The Quest

Ok here is a tale from the point of view of the blacksmith in my Warband, the fellow seems to do well for me. Criticism is more than welcome.

It was a fine day, we had been on the road for a few months
now, ever since my lord Earl Fische of Carcassonne decided to take up the Vow
of the Quest, give up his station as Earl and bugger off to Lady knows where in
search of valiant deeds or some nonsense. All I know is that he’s a decent lord
and he’s treated us commoners well so myself, a band of men-at-arms and
peasants set off with him. Which is a nice change from the last Earl I can tell
you that. He had a peasant flogged within an inch of his life because he farted
during one of his daily ‘guess what I’ve done and how righteous it was”
speeches. Luckily, the sod got himself killed during his own Quest for the Lady,
eaten by an irate Troll.


Now here I find myself following my master on his horse
carrying a bag full of gear. Spare tabards, swords, supplies for the men.
Besides myself and three other peasants accompanying my lord there was a small
detachment of his personal men-at-arms, stoic defenders of the realm and all
that. We used to be jealous of these men, they had it all, rank, status, weekly
pay. Well until we found out that they were usually on the front line when the
orks decided to play ‘bash the humie’. Getting dismembered by an enraged
greenskin is not a good job prospect, that I know.


Your probably wondering why I speak so well, considering
that most of my countrymen’s banter involves sterling phrases like ‘wotcha upta
matey’ or ‘I got me something real purty’. Well I am actually from the Empire,
a travelling blacksmith with a merchant caravan. We were ambushed by a band of
horrid beast kin from the forest. The earl, still an errant knight, rescued
what was left of us. While the others returned to the empire I stayed behind,
the young knight was impressed with my care of his horse and repairing the
armour. It’s a good job with decent pay, hence here I am, trekking off into the
wild blue yonder of the north and into the empire.


After many a pointless visits to imperial villages, Sir
Fische found very little quests worthy of his attention. It was at one of these
villages that my lord heard of the city of darkness, Mordheim. “A den of evil
and unjustice! This is it! The place, sure I can find scum to smite and wrongs
to right! This is it, we must go! To Mordheim!” Sir Fische exclaimed like a
small child spying an apple. After probably the happiest sleep he’s had in
months we set out to Mordheim, I had a crook feeling in my gut or it was that
meat I had last night.

A different & imaginative perspective to the Mordheim experience...VERY COOL! I'm looking forward to more Tales from the retainer's viewpoint.

Great introduction! A well written piece of fiction, and the point of view is definitely interesting. I am really looking forward t more.

In my haste to tell my story I have neglected to introduce
my fine comrades in rags or arms, whichever describes them aptly. My name is
Hanz Boodlemacher or as my friends call me, the ‘Smith’. Next is my best friend,
Kray, who came along to watch my back. He worked in the quarry not too far from
the keep. When he heard that I was leaving he tagged along bringing his trusty
pickaxe saying something about my lack of aggressiveness. Tagging along as well
was a hunter named Henry, he was a decent shot with his longbow not to mention
his survival skills have served my lord well on the past few months on the
road. Leading the small detachment of men-at-arms was corporal Davies, a stoic
man who knew his job well, like myself he left with our lord because of a sense
of duty to him, mind you I believe that like me, he thinks our lord might need
a little help out in the big bad world. The same with a lot of noblemen, Sir
Fische was terribly naive to how things really worked out in reality. Lastly
comes a shady character known only as “Bludger”. When I say comrade I’m not
too sure on this one, he sort of followed us from the keep and we let him tag
along. Unfortunately he doesn’t seem to do much besides smell and eat; mind you
he finds his own food so we can’t complain. His only possession besides the clothes
on his back was a large steel crowbar.


Now that all that bother is out of the way I can now tell
you of our first great battle for justice, or whatever my lord called it. We were
travelling along the road on our way to Mordheim when we spotted an upturned
caravan with a group of shady characters standing around sorting out its cargo.
You only had to look at the blood soaked ground littered with corpses to know
what had happened, bandits. I had a sick feeling as I remembered my own
experience in similar circumstances. My lord halted our march then gave a
single curt order “LINE!” he barked. Instantly the men-at-arms formed a line on
either side of Sir Fische, shields down, spears to the front. I heard Henry
draw an arrow behind me, Kray uttered an oath and firmly gripped his pickaxe. I
myself found my trusty hammer in my hand, it may only be a simple smithy hammer
but I bent metal to shape with this. Granted the metal was malleable at the time
but it’s damn harder than a man’s bones I can assure you!


So there was my lord sitting upon his mighty charger, her
name is Buttercup in case you are curious, his valiant men standing beside him.
It looked marvellous until Bludger belched loudly somewhere in the back, rather than
getting into any sort of fighting stance he was content to pick his nose. My
lord drew his sword and pointed it towards the bandits “I will only give you
one chance to surrender and repent!” he ranted at them. They were probably
saying to each other ‘who the hell does this dumb bastard think he is’. One
stepped forward, brandished his axe and simply said, “go root your horse!”
Quick as a poacher with a pheasant Sir Fische had Buttercup in a gallop and was
bearing down on the bandit who had just insulted him. Moving in time the
men-at-arms charged following my lord, Corporal Davies barked orders of “no mercy!” As per the
battle plan Kray and I followed behind the line, mainly to keep up safe from the frontline
fighting. We were to assist the men-at-arms as best we could. An arrow whistled
overhead as Henry wasted no time bringing judgement to the unjust. As I ran forward,
blood rushing past my ears, I saw my lord learn from his saddle and split the
scumbag’s face wide open, without losing pace he barrelled into another two bandits.
We had to hurry to join the fray,
without our support my lord would soon be pulled from his saddle and deftly
killed without a doubt. Many of bandits were charging towards us yelling incoherently,
they collided with the men-at-arms' spears with a sickly
sound of punctured skin and screams. I charged into that bloody affair with my
hammer raised high ready to do my part for the Quest.

GOOD STUFF! The Lads seem like a FINE group of Rogues, AND Sir Fische shows a rather tenuous hold on reality typical of his genre.