A/R:

Kolek Blood Drinker: Yep. It was thanks to you, that I managed to fix that within a few hours of the chapter's publishing.

Aymen El Kadouri: Your welcome. And on a side note. LET EM' BUUUUUURNN!

Annoying POW Marine: Yeah, Lyle was most definitely about to pop off, but the sombering realization of how close he was to meeting his end at the hand of these ambushes made him realize that cooler heads needed to prevail, especially since he hasn't quite fought an enemy like the Asrai before. So yes, it was a little bit of character development along with the circumstances that he is being forced to deal with. And yes, Grom did spare her. It's the sudden bout' of chivalry that suddenly meandering in his mind, along with his usual old cunning. Whether or not this will lead to more developments however remains to be seen.

Zerkil: And if that happens, Lyle will know who he'll have to blame for that and who unleash some magic-infused napalm upon. And it's gonna take a helluva lot more than tums to fix what's wrong with Grom. Nothing short of having his old troll-flesh back will do the trick at this point to undo what's happening to his body and psyche. And yeah I believe this was brought up before. As much as I would love to see Lyle brought to life in Warhammer with his own unique buildings and faction bonuses, I doubt my story is popular enough to warrant that. But, if it would make you, my fellow readers happy to experience his glorious revolucion, I would be all for it. I know I couldn't do it though. I have little skill in the way of modding beyond installing and uninstalling them, lol.

Guts and Toes: thanks for the heads up. Really appreciate it.

dadg12346: Amen my friend. Amen. Especially when they happen to be liberating forests near where you're at.

Wangbu: Some people have tried warning him in some way shape and form. But, Lyle just doesn't truly grasp the gravity of the threat, especially since he doesn't turly appreciate how dangerous chaos is on a mass scale. He's still ignorant in some ways regarding the dangerous aspects of Warhammer and if he were to truly understand it, he'd have to see it himself.

monykinomovie: And he brings mass with him.

Haldir 639: Anyone who says they're turned off by the sheer weighty masculinity of Grom is either lying to themselves or just jealous that he has something that they don't. Just look at how quickly he bounces back from being quite literally disembowled and having women fall at his feet!

RandomSovietFarmer: It's like I mentioned before. Nobody can hope to resist the charms and swagger of Big G. As far as Lyle, it's gonna take some work before he can have that barbeque. But, it'll be a helluva cookout if he succeeds.

Guest: That's not a bad idea. Not saying I'll do it, but if you had to choose a location on the warhammer map, where would this story start or take place?

Duke Cassyon De Parravon was finding himself both bored and furious as he stewed on the battlements of his castle. It was a crime. A holy offense that he wasn't able to ride his pegasus. He paced up and down the walls, his gourd rising as all his men made sure to keep a wide birth wisely. It was telling that there was no noise outside his castle walls, yet the silence was deafening and suffocating his men and their senses. It was looking to drive him insane with how long it was stretching on. It didn't help that his comrades were trying to keep their words hushed and low whenever he passed by them. It only frustrated the duke with how the silence stretched on even further due to his actions.

If the duke could, he would look out at the tree-based siege weapons that were being created just outside his castle to direct his ire somewhere, but he knew that he risked an arrow to the eye from one of the many way-watchers that had come to assist with this siege. It was a wonder he hadn't received even more of the harrowing arrow fire, considering how poor his luck had been up until this point. If he wasn't losing battles to the Asrai, who had suddenly upped their aggression to levels he hadn't seen, his own mother had to flee the castle in his stead to gain the aid of their King. A king who was reportedly already fighting numerous threats that assailed his realm.

If only he could ride his pegasus. If only he could take one of his swords or lances and fell those damnable animated trees or knife ears to direct his ire towards…something! Anything productive! He felt utterly useless and ill-at-ease in this situation, and his rapid pacing only emphasized this. It was why he decided to ultimately storm down the winding steps of his castle to busy himself with anything other than the monotony of the siege. When you couldn't allow him to keep the wind whipping around his face, he would 'sulk like a toddler' as his mother often put it. He loathed how utterly true it was as he marched out to the pegasus stables on a lower but still high portion of the castle.

