to show that Armand's signature was on many of the shipping requests that were linked with the slave trade, to begin with. The worst part about it was that this wasn't even a forgery. Armand himself had signed those signatures believing that they were just shipping livestock and wine as usual. The irony of the type of livestock they had been shipping had made him queasy, and thankfully, they had managed to limit the spread of this information…for now.

"If the King finds out about this, however unintentional my role may have been-

"His grace has other concerns, Armand." Roch emphasized, making sure to keep his liege from despair. "Right now, he's having to put out several fires throughout the Kingdom, giving us a window to kill this issue in its bed."

"Oh, we're past the point of it being in the bed. At this point, I can only hope it stays in the bedroom." Turning away from the sight of the sea, Armand tiredly turned to his retainer. "What of the Barrow Legion's movements? With Bastonne being right next to our Dukedom-

"Scouts have pointed toward no movement besides the stray undead. There's been no grand muster toward our border or anyone else's for that matter. The confrontation they had with those many armies, including the King's, has at the least forced them on the defensive."

"And bought us precious time. Lady above, I have no shortage of faith in King Louen and his rulership, but how long will he allow those charlatans to pervert our lands? It's like having a dagger at our throat, yet our swords can do nothing to remove it."

"That w-

City alarms suddenly went off, getting the attention of both the Grail Knight Duke and the retainer, who could only stare in befuddlement at the sudden buzz of activity on the docks below. People screamed, children were pulled or carried off by their parents, and the militiamen spurred into activity, some looking wildly around while Sergeants and Knights barked orders at them or each other.

"An attack?" Armand asked, utterly lost. "But the scouts-

"Not from land. That alarm is only used for naval threats." Roch corrected his eyes, joining his liege lords as they looked back to the ocean. They felt an icy chill at what greeted their retinas.

Ships. Dozens upon dozens of ships with purple and dark colors. Corsairs that were sleek yet fast, quickly closing the distance between themselves and the pier of Bordelaux.

Armand was at a loss. How could the druchii have gotten so close without any of his other ships knowing? Why were they here? Did they discover how he had disrupted their slave trade? Were they here for revenge? It had to be, the timing of this all was just far too precise.

And if it was, he was all too willing to cleanse the consequences of the nobles from his land. "Roch! Get, get me my arms and horse! I'll rally the men and lead a defense! Tell Lord Elliot to get the ships ready and-

"My lord!" Roch suddenly stammered out, eliciting a shrieking cry as he pointed a shaky and twitching finger outward. "By…by the Lady…"

Returning to the sea, Armand didn't immediately see what Roch was fretting over beside the ships still approaching them. Were there even more that he was missing? Was this more than a simple raid? As he scrutinized his eyes and narrowed them ever so slightly, he was about to ask again what the issue was when he saw a tall and immense figure-no. A landmark that was quite literally headed their way.

A structure that seemed living and inanimate, made out of stone and something underneath, guiding it forward as he came closer and closer toward them with what appeared to be structures and buildings atop it. It was something that he hadn't quite seen in himself but had heard nightmares or bedtime stories of. Something that his mother would often tell him to scare the wits out of him whenever he misbehaved. An unholy creation that every coastal dwelling Bretonnian prayed to the Lady they never saw.

A Black Ark.

"Lady…" Roch whimpered, his mouth agape in terror. "...Lady, help us."

"I…" Armand breathed out, his grail-infused powers suddenly seeming so small compared to the juggernaut headed toward his ancestral home. "I don't think she will."

A/N: I was thinking of making this chapter longer, but looking at the other scenes I was gathering up, it wouldn't have flowed as well so I decided to stop here to tease you guys with a cute little cliffhanger as I'm want to do.

And yes, the Dark Elves have finally made their entrance into this tale of mine, and you best believe they're here to unleash their sweaty, gothic, edginess upon anyone that's unfortunate to be in their way. The Bretonnian coasts aren't going to be safe for quite some time, and I'll tell you this much. It's not just Aquitaine that's going to be seeing danger going forward. As if Bretonnia didn't have enough chaos in its borders with Lyle's Barrow Legion, Beastmen, Goblins and norscans attacking, they now have the lovely residents of Naggarond to contend with. Isn't life in the Old World just grand.

Also, like I mentioned in the beginning of this story, my new fic is up and running! Let me know in it's review section what you guys think of the first chapter! Something fun for you all to know is that since, I have now officially written writing my book and now just need to worry about publishing it, I can focus solely on my fics for now. So be sure to leave your thoughts so I can continue to use it for fuel in the tank! The more descriptive the better! Until next time!