A/R:

Destroyer78901: Not a bad idea, but it would need to be based on a more specific location with Bretonnia, like Acquitaine, Montfort or even an entire duchy or castle.

100 Fires: Very loose connections. Not enough to the point where the main characters are gonna directly interact or anything like that. It'll be more where they hear or feel the consequences of the actions of one another.

Annoying POW marine: Glad your enjoying it! Like I told Destroyer78901, I'd like a team name with a city/settlement attached to it so that it not only seems more special but has meaning to it. Like the Reikland Reavers in a way. And yeah, even though I'm not a fan of ultra dark stuff, I feel it's necessary to dabble in it if you're gonna do a Warhammer story to show just how brutal and unforgiving this world truly is. Because in the end of the day while it's not super Grimdark like 40k it's still a harsh and unforgiving rule. Thankfully we have Ser Rudy to save the day!

Deadzepplin: Glad to see we have a fellow Blood bowl enjoyer here! And as for your guess I can neither confirm nor deny at this point. Gotta keep you guys in suspense!

Haldir639: Oh he's definitely uppity! And you can bet he has some close ties to the Green Knight!

Zerkil: Being a beastmen is indeed a truly harsh fate. Even in terms of being a chaos worshiper they're extremely low on the totem pole in terms of priority compared to chaos warriors, demons, or even chaos dwarves, especially since chaos dwarves are the literal armory for any worshippers of chaos. They make their arms, armor and weapons of destruction to wreak havoc with after all. With all of that being said you can bet that Malagor will be shown to see how he adapts to his new fate along with anyone who gets purged of their chaos-corruption, because I can promise you this. He won't be the last.

And yes, this story will not be complete without many female warhammer characters being fitted with yoga pants.

OwelVogele314: …don't give me ideas now. That's way too tempting.

Focus of the Future: I appreciate the love! And yeah, let's be honest, Malagor had this coming and he should honestly just be glad that he was purged of his chaos corruption, because honestly, why would you wanna be a beastman to begin with? And of course how could anyone not appreciate some football! I've been a major fan of Blood Bowl since trying out Blood Bowl 2 and I've desperately wanted a way to incorporate it into this story without it feeling forced. And thankfully I think I'm getting my chance here.

dadg12346: That's not a bad idea. The only trouble I think would be is that the team would need to be tied down to a Bretonnian settlement name so I guess it would be curious to see how that would all be tied in. And a Blood Bowl superbowl? Shoot now I've gotta think about that! I'm open to suggestions!

jukehero461: Hey man if you wanna write a story give it a shot! You gotta start somewhere and this fic is how I got mine! Also, don't worry! You get your Jim and Brian wish in this and then some!

Urus Osium: I'll tell you this much. There's no chance for Malagor to become touched by chaos ever again. It'll be explained later in this story, but don't expect him to be able to return to his former ruinous glory. Also thank you for the compliments!

Malgarth: Hoooo boy, that's a lot of reviews, but I love to see them all the same! I'm glad to see I could get a new reader to join the story and that you're enjoying so much of it! I'll get to a few of your points. Firstly regarding Simmire, the reason why she doesn't organize a rebellion is because she doesn't believe she would have the same amount of influence outside of his tribe, in spite of her slave status. It's that feeling of power and influence that she has gained in spite of her situation that she loves since she never really had much of it even when she was free. Secondly, as far as the Blue Knight goes he'll actually conform more to Lyle's ideals more than you realize, but that will be explained in a later chapter. And believe me I know there's so many Monty Python references I could be putting in there. I might consider doing that more in the future considering the themes of the land and the story. I can't wait to hear more from you in the future!

When the day of the festival finally arrived, Lyle was expecting maybe a couple of thousand people to arrive, and perhaps a few extra days of celebration would follow shortly thereafter. What he hadn't expected, however, were tens of thousands of peasants who had come from nearly all of the surrounding villages, towns, and cities of Bretonnia, creating a backlog of human mass trying to attend the festivities that the Barrow Legion had been put into working on.

Looking from the other side of a castle window showed how daunting the numerous peasants that had arrived to partake in this massive feast, possibly causing the event to take on a life of its own. There were so many people, in fact, that The Licehmaster knew that even with their extensive preparations, there wouldn't have been enough food for everyone, at least not right away.

Thankfully, some merchants and tavern owners were apparently open to helping act as cooks with their staff with the right incentives, promotions, and fiscal compensation. Nalga and Deni had been a great deal of help in this area, the former for her business-savvy mind and the latter thanks to how the vampiress seemed to have a finger on the pulse for knowing the right people at the right time. They were all still massively overbooked and overworked, but things were manageable…for now. Personally, it was a miracle that any of these cooks and barkeeps even wanted to help, considering that Lyle was the leader of an undead army, but it seemed that his reputation had preceded him in all the best ways, urging even the most superstitious merchants to capitalize on an opportunity. Turns out that ending a slave trade, not killing everyone and everything after a victory, and just not acting like an overall menace to society did favors to your reputation.

Something that would hopefully only continue to swing upwards after today as Lyle put on the finishing touches to one of the many outfits he had commissioned from Deni. Something that she and her servants were all too quick to assist in making once they saw and heard his design ideas. And Lyle had to admit, he was stealing a little bit from history considering the style he was going with here, but considering the revolution he was trying to lead, he felt it was fitting, especially for the necromancers he felt needed to 'seriously' clean up.

For starters, he wore a black and blue double-breasted coat with a clean collar, cuffs, and sash that cut across the middle. Dark blue breeches were met with tall black boots, which fit the overall color scheme that Lyle was trying to go for since it was ultimately the color scheme of the Barrow Legion's banner. He appreciated how durable and comfy the boots were, but it only made him miss his sneakers more than ever. Ultimately, what he wore was a Napoleonic-era styled officer's uniform or as close to it as one could get when trying to make a design comparable to this era.

Thankfully, it hadn't been too complicated for Deni and her ilk to make since there were roughly similar designs in the empire, but not this sleek or smooth, especially since Lyle decided to use a little bit of the spider silk material to ensure that the outfit he wore didn't sacrifice comfort for fashion.

And he knew he had struck gold considering that Nalga was looking him up and down with an appraising look, though he was sure that she was more so eyeing the shortcut black beard that had been morphing on his face these past few days.

After taking care of the high-quality buttons that were on his uniform and ensuring his hair was slicked back as could be, Lyle cocked a smirk at his shorter companion. "No words?"

"Oh, I got em'." Nalga admitted with a clever smirk of her own and a nod. "Just don't wanna feed your head anymore than it already has been."

"Awww, c'mon. You don't even wanna spoil me a little bit?"

Nalga looked him up and down again. "Ye do look good with a uniform."

"And with a beard to boot?"

"Feh! If dat's a beard, then da Grobi are literate! That right there is peach fuzz at best!"

Lyle laughed. "Gimme a break, It's been over a week! I need time!"

"Oh? Ye want time now?" Nalga grins, shoving his hip with more force and success than the earth-native anticipated. "Ah've given ye guns n' canons, and now he wants time! Didn't realize ye were so needy!"

"Ah, forgive me, m'lady." Lyle remarked in a sudden posh accent as he held his coat in a very refined manner. "I'll make sure to keep the score the next time I save you from a roving band of beastmen."

"Zoggin' prat." Nalga mock glared at her taller counterpart, feeling warmth blossom in her chest at the banter between the two of them. A moment of silence settled between the two despite the growing mass of humanity that brought a host of noise. And suddenly, just like that, the silence was broken when Nalga grabbed the bottom of Lyle's coat, yanked his lips down to hers, and captured them fiercely.

Lyle was once again surprised by how strong dwarves were given their size, but what they lacked in stature, they made up for in a stocky and solid build. Something that his other half was more than ready to take advantage of as Nalga's lips momentarily wrestled his for dominance before she broke the engagement far too quick for his liking. He had to cough and smooth out his pants, ensuring he looked at least dignified before going out. The necromancer didn't notice how Nalga seemed to look almost prideful on the effect she had on him with that smug smirk. God, what he wouldn't do to have her fiery red hair splayed out on his bed.