Truthfully, the pegasi would more often than not would be settled on a higher and outside portion of the castle, but after how long the reach of the elven archers had proven to be, it was ruled far too dangerous. Something that they had proven in the past, even before this siege had begun. Never would he underestimate how lethal the children of Athel Loren could prove to be if given the opportunity to slip through your guard. It was something he had learned the hard way when he had brought a small army to confront what his scouts thought would be a raiding party from Athel Loren, given how it was how they would usually settle large-form confrontations. Fights between his army, and there's rarely exceeded a thousand men even put together between them.

He would never make the same mistake he made over a month ago considering it was what led to the desperate siege that they were in now. Cassyon had to restrain himself from brushing his favorite pegasus too hard. The tension in his arm was too tense. His grip on the brush too tight. And the pegasus made sure to let him know by smacking him with its wing. It came so suddenly with a sharp series of neighs that allowed it to voice its displeasure.

"Forgive me, Argent. I'm in one of those moods." he sighed, shaking his head. He pat his pegasi on its flank, soothing it for a moment before it whipped his neck about, huffing indignantly. "Yes, yes, you always want something, don't you?" The pegasus snorted, providing an apple for the pegasi to munch on, something that it was all too willing to do, accepting the obvious bribe with ease.

As the pegasi ate the treat that it had been given, Cassyon continued to pet the flank of his favorite steed before finally doing something other than sulk, spar, or ride out into the sky, especially since THAT wasn't available to him at the moment. No. He would have to do something his mother and advisors often nagged at him to do, as infuriating as they could be when he just wanted to focus on fighting as a grail knight should. Think. And actually, think deeply and not pout on how unfair his current situation was. Argent seemed to agree, jerking its head toward the sealed exit of the roostery. The pegasi was as antsy as his rider. "Yes, yes, I know, Argent I know. I'm working on it, my friend." The horse slapped him again with its wing, getting Cassyon to try and block the mostly harmless strikes with some verbal protests. "Argent! Come now, I told you I am trying! And I was to be the temperamental one! Damned beast!" Cassyon walked away from his horse, trying to give himself some space and breathing room to try and do as he was originally committed. Think.

He had tried sallying out. Both with peasants, knights, and his pegasi air force. No matter what it was that he had tried he and his army had been met with arrows. And by the time they had managed to reach whatever ground forces the wood elves had, the Paravonese forces were too battered and weathered down by the Asrai skirmishers that he had to call a retreat back to the safety of the castle, with only the corpses of their comrades as well as numerous arrow wounds for the more fortunate to show for their efforts.

He had tried firing back with trebuchets and scorpions that were naturally a part of the castle turrets and battlements to try and destroy the siege weaponry that was being built to lay siege to his family castle. This was effectively thwarted when eagle riders came in out of nowhere to lay down fire arrows that severely damaged the siege weapons before he could retaliate. By the time his archers had smartened up and returned fire, the elven eagle riders were already flying away, and though they had thrown water onto the fire, the damage had been done.

He had sent out pigeons to attempt to send out messenger pigeons to send out word for a need of aid, though it galled his pride. No help had come, and Cassyon had an inkling that the birds that he saw fly away wound up like the ones who were struck out of the air by arrows that he COULD see.

His castle had been turned into a prison. A prison he and his men now had to guard with their lives lest they be torn asunder by the wrothful Asrai that awaited outside his walls.

He was doing it again. He wasn't actually thinking. He was sulking. All because he wasn't getting what he wanted.

Argent seemed to think so, too, lightly ramming its head into his back, making him stumble. "Lady's sake, Argent! I get it! No more sulking! Gods! You're not the one having to use his brain!"

It wasn't his fault that he was getting so easily galled by an infuriating foe that refused to give him open battle in a truly honorable fash-

"Gaah! Alright, Argent! No more sulking!" He yelped when the horse bit at his arm. "It's not my fault our situation is so shite!" Argent looked as though he was going to bite Cassyon on the arm, the Duke relents. "Alright, fine! Maybe I shouldn't have tried sallying out so many times! I was desperate." Argent huffed. "And stupid. Very stupid. Yes, yes, you're right. You're always right. Ever since you were an insufferable fil-"

"M'lord!" Cassyon frowned so hard that he was sure that if his mother saw him, he was sure she'd cuff him in the back of the head and tell him to stop sulking. He put on as lordly of an expression as he could.

