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 Bretonnian in Mordheim: A Knight's Tale

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PostSubject: Bretonnian in Mordheim: A Knight's Tale   Wed 7 Mar 2012 - 8:45

Marlon ran. Oh, how he ran. It were as if the Shadowlord himself were on his heels, but he daren't look back to see. With every step he felt his pursuer as if he were about to catch him by the throat and drag him down like a lion to a foal. That is if you could call his pursuer 'he'. More beast than man, but standing upright and wielding a great, bearded axe with human fingers, not claws or hooves. This creature had spotted Marlon when he had foolishly poked his head out from his hiding place.
The cowardice he had shown flashed back through Marlon's conscience as he fled. He had heard the cry of battle and drawn his sword yet, hesitating, he quickly found his stomach for war did not present itself to this young, inexperienced squire. Instead of being inspired by the courage of the knight, his master, and witnessing his display of gallantry in dispatching that great, clawed abomination of Chaos mere moments beforehand, this lowly squire understood that he was not prepared for real combat. He had felt ashamed. Then he gripped his weapon all the tighter and forced his legs to move, against his body's will, towards the fight. He heard, but did not see, as he had been relieving himself in a narrow alleyway at the first cry of battle. Had he not done it then he would have presently. He reached the opening to the street, sticking to the shadows as best he could conceal himself, to see two figures, just as twisted as the possessed hulk at the feet of his master's horse, grabbing and pulling the overwhelmed knight from his steed. Marlon averted his eyes with a gasp. All of his already fleeting courage drained from him and he backed away returning to the safety of the alley. But the beastman had spotted him.
Now he found himself fleeing, hunted for sport in some twisted, macabre role reversal. Beast hunted man and Marlon felt like the rabbit, chased through the burrows of Mordheim, turning into unfamiliar territory to throw his hunter of the scent. He sprinted all the harder, suddenly tossing his sword aside to gain the speed that its weight cost him, knowing it to be useless to him if he were caught. And caught he was. Sweat and tears stung at his eyes and, only for a moment, he closed his eyes against the pain. Only a moment, but enough to cause his fall. He stumbled, unbalanced by his blindness. Hard and incredulously he fell, denying to believe that he may be caught. Marlon turned himself onto his back to see if he had eluded his hunter but he couldn't deny what he saw. There it was: standing; panting; snorting. Axe in hand, the beast showed little human response to his plight, it only seemed to convey its annoyance that the chase had ended so abruptly and in such a manner.
Ended it had, but not how either party could have anticipated. A noise struck out from the pebblestones behind the beast and a projectile skidded through its legs and came to rest just infront of Marlon's outstretched feet. It was an arrow, Marlon saw as his attention was diverted to it. The beast saw it too, and, abandoning its prey it thought now for its own survival. Leaping aside and into an adjacent street the creature fled as Marlon had done. Marlon was frozen to do anything but watch as the beast was struck by a second, more accurate, arrow. The strike caught it in the leg as it extended to take another step, sweeping it out from underneath the beast. It fell heavily but instantly tried to recover. Using the shaft of his fearsome axe as a crutch it pulled itself up and back onto its feet. As it did so one, two, three more arrows found a mark in quick succession, with a forth straying wide and disappearing into the unknown of the city. There was silence for Marlon, and for the beast.
Footsteps, then laughter, broke the silence. Marlon remained in place, afraid and astonished, both emotions paralyzing him to little more than being able to sit up on his elbows. Hearing the footsteps and laughter get louder, they turned into voices. They were difficult for the Brettonian to understand but they were, at least, human. Great, bearded humans of the Empire Marlon saw and then heard:
"You missed yours, grey beard." More laughter.
"You lie, by Ulric's teeth. This un's mine, right in the throat." The men were examining their kill, with crossbows hunched over shoulders or upright, used as resting posts. Then turned their attention to Marlon. Six, huge beards surrounded the boy. They looked him up and down pitilessly. He looked back, unable to speak.
"There's gratitude for you." Said one. More words were exchanged, ones Marlon couldn't understand as they were spoken softly and in a huddle, but all men nodded in agreement. Then, to his utmost confusion, two of the roughest looking shook him down. This action gave him words to say as they rifled through his pockets.
"Why save a man only to rob him?" He muttered, unable to muster any courage in his dry throat. The men finished checking him for valuables and then one said, coupling it with a swift blow to the head:
"Welcome to Mordheim."[center]


Last edited by M&M on Mon 16 Apr 2012 - 8:42; edited 2 times in total (Reason for editing : Spelling mistake :/ i'm so ashamed.)
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PostSubject: Re: Bretonnian in Mordheim: A Knight's Tale   Thu 8 Mar 2012 - 21:11

Here's hoping they didn't hit Marlon to hard. Will he have further adventures in Mordheim or will your next story be about someone else?