Sadly, the moment couldn't last as Nalga's smile dropped. "Ah'll have to head back to my family's hold soon. I've been sending messages, but it's not proper for a regent to be away for this long. At least not without good reason."

"Who says it's not for a good reason?" Lyle protested a tad too quickly for his liking. "You're establishing diplomatic relations between yourself and my burgeoning revolution…very successfully, I might add."

"That's very cute of ye, Lyle, but my people ain't like the short-lived illiterate peasants." Nalga sighed, looking away. "Ye can't pull the wool over their eyes, and if I don't come back, they'll ask questions."

"...is that a bad thing?"

Blushing intensely at the young man and glaring open-mouthed, she grumbled as dwarves often did. "They'll be thinkin' that you're holdin' me prisoner or…messin' with me mind with your magics."

"Oh, so it's not because of us?"

"Well, that would be part of it bu-it… it's complicated, Lyle."

"Cause I'm taller than your usual bachelor?"

"Don't get it twisted, Lyle. Dwarves have had…consorts like ye before. It's not entirely unheard of. Rare, aye. Looked down upon…aye. But, since you're a necromancer, a defiler of life at that. Valaya would be in fits."

Lyle shifted from one foot to another. It was something the two of them hadn't broached often in their times alone because both were smart enough to realize how much of an elephant it was in the room. It was one of those moments where both just wanted to think about the moment rather than the future, especially since the pair had survived enough near-death experiences to further indulge in each other's company.

It was why Lyle was all too thankful for Krell opening the room, his still-faced skull betraying nothing of whether or not he had been hearing the conversation. "Master. The rest of the meat bags are waiting for you."

"'Preciate it, Krell." Lyle then turned to Nalga. "Wanna come with?"

"...eh. Might as well make the days last as long as possible." Nalga said with a grin, desiring to brush the underlying matter to the side just like him. Something he appreciated since he much preferred to focus on what they had rather than what they stood to lose. Yet even as she and she left the room, the underlying worries niggled in the back of his head.

All the more reason, he was relieved to see his fellow necromancers to help offer him a distraction. Something that he felt became much more feasible the moment he saw his inner circle…all wearing similar Napoleonic-styled uniforms that he was, and all of them looking out of place as can be, except for maybe Wendel, given his former noble background.

Lyle had to suppress a burst of laughter at how out of place his fellow necromancers looked, but there was no denying that they all cleaned up well. He made sure Sybille paid extra care to ensure they looked fit for the public eye, and to her credit, at a glance, you wouldn't be able to tell that they were all a bunch of pale, poor, hygienic, and shady necromancers.

Schmitz predictably looked the most irritated, muttering to himself as he pulled on one of his cufflinks. He bit his lips, and his tall stature and pale head made him look more like a strict and biting commissar who could hold the line despite flailing morale.

Tobias didn't seem to care for his outfit for another reason, as he tugged on his collar and looked unused to the much shorter cut hair he now had. Gone was his long and greasy hair, and in its place was a well-kept, short-cut hair that barely touched his collar. Somehow, he seemed even more studious with his Empire-made spectacles.

Sybille was kicking the ground and openly cursing as it was clear that she wasn't caring for her own boots all that much. Lyle was sure that if she had her say, she would ditch them altogether and go without footwear as she always did, looking for the perfect shoe size that always seemed to elude her. Yet, despite her age, she still cleaned up rather nicely. Her long and witch-like silver-colored gray hair was tied up in a long braid that reached the center of her back, which contrasted nicely with her dark uniform.

Wendel seemed utterly at ease in his uniform. Again, his former background in Wissenland nobility paid dividends, as he showed an actual boost in confidence in these garments, especially compared to his fellow necromancers.

Fredericka had one of the largest and most radical changes, that was only matched by Sybille. Much like Tobias, her greasy hair had worked on to the point where it no longer looked like an edgy, sweaty mess but was instead tied up into a small but neat bun at the back, with her hair now having a bouncy sheen that brought out the best in it. Though she was the smallest of all the necromancers, her uniform still helped her cut a striking figure, and it was also clear that she had makeup on her face to bring up her complexion. Obviously a decision made by Deni and her retainers. In Lyle's opinion, he didn't need girls with too much makeup on their faces, but he couldn't help but admit it really helped in Fredericka's case, given how little care she gave to her own look. He especially liked the attention made to conceal the bags under her eyes with a dark eye shadow that made her look both striking and beautiful. Something she knew was apparent as she fidgeted under his and anyone else's gaze that happened to be in her direction.

Nalga looked them up and down and even gave a sharp, if not courteous, nod. "Don't quite look as distinguished as ye, but it'll do. I'd prefer it if they all wore armor if nothing else."

Tobias gagged at the thought. "So we can exhaust ourselves in such heavy, cumbersome weight as the sun beats down upon our heads in the heat of battle? I think not." He then shivered, looking behind himself. "And the last thing we need is that fiendish Lhamian to get any more ideas."

"It's not her you should be fearing." Schmitz sniped grumpily as he was often want to do. "Our dear Lichemaster was the one who gave her the designs. It's… it's damn untraditional, this garb!"

"Oh, quit yer belly-achin' guys, this is an improvement!" Lyle laughed, approaching his underlings. "I mean, just look at ya; the moment you step out there, people will have to remind themselves that we necromancers! If this ain't a brand lift, I dunno what is!"

"Must the boots be so uncomfortable?" Sybille snarled as she gave one last rebellious stomp before folding her arms. "Is it so wrong to dress like the bog-witch that I am? Surely not?"

"Well, ya can, but it really won't do you or us any favors." Lyle shrugged. "Just roll with it, Sybille. Look at Wendel here, he looks good."

"He looks 'good,' as you put it, because he's more used than any of us here when it comes to dressing up as a fop."

Wendel frowned indignantly. "It's not my fault I was raised to dress properly!"

"Oh, so you were alright cavorting around in robes until now?"

"Well, everyone else was, so there was no reason to stand out…until now."

Sybille smirked devilishly despite her annoyance. "Oh, and I suppose your attitude toward your fancy and pompish clothes has nothing to do with the pale skin you've been attached to at the hip as of late?"

"I'm not attached to her hip, she's attached to mine." Wendel feverishly denied. "And if I am attached to her hip, it was for the Barrow Legion…Lord Lyle requested it."

"Oh, and I'm sure you hate every second of her fawning all over you."

Schmitz rolled his eyes. "Is that jealousy I hear, Sybille? I wasn't aware a bog-witch desired using flesh beyond a meatshield."

"Well, at least I can clean up rather nicely despite my…experience." Sybille huffed as she played with her braided hair. "A shame that we can do nothing to salvage what you don't have on that scalp of yours."

As the necromancers bickered, Nalga glanced dryly toward Lyle, a new appreciation of her flame upon her face. "By the ancestors, what in the Old World would these Umgi be without ye?"

Lyle snorted through his nose. "Probably killed each other in a battle royale with the victor turning the losers into zombies or skeletons."

"Aye, hard to not see that."

Trying to pointedly ignore her fellow Inner Circle members jawing off at one another, Fredericka looked skeptically at Lyle. "Master Lyle, I understand that you aim to impress the unwashed masses, but is it essential to go this far? These uniforms are so-

"-smooth! Fancy! Buttoned down." Lyle finished for her with a satisfied grin. "Look, I get that you guys have your reservations and that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but think about it, guys. If we wanna make our inevitable rule over Bretonnia seem more legit, we gotta look the part. It's one thing to look sweaty n' edgy, but if you can pull off lookin' fly as hell, then that can only help us! Make us more respectable. Approachable! And don't tell me that the coats don't look good, you guys just hate trying new things!"