"I'm busy prepping my steed, if you don't mind. So I would hope tha-

"There's a battle going on! O-outside between the Elves and…and-

"Who? Who!?" The duke of Parravon suddenly said, excitement and battle lust flooding his veins, with even his pegasus Argent looking at the ready, his wings flaring. "Is it the King? Has His Majesty come to our aid!?"

"W-we don't think so!" the Squire said with uncertainty. "All that we know is there's a pitched battle happening some miles away from the castle, and the participant's banners are a bit hard to see from the turrets. We would set out our pegasus to see ourselves, but-

"Well then, whose winning? How is the battle going!? Give me details, Lady, damn you!"

"I-it's a bit hard to tell! I think the army that has arrived was suddenly ambushed by the elven forces that were hiding in the tree line and are now being set upon by some of the forces that were besieging your castle. However, there have been large explosions that have sent some of the Athel Loren forces and…well, it's a bit chaotic and quite a bit going on."

"Explosions? Could be some Knife-ear magic." Cassyon muttered to himself as he put a finger to his chin. But he didn't dwell on it for too long. Whether this was the King's army or not didn't matter. If they were drawn into fighting these long-suffering foes of Parravon, then he would be remiss to keep his blade within its sheathe and not take the opportunity the Lady was clearly presenting before him.

Besides! He would finally have the chance to break the monotony of the horrid siege! And what knight would dare to pass up such an opportunity? "How many troops have the elves drawn away from the siege?"

"A-about a a quarter! I-I think!"

"You think!? Be sure, man!"

"W-well, yes! I mean, allright, I'm sure!"

Cassyon wanted to snarl but suppressed the instinct to do so. Even three-fourths of that army was too much if this page was to be believed. The casualties would be staggering…but maybe he didn't need to get his army out of the castle…merely use them to get himself out of it.

After all, maybe he didn't need to crush the children of Athel Loren outright. Merely make sure that these newcomers survived this encounter so they could help crush said army later.

"Get me, my knights! Quickly! Every second is precious for this castle and the dukedom as a whole! Tell anyone who shows up late is getting flogged! Now!"

The paige scrambled to do just that, and to his credit, he seemed to understand the severity of his commands to make sure that all of Cassyon's closest confidants, friends, and senior knights helped draft a battle plan to execute. He'd lost enough of his men to bad decisions as well as knife-ear cowardice and trickery. He wasn't about to make the same mistake for the umpteenth time.

"It is taking too long." Durthu rumbled as his bark skin shifted and bent under his simmering wrath. The ancient, tall, and imposing Tree-kin showed his impatience as he squeezed the handle of his mighty blade tighter, staring impatiently at the battle that was taking place. "These forces of the damned should be back resting within the dirt just as nature intended them to be. For them to last this long is testing my patience!"

The ancient tree spirit was galled at how the undead had managed to slowly yet surely mitigate the many ambushes that were being thrown their way as they had marched doggedly toward the castle of Parravon. Oh, their ambushes had been successful at first, as they mostly were. A few stray arrows here and there. An ambush or two. A sudden surprise attack that would catch them unawares. It all seemed to go well with how Durthu's forces were managing to sap away the strength of the incoming undead army.

Yet adjustments were made to limit the damage he could inflict. The riflemen started getting their shots off faster. The living made use of spears and shields to limit how many undead they could destroy. The necromancers also made sure to hide amongst the others or within their wagons to hamper any attempt to kill them. All while still doggedly persisting in their pursuit of Castle Parravon.

It was why Durthu was kicking himself for trusting the damned Asrai to be able to finish these accursed creatures off with one large ambush outside of the castle. Prophetess Naieth may have been a powerful spell crafter and a specialist in divination, but she was taking her sweet time in destroying these forces, especially since he'd graciously given her a quarter of his fellow tree spirits.

At first, it seemed to have gone well, like with their early ambushes. The undead army withered under a hail of arrow fire, and once Durthu's fellow tree spirits joined in the battle, they ripped zombies to meaty shreds and splintered undead bone.

