Vampire Counts Prelude Part II

Winter, Mousillon

Heavy snows were falling on the land, turning the grim swamps of Mousillon into treacherous death traps as the snow lay carpeted on the grasses and outer layer of slime, concealing the swampy nature of the land. One wrong step and a stray traveler plummeted through the snow into the murkiness that lay underneath. However, Terion Klosz had no fear of death; every encounter with death made him stronger. He eyed the city of Mousillon, Damned City of Bretonnia, with a cold stare worthy of the land surrounding him. The von Carsteins knew which chord to strike to lure the Blood Dragons to war and Terion Klosz’s insides turned with anger at the blood pact, yet a challenge had been issued to take Mousillon and turn it into a fortress of the undead. The Blood Dragons were too proud to turn down a challenge, and now he was marshaling a host full of his heinous brethren – decrepit necrarchs and feral strigoi. 

Vampire Counts Prelude Part I

Late Autumn, Sylvania

Almost two months had passed since Cyris Blacksoul had been dispatched from Har Ganeth with her escort of executioners. Malekith had orchestrated a war between the beastmen of the Old World and the Wood Elves, and wisely he predicted that the Wood Elves would turn to the realms of men to hold back the tide during winter when the forest was at its weakest. No faction of the alliance had enough forces to tie up the Bretonnians however, and should they join forces with the Wood Elves, the beastmen would be crushed. No, Malekith foresaw the need for a force to counter the Bretonnians obsessed with their valor and gallantry. In early Autumn he sent for Cyris Blacksoul, a sorceress who even other dark elves feared, a sorceress who dabbled in the dark arts of necromancy. The mission was of dire importance – if they were to crush all their foes they would have to enlist the aid of the undead.

Bretonnia Prelude Part II

Early Winter, Parravon

When the courier arrived from Quenelles with word of a large beastmen warherd moving in from the Drakwald over the Grey Mountains, Duke Cassvon of Parravon had his doubts. Old Duke Tancred II had been battling the minions of Chaos for decades now and no doubt his brain had been rattled. Had it not been for the second letter sent to Tancred’s daughter, the betrothed of Cassvon’s son Theodius, then Cassvon would have brushed the threat aside and given it to a lesser captain to deal with; however, Tancred requested that his daughter return to Quenelles with all haste where she would be safer. As the first snows began to fall he quickly dispatched riders to the posts in the Grey Mountains and to Montfort.

Bretonnia Prelude Part I

Late Autumn, Quenelles

The Duke entered the chamber, weary of the days legislation and the endless quarrels of the peasants. Nevertheless he was honor-bound to protect the lowliest of people and hear their needs. He heavily sat down on a padded arm chair facing the large fireplace in his chamber and rested his legs on a small table used by his late mother for brunches with her lady-friends. As the rain pitter-pattered outside he leaned forward resting his head on his hand. It was moments like this one that gave the Duke solace; the warmth of the hearth and the sound of the calm rain. A soft knock on the door broke his moment of respite.

Skaven Prelude Part II

Summer, Skavenblight

The Council of Thirteen had gathered, a rare occurrence, and one wrought more with arguments and threats of death and downfall. This Council ruled the Skaven clans of the world, and should it ever actually work together and unite, then woe unto the world. Fortunately for the realms kissed by the sun, the Skaven were too busy planning ways to undermine each other and secure a seat on the Council; the thought never occurred to them to unite and rid the world of their foes, that is, until now.

In a large chamber eerily lit by green lanterns twelve skaven lords sat around a horseshoe shaped table, and lurking in the shadows were the ears and eyes of the assassins of Clan Eshin. This was the Council of Thirteen – twelve skaven lords, and the highest spot reserved for their god, The Horned Rat. Thirteen votes to bring the world of skaven together, or more likely than not, to keep it fragmented. At the head of the Council sits Lord Kritslik, the Seerlord, who holds not only his own vote, but also the vote of the Horned Rat. The disunity of the Skaven is often attributed to him and his desire to ensure that he is the most powerful Skaven. The remaining eleven seats are held by two other Grey Seers, the Warlord-General of Skavendom, the heads of the four Great Clans, and the heads of four lesser Clans.

Skaven Prelude Part I

Summer, Black Mountains

“Oy, gobbos arn’t made for dis kinda work, eh Scragz?” one goblin said bracing his lower back.

“Well meybe if ya hadn’t let da orcz eat da stunties who were doin’ da diggin’ for us den we wouldn’t be diggin’ nows, eh Greentoof?” Scragz replied.