"Where did you even get the idea for these outfits, Master Lyle?" Tobias asked, more curious than anything. "You strike me as a man of many things, but someone who concerns himself with fashion is not one of them. You yourself have often turned your nose at the refinery of the nobility, if I recall."

"Smart observation there, Toby. Thing is you're half right. See, my inspiration was in two parts. First was that my sista' or at least one of em' is a fashion freak, like ya wouldn't believe. She actually gave me some pointers on clothing designs, whether I liked it or not. She just needed someone to talk to about it, and like a good olda' brotha' I was there to give her an ear. And as far as the second part…well, I got the inspiration from this one Emperor from my world who actually has a or, I guess, had a culture similar to you guys. His soldiers wore coats that were similar to this."

"An Emperor, you say?" Tobias replied, his curious and knowledge-hungry mind now interested to hear more. "Who was this Emperor you speak of?"

"A guy who managed to whip the asses of his immediate neighbors so many times that it took like…I dunno…six or seven coalitions ta' finally do him in. It gets hard to keep count when you're that good at puttin' boots to asses."

Lyle was about to go into further detail when he felt Nalga tug on his coat, urging him to cast his eyes down. "Oi. Maybe keep the stories to a minimum, long legs. Don't ye have to show off these outfits to get any used to them? 'Side's. Festival's in full swing. N' I gotta make sure the beers flowin' proprly."

The Lichemaster REALLY wanted to talk about everyone's favorite French Emperor, but he couldn't deny his flame's words. Time was money. "Awright, people, my favorite dwarf on this planet has a point, and time's a wastin'. We got people to impress, a massive festival to make sure it doesn't go to hell, and possibly new recruits to bring in."

"Can we not simply draft them into your burgeoning rifle-bearers?" Schmitz pointedly asked. "It's not as though they would have a choice with our authority over two full duchies."

"Schmitz…" Lyle started, putting his hands on his hips. "Why are we wearing these uniforms?"

Schmitz glowered for a beat before sighing and rubbing his eyes. "To impress and not scare the illiterate peasants."

"And what happens if we don't scare and impress the illiterate peasants."

Schmitz looked as though he was about to speak when Wendel beat him to the punch. "We convince them to join us voluntarily, improving morale?"

"Atta boy Wendel! I'd give ya a cookie, but I'm sure you can help yourself at the banquet."

"Damned boy, I was the one being asked the question!" Schmitz barked at his younger and blonder counterpart.

"W-well, I thought you wouldn't want to! You sounded as though answering it was like pulling out teeth!"

"So you come and take credit to swell your ego? What, you think that just because you put on a fancy attire, you're ab-

"Oh, would you stuff it before I do it for you?" Sybille sniped. "We have enough problems, not the least with our resident book-noser questionable material! Yo-

"W-what are you on!?" Tobias sputtered, his face going crimson from both embarrassment and anger as he pushed his glasses up furiously. "What would you know about what I read!? Why would you even care!?"

Once again, the bickering re-ensued, with Fredericka looking utterly exasperated, especially with how much was going on with the festival and how more people showed up than usual. She looked to Lyle for a port in the mind-numbing storm of arguments that his inner circle often found themselves in.

It had become such a sad running gag that Nalga nearly rolled her eyes out of her sockets. "Are ye gonna get the show on the road, or should I shove my boot up their keisters?"

Lyle grinned and shook his head. "Don't worry, babe. I got it." It was a fair question. He was losing his patience with their arguments, too. It probably had something to do with wearing what they didn't want and the stress of the high-stakes festival they were happening. Whatever the reason, now was hardly the time to tolerate it, especially since he had so much riding on all of this. "Awright you bickering bastards, shut your mouths and get in line, single file!"

Momentarily stunned by Lyle's harsh words, Sybille and Schmitz looked as though they were going to talk back when Lyle strode toward them with long steps and glared at them both. "I don't care if ya both got somethin' to say, cause today we gotta job to do! Today, we gotta go out there to make sure this show of ours runs smoother than a baby's backside, and I don't wanna hear any bitchin' or groanin' or moanin' from any of you or between all of you! You all know what you gotta do, whether it's maintaining security, making sure the food is being shoveled out, or the entertainment is hittin' where it needs to hit. Now, let's go out there and go out there in style! Like I said! SINGLE FRICKIN' FILE! NOW!"

Every member of the Inner Circle immediately did as Lyle bid, not quite sure which order they should be in, but ultimately not paying it any mind as they lined up behind Lyle as he walked ahead of them. The moment Lyle used his no-nonsense tone, it was a sound to behold, as it had been before whenever he needed to keep people in line. As he marched down the hall toward the outside of the castle, they followed in his footsteps nervously, nearly in lockstep as Nalga suppressed a laugh at how her favorite human had whipped the Inner Circle in shape.

That and she couldn't help but feel butterflies in her stomach at how commanding he had been while she followed after them.

Horace nearly coughed as he slurped up some spaghetti. A dish that he hadn't even heard of until now, he washed it down with some wine, taking a deep sigh as he sat on a log where he and the rest of his family could enjoy themselves. The portions they had been given had been generous, at least in his opinion, considering how often he and the rest of his village had to ration food that was to be given to their liege lord. Something that he hadn't truly appreciated until he'd seen so much of it be so readily available since they'd come to this grand festival.

When they'd received the invitation from peasants just like them, many were skeptical, and rightly so. When news had eventually trickled down that Duke Bohemond had been ousted, there had been panic and terror, especially when no lords came to their humble settlement to try and protect them from what everyone thought would be a grand-sweeping horde of undead to make them join their ranks. Instead, weeks later, when all they received was quiet, many were surprised to see peasants who had been sent to invite them to a feast at their new liege lord, Lyle Spoletta.

Many were skeptical. Just as many had no intentions of going to what appeared to be a very obvious trap. But then, many started to get nervous about the idea of refusing a direct summons from this necromancer. After all, if he were insulted at the idea of their village rebuffing the invitation, would he not take that opportunity to bring his wrath upon them?

The couple of hundred souls eventually decided to follow their guides to Castle Bastonne and were taken aback by how many others had decided to take up the invitation, much like them. Sure, it had been enticing on its face, given the word 'free food' was thrown around by their inviters, but it still seemed far too good to be true. Even their own liege lord had rarely, if ever, been so kind and generous.

Yet there was no way to refute what was before their eyes at the grand festivities and delicacies being paraded before them. Boar, Manticore flesh, vegetables of varying varieties and sizes, and foods that were rumored to come from Tilea itself were what Horace was enjoying himself. Even now, he couldn't help but sigh with relief at the sight of his wife and three children eating the food that had been graciously given to them, with even the choice to choose from several options! Usually, feasts like this were only reserved for special occasions or for forces that had just won a battle. Horrace had seen as such himself when he had been on two campaigns in the past as a levy. Once against beastmen. The other is against green skins, respectively. It was a personal miracle to himself that he'd survived both, given he'd served as an archer with both exchanges, including their frontlines getting pierced by their stronger and more monstrous counterparts. And this meal was just another example of the Lady perhaps showing her compassion upon them.

Then again, if the Lady willed it, he wasn't sure if she wanted Duke Bohemond to get ousted the way he did…then again, he'd heard from travelers how the Gods tended to work in weird ways, so maybe it would be best if he didn't look too far into it and enjoyed what he got. This spaghetti wasn't going to eat itself after all."

"Slower Ange, Slower. You're just like your father!" His wife, Ouida, fussed as she clapped his youngest son's back, ensuring he didn't choke on a chunk of boar leg. Huffing indignantly at her son, more so because she had to stop eating herself to ensure he didn't perish from such a good meal she turned a wry smile toward her husband. "If only he had my looks AND my mind."

Horace shrugged after he swallowed a chewed up meatball. "That's our daughter's for ya."

"That's your daughter for YOU, dear. Speaking of which, they gave you a fork, dear. Use it." The mother's tone brooked no argument as the girl paused from stuffing saucy noodles into her mouth with dirty hands only to pout, stabbing into the bowl and groaning as she fumbled with the spaghetti, not knowing how to properly finesse the meal.