Yet the fighting continued…and continued…and continued still. He knew that undead were as likely to route as dwarves were to avoid perverting nature and cutting down trees to feed their furnaces, but the fact that they were lasting this long…plus the fact that he heard rifle shots in the distance that sounded eerily familiar to the empire in the east's armaments. It was putting the ancient tree spirit ill at ease. Perhaps this was his punishment for trusting those damnable elves to get the job do-

Durthu's attention was drawn to when the main draw bridge to castle Parravon suddenly came down. With it was a screaming charge of hundreds, if not thousands, of peasants rushing out onto it toward his position. Peasants with spears, swords, pitchforks, and shields were apparently trying to take advantage of the situation that was developing south of their position.

"My brethren!" Durthu roared in his ancient language. "The perverators of nature come toward us to meet their end! Let us help them toward it and reunite their flesh and bones to the earth!"

Dryads, Treekin, and a few branch wraiths and Treeants that were with Durthu on this campaign roared in approval, their eyes glowing in a fervor at these pesky short-lived creatures that didn't understand or appreciate their ways. He didn't need to give any orders to the small contingent of elves that were still with him to fire their arrows at the incoming force of peasants. Unfortunately, the casualties from these volleys were minimal to the point where few were dying, and fewer were wounded. Sure, the elves were skillful enough to weave their arrows between those shields, but as they fell, the peasants quickly slowed down their pace and prioritized their safety with a hasty shield wall. It wasn't the most organized shield wall, but it didn't need to be, with how few were dying.

That was fine with Durthu. Though he had more patience than the average short-lived mortal, he was more than willing to soak his roots and bark with the blood of these ill-bred short-lifers. His fellow spirit-kin seemed to agree as the dryads and treekin surged forward to meet the incoming peasants that were determined to meet their end. Behind the peasants and, in some cases, even amongst them were what appeared to be armored squires and even knights who had dismounted and decided to fight amongst the riff-raff, knowing how crucial this battle would be. For Durthu, it only served to show him just how desperate these humans were to make the most out of this situation.

But he wouldn't let them have burgeoning hope so easily. Not when he called the spirits and wildlife of the forest to unleash their wrath upon them. Crows appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and started harrying the peasants who were then set upon by the dryads and treeants looking to smash, pummel, rip, and tear their way through the unwashed ranks of the Brettonians before them, fighting for their lives as they tried to meet these forest-based foes head-on.

It was rough work for them, especially since they were trying and failing to get completely across their draw bridge and finding themselves bogged down by the tree spirits at the front. One peasant thrust his spear and found purchase into the shoulder of a dryad. That same peasant was rewarded when that same dryad sunk its jagged-barked teeth into his hands, drawing blood and a scream. One peasant tried hacking and hewing another dryad with his sword and found marginal success, only to sputter when a crow came by and nearly took out one of his eyes, drawing blood near his eyelids. The worst was when a handful of treekin managed to make their way past the dryads and started bashing and smashing their smaller foes with their hunks of bark, with any attempts to cut through them being met with cries of frustration and pain as they were smacked aside and pummeled by the hunks of bark that the treekin were swinging.

With his forces now all nearly fully committed, Durthu moved to join his fellow spirits to utterly crush these foolish short-lifers for believing they could take advantage of their diminished force, only to halt himself when he felt a change in the wind. Looking around himself, the ancient spirit found himself at a loss, only to find answers when he looked up. If his eyes could widen, they most certainly would have when he saw a large force of pegasus riders leave the roostery of the castle that had been under tight observation up until now. Durthu was about to call to his kin to prepare for their inevitable attack but was then surprised when they moved directly away from his personal forces.

And moved south towards the ambush.

We've been had! Durthu cursed to himself, feeling insulted for being outmaneuvered by these short-lived creatures.

"Asrai! Stop them!" It galled him even more to have to rely on the Asrai to try and stop the winged creatures, but there was little that Durthu could do beside cast spells. Speed was rarely one of his kind's stronger suits, and they simply couldn't reach those creatures of the air as well as the elves could. A few arrows were sent in the direction of the pegasus force, but it was too little too late. And all Durthu could do was roar in rage and surge forth, unleashing his wrath upon the hapless peasants before him, swinging his amber sword all the while.