Hope to see more. thumbsup
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PostSubject: Re: Bretonnian in Mordheim: A Knight's Tale   Fri 9 Mar 2012 - 7:35

I'm sure it was more of a traditional Mordheim welcome.
Thanks for the feedback, it's good to hear at least someone cares for the poor Brettonian.
As for more stories i think Marlon will be making a few more appearances, so i'll get writing.
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PostSubject: Re: Bretonnian in Mordheim: A Knight's Tale   Mon 16 Apr 2012 - 12:06

In this second installment of the young Bretonnian squire, we leave Marlon in his uncertainty and in Media Res to go back to his arrival in Mordheim, following his master, the brave Sir Brammond de Cheville. Enjoy!

Months of travel brought Sir Brammond to the gates of Mordheim. The words of Baron Montague the Third still sounded in his ear. His thick, slovenly voice expressing his intrigue with the cursed city and his wish to have brought to him a piece of the coveted wyrdstone. Brammond repeated his mission to himself and tried to justify his efforts. His charge was not holy, nor righteous, but all along his journey he had heard folk speak of the terrible evil inside the walls and his agenda was to vanquish it. He cared not for the riches of which the Baron spoke so lustfully, but the oath-sworn responsibility to see chaos to its deserved grave. He looked back at his men, those who had followed so tirelessly from the familiarity of Bretonnia. The journey had been a hard ride for Brammond and hard on his horse, but harder still for his retinue who marched behind on foot.

He had at times insisted that his accompanying Lady, Morgan, ride his horse, as were the ways of chivalry, but every time she had refused. She had said she preferred to feel her feet on the earth, with nothing separating her connection to the natural world. Such behaviour was confusing and concerning at first, but she claimed the gift of divination, the Blessing of the Lady, and with so much uncertainty ahead he considered these gifts a powerful ally.

Brammond was forced to stoop slightly as he motioned his steed unerringly over the threshold to avoid the remaining shards of the city gates, which swayed precariously on its top hinge, threatening to let go in the breeze. The smell of the air was queer, Brammond postured. He was unsure whether it was the fault of the whole Empire which gave trouble to his nostrils, his homeland offered a fairer scent than this foreign soil. If the Empire was to blame, the best had been saved for the last as the smell of a city in decay hung in his nose and mouth. Brammond looked to his followers as seven loyal soldiers, and one Lady, moved cautiously into the city and mustered at the knight's side. They took courage from his stoicism and surveyed the scene as one, each making the same judgements on a city so left to waste. Buildings crumbled and smouldered, rubble and detritis littered the streets and not a soul breathed life into what was once a home for so many. Thousands had gathered at the coming of the comet but now it was deserted, those who escaped the impact fled the precipitous inferno which engulfed the city.

Suddenly, the city showed its first signs of the unexpected. A mere twenty yards ahead the last remnants of support to a building gave way. Fire had eaten its heart leaving the walls fragile and weakened until finally, now, it gave up and collapsed infront of them, the only witnesses to its destruction. The sound was tremendous, a great crashing as four storeys of brick and timber threw itself to the ground. Brammond felt his horse shift uneasily, ears flat, but it held as it was trained to. He took solace in the knowledge that any lesser mount would bolt, unnerving the troops, or worse even, may have refused to enter the city at all. He trusted his horse, and she trusted him. A commotion broke out amongst the men; clearly they should have been subject to the training of his horse, he thought as he calmed his troops with a staid hand. Brammond decided to wait for the dust to settle before venturing any further. The city was already unknown to him, neither he nor his troops would explore it blindly in the artificial fog which descended on them. However, no man should remain inactive for too long, and he felt the uneasiness in his men rising again at this prospect. Brammond resolved to lead them through the clearing dust as it thinned out, enough of the street was visible to navigate by now and he was anxious to be away from the fallen building and anything that may have been attracted to the noise. Brammond led his men but stopped abruptly in line with the newly levelled building. Something had caught his eye. Through the fog, unbelievably, something glittered.

Looking down to his right, Sir Brammond saw the glint of a strange brick, out of place with all others. He gripped his lance and prodded the ground where it lay. Calling up his Master Sargeant, he gestured to what he knew undoubtedly to be the fabled wyrdstone. As the Sargeant picked it out of the rubble, a flash of black strafed Brammond's vision, startling him. A crow had flown alarmingly close to his face and past to come to rest on the same gates he had ridden through. He watched it land, almost obscured by the fog, it let out a cry as it rearranged its feathers. Satisfied, the crow took flight again, and Brammond followed its flight as it sought new perches elsewehere in the city. This momentary distraction almost cost him his life. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Master Sergeant hold his arm up to him. He half-heard the Sergeant say something, a comment on the stone's beauty or size, as a hulk of knotted pink flesh clambered over the mound of debris like a savage beast out of the fog. It took the Sergeant by the head in a huge, clawed hand, and threw him to the ground. The cry shook the knight into reacting. Before he could even register his own actions, he had spurred the horse into a charge, raising his lance up at the closing hulk that appeared before him. So little distance there was between the knight and his unknown opponent that his men were powerless to aid him. They could only watch as this split-second encounter was decided. They witnessed their master's horse take one step and rear as her rider thrusted his lance upwards into the leg of this monster. It's great bulk equalled that of the knight and horse as it bore down from atop the rubble, doubling the impact with its descent. Its limbs were twisted and numerous and it lashed out with them even as the lance struck. But the blow was severe, Brammond felt it in his wrist and the sensation travelled up his arm. He felt as though he held the beast's entire weight on his lance. It stuck fast, deep in the flesh and stopped the thrashing creature's impetus and its attack fell short of denting the knight's armour.