Horace rolled his eyes and saddled up next to his daughter and showed her how to stab and twist. The only reason he even knew how to properly eat these noodles was because his sharp eyes spied on how everyone else was doing it. He may have been cursed with a low birth like the rest of his family, but the one thing nobody else could hold over him was his incredible eyesight. It was why he lasted so long as an archer on both the campaigns he'd been on.

"Thanks, Daddy." His daughter muttered, embarrassed at needing help, even at six years old. "Can we eat this all the time?"

Horace snorted. "I'll be sure to ask the necromancer who organized this event, dear. Might be hard, but it might be able to get done."

"Pretty please! I love the sauce!" The dark-haired girl asked innocently, her good mood returning as she shoved more spaghetti into her mouth, red sauce coloring her lips.

Horace had to suppress a long-suffering sight that was begging to be released at the innocent question. He side-eyed his eldest son as if silently asking him to be silent. Thankfully, 14 years of age was more than enough for him to read between the lines and not say anything snide. Turning back to his daughter, he gave a strained smile. "Well…I-

Horace sputtered when a sudden surge of traffic knocked out his near-empty wooden bowl of spaghetti. Many peasants and even some nobles and merchants surged like a tide past him and his family and his blood, with many hooting and hollering in excitement. The former peasant archer and his family were all at a loss, wondering aloud what the commotion was about when his wife looked at him in concern. "Could it…could it be the necromancer? This…Spoletta?"

"I've no idea…I mean, I haven't a clue whether you're right or if that's a good thing."

"He was kind enough to feed us." Ouida muttered.

Their eldest muttered fretfully into his meat. "Might be kind enough to fatten us up for slaughter."

He winced when his mother cuffed him in the shoulder. "Not out loud! You'll scare your siblings!"

"I'm just sayin' it's best be prepared-

"Then I hope you're prepared for me to give you a spankin', boy!"

Horace tuned out his family's monologue when he saw a fellow archer from his village trying to make his way through the crowd. Desiring answers, spurred by his family's growing paranoia, Horace reached out and snared the man's arm, which looked offended until he saw who it was. "Roul! What's all the hubbub about?"

"A Bloodbowl game, if you can believe it or not!"

"Blood Bowl? Here and now? I mean, I'd never seen one myse-

"Well, ya might not if you don't give yourself a chance to see! Everyone's already beating us to the punch! I heard they might do some Sevens, but by the Lady, they're going all out!" Roul didn't stay to say much more, shaking off Horace's grip and looking to rush with the crowd.

Truthfully, the only reason Horace knew a thing about BloodBowl was that he and his fellow peasants had overheard nobles partaking in it, or more specifically, the smaller version of it, 7s. It was a pastime that he and other peasants had only heard the vaguest of info about, except that some nobles would have their peasants participate in the game to act as linemen whenever it was conducted.

He'd always been curious, so he couldn't help but look at his beloved with a hopeful smile. "Well, I think it wouldn't be correct to pass up on the entertainment this necromancer is putting on for all of us.

His eldest snorted. "Why should we care? Just someone throwin' round' a dumb ball."

"Hush now." His mother hissed. "Your father's right. It would look poor on all of us if we were among the few not attending this showing. Now come. Up and up."

"But, momma, I'm not done yet!" Their daughter whined.

"Then you can carry your food with you. Must I do everything for you? Are your arms broken?"

"...no?"

"Then let us go." Ouida ordered, whipping her family of five into shape as they all started to amble toward the makeshift pitch that had been made for the occasion. Horace thanked the Lady for the fortune that favored them because, through a bit of shoving and cajoling, he and his brood managed to not quite get in the front but far enough up front to see the action up close and personal. He cursed himself for not seeing the makeshift but sturdy enough-looking bleachers that many were sitting on to rest their lugs, but Horace ultimately shrugged. Sure standing for the first game he'd ever seen sucked, but it beat working in the textile shop. Even his excellent wife could attest to that.

He saw two teams in what looked to be padding more than armor, but they still more or less looked as though they were ready for battle. It was a curious sight. On one sight were ten men like Horace himself with a terrifying-looking Ogre that stood head and shoulders taller than anyone else on the field. He'd never seen a bipedal creature that large! Even orks and the minotaurs he'd seen looked dwarfed by comparison!

On the other side, curiously enough, was a more bizarre team that was as odd as terrifying. He'd never seen the undead until he'd come to this festival, given how some skeletons and zombies were acting as guards. And while that had been concerning, they seemed to only intervene whenever someone got a bit too rowdy and non-lethally at best. What was curious was that this team was a mishmash of skeletons, zombies, some pale-looking humans like him, and a female vampire looking imperious as she was excited, her fangs bared for all to see.

Even stranger was a goblin in a referee's outfit who stood between both teams, who flipped a coin and then pointed to the humans. Once they elected to receive the ball, both teams went to opposite sides of the pitch, clearly getting ready to start.

"Daddy, Daddy! I can't see!" his daughter, Orianne whined, hopping up and down on the ground.

Sighing but smiling good naturedly, he grabbed his daughter under her arms and put her on her shoulders, feeling excited himself from the game he'd soon see.

Yet before the game could start, he nearly jumped in his skin when two voices suddenly rang out throughout the air, one naively and fancy-sounding and one deep and gravelly.

"Good day, Bob! Though this seems like a hastily put-together and sudden affair, this is an official Blood Bowl Game all the same! Though, honestly, I'm pleasantly surprised that we even managed to get an official game given the tumultuous…events that are progressing through Bretonnia."

"Heheh. Tell me about it, Jim! I mean, you got Orks. Undead. Knights and the Old World know what else, rampaging around the land of The Lady and having a grand ol' time. Hahhh, if only I could be there to see all the bloodshed myself!"

"Alas, Bob, we'll have to settle with the bloodshed on the pitch. But, with vampires AND Ogres much like yourself being involved, I'm sure we'll have no shortage of that. And it's all thanks to the newest ruler of Bastonne that we all have to thank for this…who is also the ruler of Artois coincidentally enough-oh there he is, none other than Lyle Spoletta on the left side of the pitch! I must say, he and the rest of his ilk cleaned up quite resplendently! If we hadn't been informed that they were a group of necromancers, I'd have thought they were larping about as imperials!"

Following the voices and seeing the other side of the bleachers he hadn't been looking at, Horace and many others saw the man himself, standing on the top of the bleachers across from where Horace and his family were, smiling and waving, wearing a blue soldier's coat and pants.

Horace had to admit that he agreed with this 'Jim' guy. Was this truly a necromancer that he was staring at? Granted, he'd never seen one before, but he had heard stories. Pale men with little or fading hair that were gaunt as they were haunting, wearing robes that were as dark as their magic. This was not that.

"By the Gods." His wife breathed as she looked at Spoletta and the masses before she turned back to her husband, looking him up and down. "Now, if YOU were in that uniform."

Blushing at the implication, Horace side-eyed his wife and fought down the urge to have a fourth child. "Ouida! Not now!"

"But, Daddy, I think Mommy's right!" his innocent little girl shouted on his shoulders. "His uniform would look really pretty on you."

"Say handsome, my dear." Ouida Laughed. "Boys rarely liked being called pretty."

After snorting at the interplay between his wife and child, Horace almost missed how Spoletta seemed to glare and smile at the uniformed men and women sitting beside them, and in an instant, they came to their feet, all smiling and waving just like him. All the while, Bob coughed into whatever he was coughing into, which allowed his voice to be heard.

"Ughh, lesse here. Lyle Spoletta would like to give his thanks to all who have come to his festival today. After the game, he would like to say that he has a special announcement regarding the status of all peasants living within not just his borders but throughout Bretonnia." The Ogre read slowly as if he were reading from a transcript. "In the meantime, please enjoy the sport from the two teams that were not only close enough to be near Castle Bastonne but agreed to have a game on short notice… that's all we gotta read, Jim?"