"Keep moving! The Lady won't deliver another chance like this on our doorstep! We mustn't let the ground force's sacrifice be in vain!" Cassyon shouted to his fellow pegasus knights, who numbered over sixty in total. He could recall a time when there had been hundreds at one point in his personal retinue, but the amount of dead and wounded that had sapped his force's strength of both rider and pegasus alike was showing. But that did little to deter the Duke and his men now. Not when they had the chance to avenge the fallen at this moment.

"My lord!" one of his closest confidants shouted as they flew through the sky and further away from the castle. "I'm getting a closer look at the force the elves seem to be fighting it…what in the Lady's name?"

The confusion became contagious amongst the knightly ranks as they all began to draw closer to the ambush that had required so many Asrai forces to peel away from the siege. When they flew close enough, the knights all nearly collectively gasped in both horror and further confusion when they saw none other than undead zombies, knights and skeletons brawling it out with dryads, and wood elf infantry trying to hack and hew their way through the undead frontline with mixed results. And while elven skirmishers were trying to fire arrows into the long caravan under attack, many hid behind trees as musket fire rippled behind the frontlines and into the trees, with some Asrai screaming out from bullets finding their mark.

It was utter chaos, and much like how he was, during the siege, Cassyon was plagued by indecision. The thoughts of aiding this new army had now gone to the wayside with the sight of the undead before him.

"M-m'lord, what do we do now?"

He was hoping someone else had the answer to that. Instead, his fellow knights all wore varying signs of indecision, even those with their faces concealed by helmets. After all, what would the Lady think if they were all to go out of their way to assist the undead, these abominable affronts to nature? And judging by the banners that were stretching across this war party, it was clear that this was none other than the infamous Barrow Legion! The same legion that had once been led by Kemmler and was now running rampant upon central Bretonnia!

He wished he could decimate both forces out of sheer spite, but as impetuous as Cassyon was, logic told him that he didn't have the numbers, even if he was a grail knight and a some of his fellow knights were grail knights, it would be far too dangerous. Should he leave them? Should he head back and try and instead support the ground forces back at the castle and try and lift the siege? Would he be able to accomplish that with Durthu running rampant and leading those forces?

The ideas sounded more and more tantalizing for the grail knight until he spied something within the chaos of the battle. A flag that was an anomaly amongst the other blue and black flags that represented the Barrow Legion. It was his family's flag. The flag of the Dukedom of Parravon itself. A flag that was coming out of a carriage.

The sight perplexed Cassyon to the point that his brain hurt for a moment, but he remembered something. He remembered that flag, specifically because of the white tassels coming out of the top. He'd given that flag to none other than his mother.

Suddenly, any indecision had vaporized within the mind of the duke who drew his sword and bellowed orders, doing what he did best. Acting. To me, my knights! My mother is among the carnage! To the carriage with my mother! Now!"

His men didn't have time to question his decision, nor did they dare to, once they all saw what he was continuing to stare at as he rode downward with Argus, bravely heading toward the thicket of dryads and undead amid this ambush. Necromancers that were reinforcing the frontline with their magics scrambled out of the way of the incoming pegasus riders, in some cases, diving to the ground to avoid losing their heads. In any other situation, Cassyon would have made short work of them, but his mother's safety was a priority. He didn't know how these neredowells caught her, but he would fix that with haste!

Argus ran through a cadre of undead that were in his way, scattering the bones of skeletons with his hooves, while his rider swung around his blade like a whirlwind, slicing whatever creature unfortunate enough to incur his wrath as other pegasus riders landing followed their suit. But, Cassyon could only grit his teeth in frustration when he saw heavily armored Grave Guard forming a tight circular shield wall around the carriage, with some having arrows sticking out of their shields or armor and showing no sign of wear and tear.

That was fine. Mere Grave Guard wouldn't be enough to stop him from saving family! It would take longer, yes, but it would do litt-

"Cassyon enough!" The duke's thoughts were cast aside when his mother opened the slot to her carriage and yelled at him with tired and agitated eyes. "These undead are here to help you, Lady, dammit!"

"Mother Y-wait. I-huh?" Words failed the young duke as he tried to make sense of what his mother just said as she let out a huff of breath.