“Wes gotta make da orcz git back ta werk so we dont have ta dig anymore, itz their turn eh?”

“Oi ya bigguns!” Scragz called to a dozen savage orcs sitting around a crude meal of cooked rats, “Youz git back ta work now! Da Warboss aint gonna like hearin’ about his orcz gettin’ fat while workin’!”

The orcs grumbled and picked up several picks and hammers and got back to the tunnel wall and began to toil away. For weeks now their Warboss had ordered them to expand the tunnel until they breached a dwarven mineshaft. The orcs and goblins were restless; this wasn’t their type of work. Unfortunately far from ready food supplies, they’d eaten all their slaves who were digging for them and now the workload fell on their shoulders.

Lizardmen Prelude Part II

Spring, Lustria

Days had passed since Belashar Cordalis and the crew of the Silver Dragon made landfall on Lustria and spoken to Lord Adohi-Tehga, Lord of Tlaxtlan. His crew grew uneasy being kept under armed guard in the lizardmen city even though they were treated well; Belashar felt an even greater unease that he would fail at his mission and have to return to Ulthuan with no words of hope. His mission had been to convince the lizardmen that the cause of the Asur was their struggle as well. Alas, Belashar was a Dragon Prince of Caledor, no silver-tongued diplomat and he felt his presence and rash words did little to convince the mage-priest that the cause was worthy. He comforted himself with the thought that irregardless of who came the lizardmen would refuse to join any war outside of Lustria. Though he did not know it, he was right. The mage-priests were far more concerned with trying to fulfill the Old Ones plans for this world than aiding the struggle against Chaos, even though they already did their part.

Lizardmen Prelude Part I

Spring, Lustria

First it was the days spent at sea, now days trekking through the jungles of Lustria. Belashar Cordalis, Dragon Prince of Caledor, was not thrilled with his assignment but duty and loyalty bound him. The Phoenix King had personally asked Belashar to take on this task and did not fail to mention several times that the fate of Ulthuan rested on Belashar’s shoulders.

Belashar was called from his war-torn home of Caledor by the Phoenix King himself to travel as ambassador to Lustria. Although the High Elves were making Malekith pay dearly for every step of soil in Ulthuan, the hosts of the Druchii were vast and Malekith only need send word for more troops from Naggaroth – the High Elves had no reinforcements to call in on. That is why the Dragon Prince must sail to Lustria and try to convince the lizardmen of the necessity of war. No easy task to convince the neutral lizardmen that war beyond Lustria was necessary…

Beastmen Prelude Part II

Late Autumn, Athel Loren

A great council had convened at a glade near the Queen’s court. Representatives were present from all kindreds, but their role here was to listen, not to advise. Shocking reports had been delivered to the Oak of Ages and Kings Glade. Seated in a circle around a large rock slab which served as a table were a few dozen wood elves of different ranks and importance. Of note were the old warrior Sceolan and the waywatcher of legendary repute, Scarloc. Although outside, the trees formed a tight-knit canopy and wall around the glade, thus ensuring that what was said inside would not reach the wrong ears. Dozens of quiet conversations were being carried out about the ill tidings and what they meant for Athel Loren. It was Scarloc with his keen eyes who noticed Ariel and Orion already seated at the table, apparently they slipped in unnoticed and quietly sat waiting for the right moment to begin.

“Greetings Queen Ariel and King Orion!” Scarloc said loudly, standing up quickly. Others followed suit to show their respect.

Beastmen Prelude Part I

Late Summer, Drakwald Forest

The group of five sat huddled around a small fire, trying to capture what little warmth it would provide. Tzylla cracked a small dry twig and threw it into the fire; it was quickly consumed releasing a small burst of warmth.

“Keep it small!” an assassin hissed at her. “Do you want to bring death upon us zealot?! You have the gall to draw attention to us when we are in the heart of the Empire!”

It may be summer, but here in the Drakwald… its another world, a world where warmth and light do not kiss the ground. And that was during the day. A creature of the Chaos Wastes she should have been use to it, but this was a different cold, the cold of night and the cold of fear. It would have even been a comfort to feel the moonlight, but alas, even the light fears the Drakwald.

Tchar’zanek had handed Tzylla over to Malakith to go on a suicide mission into the heart of the Drakwald to incite the Beastmen on a blood-march to Athel Loren. Malekith’s intentions were clear, he hated the High Elves, and his failures in Ulthuan sparked an insane plot to seek vengeance elsewhere and strike at the Wood Elves. No army to spare he concocted a plan to sneak Tzylla and his minions into the war-torn Empire.