"Indeed, Bob! Indeed! Now, without further ado, let's watch the crimson fluid of life flow with some good old-fashioned…BLOOD BOWL!"

"RAAGH! Finally!" the Ogre nearly roared. "That note was fixing to put me to sleep. Give me random violence!"

Just like that, the vampiric team kicked the Football, and the receiving team prepared to commence with the return.

"Ohhhh, damn!" Lyle winced, gritting his teeth as he saw a zombie headbutt a human lineman's skull so hard his helmet flew off, only for said zombie to get some of its rotting teeth knocked out with an armored elbow to the jaw, knocking it silly. The two sides of the linemen clashed in what could only be described as organized violence as a slight but quick human tried to use his linemen as bodyguards to get past the surge of undead, determined to impede his progress. "Jesus, this is why I prefer Football! Do they HAVE to hit each other THAT hard?"

"I don't see what the issue is." Schmitz shrugged and actually looked interested in the game as the runner did a lateral to a fellow player the moment he saw he would be cut off. "Nobody has been maimed yet, at least from what I can see."

"Yet!?"

"It's truly not that big of a deal, Master." Fredericka agreed, not looking quite as interested. "I mean, I attended a few 7s games back in Stirland. It's not a true game, some considering if you don't get at least one or two deaths."

"Deaths!?" Lyle nearly shouted in shock. "Wh-I-HUH!? I got questions, her-dammit. Why didn't we do Football then!?"

Fredericka thinned her lips. "Master, Lyle, nobody has even heard of Football…also why do you call it Football? After playing a game with you, I noticed that you rarely ever kicked the ball. Should it not be called handball?"

"Oh, don't you start with me, Freddy!"

"I-I'm just stating a fact!"

"Nah! That's an observation, th-oi did that guy just use a shiv!?"

Only by chance did Lyle see one of the pale-skinned humans on the vampire team stab the ball carrier in the arm, causing them to drop the ball and be picked up by the pale skin. Sadly, that triumph didn't last long when they got a vicious backhand from the Ogre, who sent the pale-skin flying along with the ball.

"Nah, that's some BS! Since when are weapons allowed!?"

Tobias coughed. "They aren't."

"So the hell was that!?"

"The referee must not have seen it…or received a bribe."

"And whose bright idea was it to have a gold-diggin' goblin as the referee?"

"Referees cannot be removed so easily, Master Lyle… he's protected by the referee's guild."

"The what now!?"

Lyle was about to go on a tirade at the violation of rules so blatant for literal thousands to see when Emmerich walked up the bleachers, heading to the Inner circle's private viewer box. Dressed in a noble refinery, he whispered to Lyle, which was difficult given the cheering and hollering crowd. "Lyle…I… there's a matter that requires your attention."

"Yeah, no shit, Em! You see how these guys are breaking more rules than the average Jay-walker on the east coast back from where I live!? It's a damned disgrace!"

"While I may agree with you, despite not knowing what a Jay-walker is, it's a matter even more pressing-

"It's gonna have ta' wait! I'm givin' that damn ref a piece of my mind!" Lyle growled as he got up. "I don't give a damn if the crowd boos-

"-A necromancer who cares about sportsmanship. Now I've seen everything." Lyle's coming rant was bottled up the moment he laid eyes on the hooded woman standing just behind Emmerich. Lyle could see tufts of blonde within her hood and smudges of dirt on her forehead and cheeks. Just behind her were three tall and imposing men wearing hoods and worn-out clothing that Lyle couldn't help but notice. "Perhaps and most importantly miraculously, your reputation precedes you."

Lyle's inner circle stood almost immediately, their hands going to their staves. Even Wendel looked ready to commit violence on a moment's notice, the recent assassination attempts fresh on his and everyone else's minds.

Emmerich, however, was quick to keep the peace. "I-it's alright, Lord Lyle. They're not here to cause trouble. On the contrary, they're here for your help."

Before the group could come forward, Sybille stepped forward, urging the grave guard surrounding the private box to close in on the group of four. "If what you say is true, then it's only fair that we learn that they're armed. Are they armed?"

The hooded woman seemed to hesitate before nodding. "My knights are, yes."

"Knights?" Wendel questioned before having further questions. "If they're knights…then you're-

"-a noblewoman. Yes, you're very astute."

"Whatever it is that you want…" Sybille began with a sharp eyebrow. "...Can be told to us the moment those knights shed their blades."

The armed men seemed to keep their arms planted firmly to their sides, despite everyone with sense knowing that if they were to attempt to fight their way in or out of this, they would end comically poor. However, when the blonde-haired noblewoman turned and gave a curt nod, the knights offered their blades, albeit with no small amount of hesitation, which were collected by the graveyard. Even then, the inner circle made sure the grave guard patted down to see if there were any other weapons. When they found none, the tenseness of the situation dropped considerably.

When all was said and done, Lyle and this newcomer were given space to sit beside each other, along with Emmerich. In contrast, the inner circle sat around them to listen while appearing inconspicuous, not wanting to draw any more attention while the game was going on. Thankfully, it seemed almost everyone was purely looking at the game, especially when a touchdown was scored, courtesy of a desperate pass by the human team's thrower, just as he got knocked to the ground by the female vampire. The moment the catcher managed to snag the ball in the endzone with his catcher's mitt, the crowd became unglued, hooting and hollering at the incredible display of tactics, strategy, and athleticism.

It was, in effect, a perfect smokescreen to allow for a private conversation, which allowed the noblewoman to shed her hood and reveal herself fully to Lyle Spoletta. Now that he could see her full face and features, he couldn't help but note how much older she looked than she thought, even taking out the dirt and smudges that she had. She was by no means as old as Sybille, but some freight noticeable lines around her mouth and cheeks indicated that she was perhaps someone in her late 30s to early 40s, if he had to guess. She also seemed only mildly fearful of her position because she was not from around here.

"So Emmerich said ya needed my help." Lyle began, his eyes flickering back on the field as they began to kick off the ball again. "Kinda surprised that you'd come to me, given I haven't exactly made myself noble-friendly since I became Lichemaster."

"There's nothing surprising about it when your options are limited, Lord Spoletta." The woman retorted, an edge to her tone. "My name is Jaquette De Parravon. Mother to the current Duke of Parravon, Cassyon."

That got everyone's attention, with surprised looks drawn across the Barrow Legion as Lyle's eyebrows shot up. "Parravon. Ain't that the dukedom right next to us, Freddy?"

"...it is."

"So what brings ya here? Why's it look like ya came in the cover of darkness?"

Jacquette seemed to mull on what words to choose carefully before continuing. "My son is in grave danger. As of this moment, his castle is being besieged, requiring a sizable army to relieve it."

"So you come to me?"

"As I said, Lord Spoletta. My options were limited. I would not be here to simply waste both of our time."

"Hm… how'd you know Emmerich?"

Emmerich was the one to supply the answer. "She would visit my father's castle and vice-versa for diplomatic meetings. I would see her with Duke Casseyon since he and my father would often go on hunts together…they both like hunting beasts, you see."

"A tad too much." Jacquette admitted. "Both of the Dukes have a bit too much in common for my liking. Appreciating hunting overruling and leaving their retainers and stewards to their devices…which is why my son finds himself in the situation that he's now in."

"That's all well and good, Miss." Lyle began. "But, I'm just curious why exactly do you think that's my problem?"

Schmitz was quick to agree with Lyle for once. "Master Spoletta speaks correctly. It is not our duty to clean up after the mess of your boy."

"I can make concessions," the woman started, working hard to keep the desperation out of her voice. I was sent to negotiate on my son's behalf while he conducts the siege on our home."

Emmerich added onto her words, his words beseeching. "Please consider her offer, Lord Spoletta. I know you care not for the nobility, but it would not just be them who would perish if the wood elves break through the castle defenses. If th-

"Wood elves?" Lyle started, slowly turning his head to the Bretonnian nobles. "...the tree huggin' hippies are the ones sieging your castle?"