"Quit wasting your time trying to kill these und-

"I-I'm not here to kill them specifically I'm here to save you from them!"

"I don't need saving! The reason I brought this lot here is because YOU do!"

"You brought these monsters here!?" The grail knight sounded in dismayed horror. "Whatever happened to getting help from the King?"

"If I could have done that, do you believe that I would have come here with them!? Now help them scatter these damned forest frolickers so that there's still an army left to relieve your castle!"

"B-but mother, they're the Barrow Legion!"

"Oh? Oh! Well, I must admit that bit must been lost on me when I requested their assistance!" The older woman proclaimed caustically. "Any other revelations you wish to impart upon my dear boy, or shall we contin-AHH!" The woman screamed when an arrow slammed into the carriage, urging her to dart back inside.

Such a sight incurred the wrath of the son of his mother, even after she had chastised him in battle. "You damnable knife ears dare to strike a woman! My mother at that!? After you've already taken so much from me!?" The anger at the undead had momentarily been forgotten, and outrage to the source of his dukedom's many problems had caused his gord to rise once more, urging him to turn back toward his fellow knights, with most of them seeing the exchange before or in some cases under them. "My brothers! First, we decimate the accursed knife ear-ambushing party, and then…then we will deal with the undead as deemed fit!" He hadn't ruled out destroying them outright just yet…if he could even do that, but if what his mother said was true…plus given her attitude and candor, Cassyon would bet the blessing the Lady given him that she hadn't been brainwashed or bewitched.

One thing at a time. The knife ears first. Then the undead. Act first, think later.

He repeated this mantra as he and his knights, albeit reluctantly, ignored the undead for now and focused solely on the elves, flying toward the treeline and hurtling right at their archers who had been so distracted with firing back at the musketeers that by the time they could react to the pegasus riders, it was already too late.

"Normally, it would warm my heart to know that other monarchs struggle alongside me. In these times, however, it only serves to darken my mood."

Karl Franz said aloud to his advisors as he poured over reports that were laid out on his desk, doing his best to navigate the many internal and external threats to his beloved Empire. To his right was his scarred but stout Grand Marshall of the Empire, Kurt Helbor,g who looked stoically at his Emporer. To the left of the Emporer was the older and hunched-over bald form of his Mornan Tybalt, the Keeper of the Imperial Counting house whose lips seemed thin, which wasn't helped by the dire straights of not just the empire but the global economy as a whole.

Helborg to the point, as always, cleaved to the heart of the matter the best way he knew how. "Leoncur may have dealt with the Norscans for now, but with that Sigmar-damned necromancer still wreaking havoc in the south, it seems he's also preoccupied with dealing with their long-suffering version of our Von-Carstiens in the form of the Red-duke. Different nation, same story."

"Which means King Louen will not be able to lend any as of yet to our own growing list of threats. Pity." Franz felt like sighing but refused to show such wariness, even in front of his closest and most capable advisors. "We can only hope that King Louen will be able to deal with these threats. I've no doubt that he is capable of doing so and WILL, but the timing of it all will be telling."

"I would make a wager with others on which of our nations can deal with their respective vampiric threats faster, but I assume it would be in poor taste." Mornan said with a caustic smile. "Speaking of which, Your Majesty, considering my earlier proposal-

"It has been tabled."

"Ah, yes. Tabled. Tabled to the oblivion of other papers and possible opportunities that could bring salvation to our precious Empire." The Banker sighed with a sense of tired dramaticism. "But, if his majesty insists."

"I don't insist. I simply do."

"Of course, my Emporer. But, need I remind you that the Grand Theogonist isn't even within our great and vast Empire to lodge a formal complaint about any official overtures we could have with the Sisters of Sigmar up North?"

Kurt Helborg huffed impatiently. "The Grand Theogonist may be in the Southlands. But he still has friends. Many friends."

"And it wouldn't bode well for the Empire if I were to go against someone as pious as our dear Grand Theogonist." Franz declared resolutely. "To undermine him would be to undermine the will of Sigmar himself."