Those watching saw claws scrape against metal through the still clearing dust, silhouetting these titans in their desperate fight for dominance. The beast was held back at the tip of a lance as it pushed against it, a barrier between it and its prey. Savagely it pressed and lunged at the knight, whipping long, barbed tentacles at his armoured skin. Brammond could feel his strength draining with each renewed thrust at him. He had hoped to skewer his opponent, allowing him time to draw his sword, but the hulk would overwhelm him quickly if he let go of the lance now. A fleeting moment of dread thrummed in his head as the thought of defeat spread through his limbs. His vision started to darken, his arm burned in his armour and he knew he could hold the lance no longer as the beast pressed more of its weight onto it. Then, the thrumming turned to clarity and his vision returned. With a cry, he pushed on the lance, driving it further into the leg. Simultaneously, the beast twisted and its full weight bore down on the knight and lance. It broke with a sudden crack, fibres splitting all the way along its length. Just as Brammond thought the great mass of flesh would fall down on him and crush him, his horse pulled back and the flailing monstrosity fell from the rubble and under the feet of his quick-witted steed. The knight shifted in his saddle, rapidly and awkwardly to balance with his horse's manouver. Quickly, he drew his sword and chopped, leaning right down from the saddle to hack at the fallen beast. Desperately, the creature fought back, ignoring the scores of sword wounds that were raining down on it. From the floor, it threw a tentacle which whipped up under the horse's neck and threatened to unseat the knight. In his haste to end the beast, Brammond had not expected a counter attack and swung savagely with his sword, ignoring any instincts to be prepared for defence. He flinched at the tentacle as he saw it coming. Attempting to regain balance and deflect the blow, he pulled hard on the reigns. Once more, his horse reared up. It landed hard on the creature's head and all at once the abomination fell dead.

Sir Brammond looked down at the lifeless beast, taking the time he did not have in the fight to examine his opponent. Aside from a hoof print and unreserved mutation upon it, the face of the creature appeared to have at one time been human. For a moment he was mesmerised by it, its twisted, hideous countenance somewhat engrossing. Then he heard the cheer from his men, and heartened by it, raised his sword in triumph. As he looked across their faces, he recognized his feat for what it was: The first victory; the first step in ridding this Cursed City of Chaos and its influence. He saw Marlon, his squire helping the beleaguered Sergeant to his feet. He had been saved by his helmet, but the same could not be said for the helmet itself. It still rested in the beast's claw, apparently wrenched from the Sergeant's head as he fell and crushed in the ensuing battle. He heard Marlon mention something about needing the toilet and, for a moment, doubted the boy's courage. But his attention was distracted by Morgan. Suddenly, it unnerved him at how she caught his gaze, even through his helmet. She had been of no assistance during his struggle with the beast and yet, he couldn't help but feel that she had been along side him, lending him her will. If the power of the Lady of the Lake was truly with her, he would be indestructable in the face of evil. For the first time in his travels he felt positive about his holy mission to the city of Mordheim. Fortune had been on his side.

But as we all know, fortune is fickle, and the fortune of Mordheim is a cruel master indeed...

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PostSubject: Re: Bretonnian in Mordheim: A Knight's Tale   Tue 17 Apr 2012 - 20:46

Excellent! One sees so few Bretonnians in the City of the Damned. Looking forward to more.
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PostSubject: Re: Bretonnian in Mordheim: A Knight's Tale   Fri 4 Jan 2013 - 18:22

May be a bit of thread-o-mancy here, but I really liked these tales of bold Bretonnian Knights, and hopefully we'll hear more about them soon!
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PostSubject: Re: Bretonnian in Mordheim: A Knight's Tale   Sun 6 Jan 2013 - 15:25

Indeed! My apologies for my slovenly approach to keeping this thread updated. As per usual, life gets in the way of more important things like Mordheim. I shall redouble my efforts and pick up the plight of the poor squire and his master where we left off so keep your eyes peeled.
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PostSubject: Re: Bretonnian in Mordheim: A Knight's Tale   Today at 19:23

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