Slowly, the blonde noble nodded, sensing the animosity within Lyle's voice. "They are. Historically, Paravon has always had a contentious relationship with the accursed elves, but my son and his father before him have seen even more animosity from them over the years, specifically over logging and hunting rights on the forest that borders ours and theirs."

Sybille shook her head and closed her eyes. "Here we go."

Suddenly more engaged, Lyle stared directly at Jacquette, his lips thinned, and his fingers steepled together. "You got my attention. Gimme details here. What exactly are you guys up against?"

"Over five thousand wood elves, I believe. But they are not the only threat. My son must also contend with tree spirits that are aiding them. Treeants and treekin toss his peasants and knights aside like ragdolls, and not even the skies are safe, with a host of eagle riders.

Fredericka looked confused. "Isn't Paravon famous for their pegasus riders?"

"It matters not when the eagle riders can keep my son and his air forces at bay when the eagle riders can fire their bows and arrows while keeping their distance. And if they chase them too far, more of those knife-eared archers fire their arrows from their damned forests." The frustration and outrage in Jacquette's voice hinted at just how many times she had seen this happen. "The amount of times I've seen them bleed my son's forces time and time again is enough to drive even the most courtly damsel such as myself mad."

Lyle nodded along, his growing enmity toward the wood elves growing along with any and all ideas that could be employed to destroy them. "Still… I'm still curious as to why you came to me directly? Was there really no other way for you to go to King Louis? I mean, I know he's aways away-

"We've sent countless birds toward the King. None have returned with a reply. Either those birds have been shot down by the elves, or he's pointedly ignoring us." The lack of patience was becoming more and more apparent by the moment. "We tried heading north toward the King, but…my escorts were ambushed. Ambushed by those knife ears." She gestured to her now disarmed guards. "I had over fifty of my sons' knights guarding me as we escaped into the night. It hasn't been one ambush or one attack or one anything. Some nights, some of my men would disappear. Some nights, arrows would flow from the forest and find their marks of the brave men who died to ensure that I reached you in one piece. Some that survived perished from Hags-bane." Her hands were balled into fists to the hem of her dress, her tired eyes narrowing into slits. "All this over some forests and animals. Forests…and animals."

Fredericka tugged on the collar of her uniform, looking at Lyle, who listened to the woman's story with rapt attention; she looked at the others, who already looked resigned, knowing what Lyle would say, given his new hatred toward elves. Though Schmitz didn't seem all that against the idea, never mind that he was a significant warhawk in the Barrow Legion, but also because he felt the children of Athel Loren had sullied the Barrow Legion's image with that assassination attempt.

Which was why Fredericka didn't bother trying to correct or stop Lyle from getting further invested in the idea of this future campaign. It wouldn't do them any favors to show a divided front after all. "How long do you think your son has? How long can he hold out?"

Realizing that Lyle was asking more tactical questions, hope shone into her eyes. "A little over a week at minimum. At best, two weeks…provided my foolish son doesn't do anything else to jeopardize himself."

"Kinda surprised you'd admit he is one to my face."

"It would be challenging to convince you otherwise, given the situation that he now finds himself in."

"Touche."

"...do I have your assistance, Lord Spoletta?" Jacquette leaned forward. "I can offer and promise many things if you offer your aid, short of turning treason against King Louen, even if he has done little to relieve our ails."

"Oh yeah? What Kind-Oh the hell's goin' on down there now?" Lyle muttered, his eyes drawn to the field only to wince and grimace at the human team's backup thrower having his arm snapped in three different directions.

"Daddy, I wanna see! I wanna see! Wha happe-

"Absolutely not! Come here, you!" Agnes shouted to her daughter, taking her off the shoulders of Horace, who was all too grateful to deprive his daughter of the sight before him, especially since the result of that thrower's arm being broken was due to a dirty play from one of the zombies, stomping his arm multiple times after he'd been knocked down. The move was so blatant that the referee had no choice but to eject them, but the damage had been done. And soon there was shoving, jawing and even fists flying from both teams, prompting a brief but intense skirmish.

"Ohhh, looks like we've got ourselves a scrap, Jim!" Bob shouted with excitement over their speaking device. "Bout' time too! You don't got a Bloodbowl game unless you got two teams letting loose after a dirty play! HAHA!"

"Most definitely, Bob! And it seems the Eilhart Buldgeoners are getting the best of this one! But it might be for naught! After losing both of their throwers, they may not have the chance to make a game-winning drive, especially with so little time on the clock! They may win the battle, but the war may already be lost. One can only wonder if these targeted attacks by the Ebony Fangs were done specifically for this situation?"

"Whether it was or wasn't don't matter, Jim. They're most likely gonna get the win either way and as scummy as it may seem, that's how the game can play out sometimes."

The brawl, however, had gotten so intense that multiple referees and security guards had gotten caught up. In all the chaos, a stray cleat had managed to kick the ball a great distance away and over the pitch. It was fortunate Horace had managed to get his daughter off his shoulder because it just managed to land in his hands, making him nearly jump as the spiked portion of the ball nearly impaled his hands.

"Oi! Pass back the ball!" One of the Bludgeoners called back. "We got a game to get on, and your dirty serf hands might give us something."

Raising an offended eyebrow, Horace eyed the referee instead, pointedly looking away from the Bludgeoner player, rearing back and throwing the bowl, catching the goblin by surprise at how deftly and skillfully the ball was thrown. The goblin looked up and down at the ball now in his chest, which wasn't easy since he was a smaller target to hit than most players realized and since the goblin was a good chunk of yardage away from Horace.

Suddenly, the Bludgeoners were looking at Horace in a new light, even as their backup thrower was getting stretchered out with his arm hanging off haphazardly.

Horace looked at the Bludgeoners back, and his family looked at him in return. Finally, Agne looked concerned and sidled up to her husband. "Love, why are they staring at you like that?"

"Master Lyle, please calm yourself!" Wendel shouted as he, Fredericka, and Tobias physically restrained the Lichemaster from storming down the bleachers immediately. But it was a hard ask since he was the most physically fit out of everyone within the Inner Circle, with Wendel in a distant second. And it was a very distant second. "Th-these things happen in Blood Bowl games all the time, I assure you-

"And I can assure someone that I'm gonna open up a can o' whip ass on on the nearest Matarazz that who calls himself a referee down there!" The Lichemaster snarled, inching out of the private box despite three bodies holding him back. "Lemme at em'! Don't even need magic! All I gotta do is start swingin'! That oughta give the people in this stadium a show!"

Jacquette was pleasantly surprised at how honorable Lyle was to the point where he was getting bent out of shape over a simple game of Blood Bowl. It said a lot that what Emmerich had told her on the way here wasn't a simple show, given how genuine his outrage seemed. It seemed that the rumors she had heard from Parravon about how unusual this necromancer was hadn't simply been tall tales, especially given how he went out of his way to have a festival to cater to the many peasants throughout this area.

In a way, it was relieving as it was concerning. She'd heard that while Spoletta was honorable, he also seemed to have Imperialistic ideals about the commoners not being treated so poorly as Bretonnian nobles such as herself often did. Jacquette personally didn't see any reason to inflict any unjust cruelties upon the unwashed masses, but these ideals of 'uplifting' she'd heard were…concerning, to say the least.

But she could worry about such matters later in the future. For now, she had her son's well-being to consider after all. Standing up, she cleared her throat. "While I appreciate your respect for the rules, Lord Spoletta, it wouldn't be the Lordly image of you starting a brawl amongst the other players and referees. Perhaps in the future, if you wish to have rules better enforced on the games you host, you can make certain financial incentives to ensure they happen."

While Lyle didn't completely calm down, he eyed the noblewoman, momentarily halting his resistance against his inner circle. "...oh yeah?"

"Oh, yes. From what I've heard, the Blood Bowl League has been in a bit of a slump lately, courtesy of the rising chaos within the Old World. They'd be more than willing to enforce certain rules for their more…lucrative sponsors."