"Hm." Mornan hummed, raising a hairless eyebrow, as he remained hunched over, lightly thrumming his fingers upon his walking stick. "And the request from him to send a dedicated force to route out the Sisters of Sigmar's growing influence in Ostermark and beyond?"

Franz's face was as still as stone. "Tabled."

"Of course, your majesty."

Franz then finished signing a document-or rather a series of documents that were then put neatly inside a folder after he stamped every document with his royal imperial seal. He then handed the folder over to Kurt Helborg, who took it without question yet stood, clearly waiting for instructions, which Franz was quick to give. "After our meeting, has concluded, make sure that this is delivered to Wilbert Hertwig, confirming his status as the new Elector Count of Ostermark, along with condolences to the passing of his father, Wolfram."

"Of course, your grace." Helborg nodded, making sure to tuck the folder safely away. "Is there, by chance, anything of note about the current Matriarch that has the boy count's ear?"

Had it been anyone else, Karl Franz would have stared them into submission. But, with Helborg, he would always have his ear. "Not yet."

"Understood."

Mornan never ceased to be impressed by how quickly and effortlessly the current Emporer navigated the pitfalls that many other nobles, barons, or counts would trip or stumble into. Some that the elder banker had seen personally and, in some cases, literally profited off of. It was both a pleasant surprise and a galling sight to see how the Sisters of Sigmar managed to come back from the diminished and prosecuted position they had been in for generations to the influential juggernaut that it was becoming today. Though many staunch traditionalist Sigmarites hissed and cursed their disapproval due to how ostracized they were, Mornan and Helborg both knew how glad Franz was about this turn of events, given how it saved him the trouble of having to frogmarch all the way to the North East to solve that part of the Empires, many, many, many problems.

Orks. Ogres. Tree Spirits. Norscans. Skaven. And the growing Von Carstien Threat. All these threats were contributing to the utter chaotic state that was the miserable life of an Ostermarker, which had ultimately led to the untimely death of their Elector Count.

The fact that it was the Sisters of Sigmar who came to save the day with some new foreign Matriarch spearheading the efforts from Mordheim wasn't lost on anyone, even the lowliest commoner in that area. Mornan could have sworn he saw a twitch of a smile on the Emporer's face when he had gotten word that this Matriarch had managed to lead an outnumbered army south to destroy an army sent by Vlad Von Carstein, foiling his attempts to expand North.

It had gotten to the point where Mornan was not so secretly hoping that this Matriarch would take her women and the reforming armies of Ostermark to go west and deal with the irritating threat of Festus and his Nurgle worshipping chaos Warriors. Franz would have dealt with that personally if he didn't have to first deal with beastmen in Middenland, Tzeentch Chaos cultists in Stirland, and norscans trying their chances by going down the River Reik.

It was why he was here and back at the capital of Altdorf. To give his army a much-needed breather and do what he was elected to do. Rule the Empire and help put it back to rights, one piece of parchment at a time.

Mornan was so deep in his thoughts that nearly jumped out of his old skin when Franz addressed him. "Mornan. Have we any spare funds to spare the good King of Bretonnia. Though we have our hands full I'd be remiss if we couldn't offer SOME form of assistance to threats he's confronting."

Mornan shifted his mouth, with his eyes looking to the side, not even needing his list of expenditures to know the answer to that. "Oh, we can most definitely spare the funds, your majesty. It's just a matter of what projects you'd like to cancel to make that a reality."

"I see." The Emporer hummed, resting his chin on his hands. "And what would you believe is on the table amongst the less 'pressing projects,' as I would call them?"

"Well, there is the improved Chapter Barracks you promised for the Knights of the Blazing Sun we could, ahem…postpone. The, improvements to the gunsmith armory that you were aiming to to have finished by the end of the week. I could go on-

"Delay the Armory. By the time it is finished, we won't even have time to reap its benefits before I go on my next campaign. Perhaps we can have both by the time I return from said campaign." He then furrowed his brow. "I loathe the arrogance of the knightly chapters, but I can ill afford to earn the disfavor of the Knights of the Blazing Sun. Not now. Not when they've performed stupendously on routing my foes and protecting the flanks of my soldiers."