"Hmmm…well, I'd hate to splurge some cash on these grubby bastards, on the other hand-

Suddenly, their attention was drawn back to the pitch when they all heard Jim's voice broadcast once more. "Oh, what's this, Bob? It looks like the Eilhart Bludgeoners have just found a new thrower!...or what appears to be a new thrower. How queer, I could have sworn he came from the crowd."

"Oh, he sure did, Jim. But it looks like the Bludgeoner's coach just had a talk about it with the referee…and gave him a pretty damn long handshake after the fact. Heheh! I'm smellin' some good ol' fashioned bribery!"

"Without a doubt, Bob! But, given how loosely the Ebony Fangs have played with the rules of this game, I think this is rather warranted, in my unbiased opinion. After all, while it's illegal to have new players added in the middle of the game, much less when they come into the crowd, I suppose we can overlook this minor stipulation for one final dramatic game-winning drive."

The rest of the Inner Circle, including Emmerich and Jacquette, looked at Lyle pointedly, wondering what his reaction would be, with all of them looking surprised as he shrugged and sat back down. "In Football, we call this a makeup call. I got no problem wit' it."

"W-who exactly should I be throwing this to?" Horace asked nervously as he got ready to resume the game with both teams lining up on the thirty-five-yard line on the Bludgeoner's side of the field.

One of the only players on the team who could speak Bretonnian, the team captain, Alric, just side-eyed him. "Just throw it to Isaac. But make sure not to throw it too fast. Make sure he runs deep before you do it."

Horace would have normally put up more of a fuss or seemed a bit more concerned about the situation he now found himself in, especially since he'd only ever just thrown a football a couple of times. The first was to that goblin he'd chucked from the audience, with a few more throws made to hastily practice during a Bludgeoners' timeout.

Now, he usually wouldn't have dared to even attempt to insert himself into a game where it seemed like you were lucky to have a few bodily injuries. But, when they dangled more money in front of his face than he had ever seen in his life, Horace ignored the protests of his wife, threw on some pads that didn't quite fit him, and stepped onto the pitch to the roaring approval of the crowd that seemed amped up at the idea of one of their own being thrown into the game.

He wondered if they would have that same energy if he became a casualty when all was said and done in the name of their entertainment.

Swallowing down his nerves, the referee blew the whistle, and just like that, the game resumed. Horace snapped out of his inner musings when his lineman and blitzers rushed forward, blocking and shoving back the wall of zombies and skeletons that were trying to get to him, all the while pale-skinned humans tried to get around the edges to tackle and force the ball out of his hands.

Thankfully for Horace, he wasn't without protection. A Blitzer and team Captain, Alric, moved to give him some mobile protection, but even then, there wasn't any reason to worry too much. Not when their team had a massive Ogre and was all too willing to throw their weight around. When a few pale skins managed to break through the offensive line, the Ogre did what he did best and swung his meaty fists around, knocking them about as Horace and his two blockers rushed past it to get a better position. All the while, their team's catcher ran a deep route, which was initially shadowed by the sole vampire on the team. Once she saw how much ground Horace was gaining with his little caravan, she immediately changed course, storming right at them with frightening speed.

The Blitzer guarding Horace shifted to block her, only for her to toss him over her shoulder without wasting a breath.

"Keep moving, Horse! Get that ball in the endzone!"

"My name's Horace!" The peasant squeaked as she saw the vampire bare her fangs, only to get stopped in place by the seasoned team captain. To Alaric's credit, he did manage to shove her backward for a beat, giving Horace some time to make it past the forty-yard line on Ebony Fang's side of the field, but ultimately, there was only so much, even the most seasoned humans could do against a vampire with ill-intentions. This proved particularly true when she feinted to tackle him, only for her to pivot and knock Alaric on his ass with a wicked roundhouse that gave him a good old-fashioned concussion, knocking his helmet off in the process.

Horace could practically hear the vampire hiss as she saw him try to run farther, but the sad reality was that Horace knew that it wouldn't take long for her to catch up, which was why as he saw his team's catcher make it close to the endzone he knew he had to get ready to throw. But, as soon as the peasant felt a chill go down his spine, his self-preservation skills kicked in, which wound up saving him as Horace slid down on the ground. This slide not only saved him but also the Bludgeoners game since the vampire dove right over his form in a failed attempt to tackle him.

Knowing he had no time to get up and throw the ball, Horace quickly threw it while sitting down. While it was a little low due to his position, it nonetheless landed in the hands of their catcher, signaling the touchdown and the end of the game.

The crowd roared in approval while some merchants cursed with some of their bets not going their way while some smiled greedily at how they'd managed to back the right horse. Even Lyle clapped and hollered loudly, impressed with the underdog story that had developed below him on the back of one unassuming and frankly random peasant. All the while, Horace looked around as the crowd cheered, his impromptu teammates surged around and lifted him up, clapping his back and shouting with cheer in Reikspeil. But what truly stood out to the Bretonnian peasant was his family. His family was absolutely ballistic at the sight of his sudden moment of glory. Even his eldest son, who found it hard to be cheerful about anything, was hopping up and down with his hands in the air, his young brother on his shoulders. Why, if he looked closely from where he was being held up by his teammates, he swore he could see a gleam of a tear building on his wife's cheek, though she was probably more happy that he was alive than anything.

Suddenly, he was twenty gold pieces richer, and all he had to do was not get his head torn off by a vampire and throw a football…with compensation like that, who needed to be a levy?

And it seemed that Jim agreed. "And just like that, it is all over, ladies and gentlemen!" The vampiric commentator sounded off. "Through a frankly fascinating amount of luck and perhaps Nuffle taking pity on the Eilhart Bludgeoners, the human-based team manages to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat!"

"Sure, looks like it, Jim. It was a helluva game, no doubt. But I have to admit, I'm a bit disappointed we didn't get at least one death on the pitch today!"

"Oh, come now, Bob, you saw at least a few zombies get bashed about and dismembered. I recalled one's head getting ripped off by an ogre!"

"Ehhh, it's not the same. You, of all people, should know that it's not really the same when the player's already dead, Jim."

"Fair enough Bob. Fair enough. Mayhaps next game?"

"Oh, there'd better be, because of there i-Oh! Hold up a moment, Jim! Looks like our host has a few words for our captive audience!"

Lyle poked at the microphone to ensure that it worked. It was a lot bulkier than the ones back home, and he had to curse his luck that he couldn't buy it since it was apparently only property of the Blood Bowl League itself. They wouldn't allow him to purchase it since they didn't want other leagues to imitate their success since microphones like these were incredibly expensive given they used magic, and even then, renting these microphones was pricey enough as it was. Maybe it was something to look into in the future.

For now, he could just focus on striking while the iron was hot, especially since this was a great game that even he had to appreciate despite the clear rule-bending. "Good Afternoon, people of Bastonne! You guys having a great day or what!?"

The deafening roar that responded back to him nearly made his eardrums rumble, and even the others in his private box winced at the noise. Lyle, however, surged on a head, smiling wide at the open approval. He was about to say something again when suddenly, a chant started breaking out. A chant that began to peel its way throughout the audience and all the way up to the bleachers, and it didn't take long for Lyle to hear it out.

"LYLE! LYLE! LYLE! LYLE! LYLE!"

Not wanting to interrupt him, Lyle just smiled and waved, giving a thumbs up as he soaked in the adulation of the tens of thousands of peasants chanting his name. Even the wealthy merchants chanted alongside them, having made a fortune despite being predominantly peasants. The bread and circuses had done its job and the Barrow Legion had made sure to let everyone know who was to thank for this grand festival.