"Then I'm sure his majesty, King Louen, will greatly appreciate the care package that will be sent their way." Mornan said blithely as he leaned forward on his cane. "I'll also be sure to include flowery language in the let-

"You will not." Franz interrupted. "I will draft the letter myself. The Royarch deserves as much from me."

"As you say, your grace."

As he drafted the letter right then on his desk, The Emporer's gaze then drifted toward his Grand Marshal. "This foe that has grown within Bretonnia. This…Spoletta. Has there been any movement from him toward either of our forts between Bretonnia?"

"None. And I don't believe this Spoletta fancies himself such a success that he would dare to even try his hand at our forts regardless." Franz didn't bother asking to make sure the forts were on high alert. He knew it was unneeded on Helborg's part. "What's more concerning, at least from what our spies have noted, is that Spoletta is diverting away from siphoning the living from all their worth like Kemmler or the Von Carsteins would. He seems intent, if not determined, to give the peasants better rights and treatment. Something comparable to our own common folk."

"Truly?" Franz asked with heavy amount of skepticism. It wouldn't be the first time a petty despot overpromised to take advantage of those who felt they'd been mistreated.

"And I suppose the Brettish peasants have eaten up his words like a thirsting man to a river?"

"He's given them good reason to since he's giving the peasants rifles, training, and uniforms that are making our spies jealous if their reports are to be believed."

"Oh?" That was new. Von Carsteins would MAYBE make use of hand gunners, but Kemmler? Or most other necromantic groups? "These aren't undead hand gunners?"

"No."

"Hm."

"What's more is that these aren't draftees. They're volunteers."

"Mmmm." It was a mumble, a groan, and a growl all rolled up into one. Franz didn't bother with a long spiel about the consequences of this because both of his older counterparts knew all too well how ill this boded for King Louen. The treatment of Bretonnian peasants had long been an undercurrent and unspoken issue and deviation between the neighborly nations of the Empire and Bretonnia. Something that Franz wished he could do something about but knew he already had so many other issues within his nation to contend with. Having fought alongside Bretonnia on many occasion he'd seen how splendid the Brettish knights were turned many chapters that he used green with envy. That feeling of envy turned to sobering when they saw how well-nourished and poorly equipped their peasants were.

Truthfully, Franz thought that it was a wonder that there weren't more peasant uprisings with how little peasants received compared to his own commoners. Granted, it wasn't as though they were living in a lap of luxury, but compared to peasants…and if there was one thing he'd learned about people fighting for freedom, it's that when they got a taste of it, they were going to be hard-pressed to give it up. The fact that this necromancer was willing to train them in the way of gunpowder only snowballed those concerns. Whether he would actually improve peasant lives or not suddenly seemed irrelevant considering the danger he was shaping up to be. He'd heard about his victories off-hand when Franz wasn't invested in a campaign or Interstate issue, but now?

Now, it was time to take action. Suddenly, it seemed that gold he was sending toward the Bretonnian Royarch wasn't nearly enough.

No. This required a more…specialized skillset. When one had an infestation one could not simply throw gold at it as if you were a burgermeister.

"Mornan. Get that gold prepared. I'll be done with this letter that you will have sent to King Louen." He then turned to his Grand Marshal. "Helborg. You'll have another letter that I'll need you to be delivered."

"To where your grace?"

"Uberseik."

A/N:

A bit shorter than usual, but I don't think this needed to be particularly long. Been a bit buys lately with voice acting classes, watching two sets of house pets for some extra cash to pay for those voice acting classes as well as trying to find a possible editor/artist for the book I've finished. With the dog-watching wrapping up and hopefully the holiday madness following suit, I'll have the opportunity to write more for you guys for the coming chaos in both of my stories.

I want to make sure that I get Cassyon down well enough to where I feel like it's faithful enough to what his character is in Warhammer lore and I hope I did that just. I especially hope that I did the good ol' Emperor himself some justice with how I wrote him. If you agree or disagree or have anything to add in those respects or just want to comment on this chapter in general, please let me know. I'd love to know your thoughts on this and more. After all, one of the biggest reasons I've always been tepid about writing fanfiction up until this story is because I was always afraid of not doing characters justice in their given IPs or universes, since I appreciate them so much.

Until then, I'll see you all in the next chapter of Eight Peaks Royale when it's finished.