And finally, once the chant died down, Lyle spoke through the microphone again. "Thank you, thank you. And I do mean it. I mean, you guys are chanting my name, but I'd prefer if you all chanted something else more on that in a bit, but… here's the thing. The reason why I brought all of you guys here is because I knew that you all deserved this. And I mean this, all of this! Ever since I got here, I've seen how hard you guys break your back for all the ungrateful nobles of dis' land! I've seen how little you guys have to show for how much to show for it, I've seen the crimes that the nobles have committed DESPITE THAT! I've seen how they literally sell you out to elves after they wanted to make a quick buck off of you, but no more! No more!" The audience was mostly silent now, hanging on every word from the confidence and passion that was evident in his voice. "People of Bretonnia, for all those who have busted your humps and not given a dime in return while only receiving scraps, lemme ask ya somethin'...is a man not entitled to the sweat on his brow?"

Lyle let the question hang in there while some looked as though they were dwelling on it, wondering to themselves where the leader of the Barrow Legion himself was going with this. Many did not notice the snicker he suppressed, given from whom and what he was stealing this from.

As the chatter died down, Lyle continued. "Now I ain't some philosopher or nothin', but if ya ask me, considering what I know about this land of yours, I'd hear answers like 'No!' Says the nobles, it belongs to them. 'No!' Says the damsels and the priests, it belongs to the Lady. 'No!' Says the King. It belongs to him! I rejected those answers; instead, I chose something different. I chose the impossible, I chose a slogan that I'm sure that many nobles are quaking in their boots at the thought of thinking…Make. Bretonnia. Great Again."

Soon, even the most illiterate, ignorant, and backwater peasant began to understand and grasp what Lyle was calling for, with some openly weeping at the speech he was giving. Even his biggest detractors and merchants who would hesitate to support him began to nod at how well he was delivering that speech, not realizing just how much Lyle was plagiarizing here. With many beginning to murmur and nod their heads with his words, Lyle's voice began to pick up further on the microphone.

"From here on out, the Bretonnia you've all gotten used to and suffered under is dying. It started the day I was brought here, and I'm gonna keep on goin' on until I've put it six feet under. I have plans to make sure that the Bretonnia you live in is catered to all of you! The people who brake their backs to keep it going! And from here on out, I'm doing it through three simple steps!" Lyle raised his index finger. "First! From here on out, even though this has already been done unofficially, that stupid law about you guys giving up nine-tenths of your harvest ends officially today. The nobles sure don't need that much food, and this banquet proves it! More than half of this festival is coming from the overstuffed stores here, and you should get a cut o' the pie! From now on! Only half is needed!"

The crowd exploded in jubilation, with many peasants looking at one another in abject shock. Was something like this even possible? Was this truly a dream? Surely their necromantic overlord wasn't THIS generous?

Truth be told, it was a bit of both. Lyle and the Barrow Legion genuinely didn't need THAT much food. Especially since the majority of their army didn't even need food to function. It was better to let the villages not only survive but thrive to earn their goodwill.

"Second! Going forward, I'm gonna need some volunteers from any men or women that got the stones to not only help me fight the good fight but to help bring some good ol' fashioned liberation to other peasants in other duchies! And I do want to reiterate! I'm lookin' for volunteers, not people who don't wanna fight! I'm lookin' for people who wanna go out there to kick ass and take names! People who could possibly wear a uniform like mine to do some liberatin' and look good doin' it! People who want ta" get paid for their services! Join the volunteer corps and become a rifleman, and we can do some liberatin' togetha'!"

The fact that Lyle made sure to explain that it was voluntary seemed to do the trick for the peasants with some giving a sigh of relief at not having to be forcefully draft. Others looked on with zealotry or opportunism, wondering just how much pay they could acquire, with some looking at Lyle's uniform and starting to ponder if they could get gear that good.

"Third, and I'm wonderin' why this even needs ta' even be said, but you can now all travel freely from village to village! No more havin' ta' stay in one place save for goin' on campaign and no more havin' ta' marry your cousin' or sister, or brotha' or whatever! You can now move about freely!"

This confused peasants more than anything. Why would Lord Lyle focus so much on who they would marry? Ultimately, many just shrugged and took the gift they had been given. After all, many had wanderlust in their veins or simply wanted to go to another village or settlement to ply their trade. Why would one complain about that?

"Fourth and the last one for now, I can't stay around for much longer because I just got news that there's a duchy right next to us that needs our help! A duchy that needs some liberating!" Lyle then pointed to his face, and though many couldn't see him up close, he made sure to explain regardless. "Some o' you may have heard, but a little while back someone tried to off me after me n' the Barrow Legion got whipping some beastmen and ork ass! I was so close to getting iced that an arrow went through both my cheeks! An arrow that's left me scarred and disfigured but even more passionate about what I need to do!...an arrow from the wood elves!" When shocked chatter broke, Lyle pressed further while he was building sympathy. "And I just got word that that those same wood elves are attacking the duchy of Paravon and are about to take out the duke over there…and while I may not care for nobles, I'm not about to let those knife-eared, tree-huggin', eco-terrorist, hippies kill a bunch of people because a few branches were cut down! Think about it! These hippies tried to kill me! Me! A guy who's tryin' ta' help all o' you! So what do you think they're gonna do to your neighbors? What are they gonna do to all o' you if they get the chance! I say we don't give em' a chance! Especially since I've heard they're doin' all kinds of sick shit to the people there! They're comin' after other peasants' kids! They're tearin' down castles and homes! They're eating your cats and dogs! YOUR CATS AND DOGS! Are we just gonna let em' do whateva' they feel like just cause they love nature and live longer than us?"

"NO!" Shouts of outrage and fervor erupted throughout the captive audience, many raising their fists and roaring angrily at the news and the possible acts of terror the wood elves were causing.

"Then I need all the help I can get! Anyone and everyone who wants ta' join the volunteer corps has three days ta' join up! Cause, after that third day, not only am I gonna go and kick some hippie ass! Not only am I gonna have the Duke of Parravon enact the same four laws I just told all of you about? After the third day… We're gonna Make Bretonnia Great Again!"

"MAKE BRETONNIA GREAT AGAIN! MAKE BRETONNIA GREAT AGAIN! MAKE BRETONNIA GREAT AGAIN!"

Raising his arms dramatically as if he were orchestrating a choir, the thousands of peasants chanted the fabled words that Lyle had coined since arriving in this fantastical and strange world, and it was by far the largest audience that he had chanting in it. Even if some didn't truly understand it or had their own interpretation of those words, what mattered was that they were saying it. Thinking it. Believing in it. And the idea could only grow from there, especially since Lyle had just given the green light for free movement throughout the two duchies he now controlled.

Watching all of this was Jacquette with a mix of both horror and fascination, realizing that she hadn't truly appreciated the type of beast that she was truly dealing with. Whether she could decipher if Lyle believed in the ideals he was espousing or not was irrelevant, though given how honorable he seemed to be it was clear that he was a true believer.

It made her shudder. If Spoletta was so dead set on upending the social order and cultural norms of their nation, Jacquette wondered if the price to save her son would have any long-term ramifications for not just her home, but also for the country as a whole.

Either way, it was too late to back out. She could only hope that her son would be healthy and hale by the end of it all.

A/N:

This turned into a monster of a chapter for me. Much longer than I intended for it to be honest. For those who have read my work for years, this is another case of me wanting to have different scenes with different characters across Bretonnia to set more stuff up, but there was just too much I wanted to fit into this story, with both the new uniforms, to Jacquette to the Blood Bowl game and everything else…yeah, that's gonna have to take a delay.

In other words we're going to have those scenes I originally had planned for the next chapter. To give you guys a bit of a teaser it will include, King Louen, Simmire, and a paladin who hasn't been shown in this story for a minute, Repanse and her growing encroachment on Lyle's plans. A lot of moving parts in Bretonnia and we're gonna be covering the madness in this next chapter so I hope to keep you guys entertained as usual!

Besides that, please continue to leave your reviews and thoughts down below and keep that extra fuel for me coming! Any words no matter how significant or insignificant will always keep me motivated! And with that in mind big shout out to Malgarth for contributing with those slew of reviews! Glad to have you join the community!