Warhammer Fantasy Campaign - Mission 2

Captain Forlania was treated for her injuries and recovered well.

The Council of Ages did not take the news of daemonic activity lightly. They called for a retreat of the outlying settlements and many families were displaced. Waywatcher patrols were increased on the borders to the Grey Mountains, and envoys were sent to the human allies in Bretonnia to ask for information and support.

When Forlania had recovered she was summoned before the Council once more.

"We must ask more of you, Forlania," said Lord Iefyr, "There is a man of the Empire who knows much of the creatures of Chaos. We would ask that you seek him out in Ubersreik. We helped him once, and it is time he repays us in kind."

Forlania bowed her head in deference. 

The Oak of Ages creaked and groaned in the silence between words. It was a huge and ancient tree, and massive branches had grown into curiously accessible shapes. This branch in particular had a huge knot which was perfectly level, and strange growths surrounded the knot which were perfectly formed for an elf to sit comfortably in. The 'seats' were filled with elves almost as ancient as the tree itself - this section of the tree resembled a council chamber, and Forlania stood in the centre of it.

"We have assigned a lance of Glade Riders to assist you in your journey." Lord Iefyr continued, "In addition, the men and women you rescued have pledged themselves to your cause. These brave kinsmen have been equipped with sword and bow, and shall accompany you to Ubersreik. You have a full 'lance fournie', as the Bretons would call it. Lead them well."

***

Forlania's company travelled North-West through Athel Loren, wanting to keep to the familiar terrain of the woodland realm for as long as possible. After many days of marching, they arrived at the border of Bretonnia and made their way through the fields and pastures of the feudal land.

After another week of travel they were running low on supplies, so Forlania decided to stop at a Bretonnian village - Saint-Lys-du-Parravon - for information, rest and resupply.

Saint-Lys-du-Parravon

Forlania's company found respite at a large and somewhat ramshackle Inn - The Stoic Arms. The archers and waywatchers availed themselves of one of the large conference rooms upstairs, whilst Forlania decided to talk to the locals in the bar. The glade riders stayed outside with their horses, finding more pleasure in the company of their steeds and the fresh air than in some wine-soaked tavern. 

The Stoic Arms

"You are in for a delight, madam elf," the Innkeep announced jubilantly, "That musty scent heralds a fresh batch of our famous chicken pâté!"

Forlania looked at the potted paste dubiously and decided to help herself to the herby drybread while she decided whether to risk expanding her palate.

"It's fine eatin', you know." a man with a thick Reikland accent (and a thick Reikland beard) sat down at the bar next to her, "I didn't trust it myself. But now Elise can't make enough of the stuff for me!"

Forlania stared at the bearded man who'd decided to converse with her. He had more beard than face it seemed, and the beard was in better condition too. A great scar ran across his forehead and ended in a hook at the edge of his eyebrow. Although finely groomed, some small gaps were noticeable in the beard - the result of more scar-tissue she assumed.

"As I was sayin', it's great stuff." he was stuffing a drybread loaded with the meaty paste into what she could only imagine was his mouth (it was hard to tell), "Otto Reinhardt, at yer service."

The windmill's sails creak into life as a cold wind stirs.

Outside the Inn, the three glade riders were immersed in conversation. Alsaelle - leader of the glade riders - stopped mid-sentence and reached for her sword: something was approaching.

A yeoman mounted on a swift saddlehorse charges into town.

A panicked looking yeoman rides past bewildered villagers and barely manages to dismount before tumbling into the Inn.

"Greenskins!" he shouts to no-one in particular. "Arm thyselves, and swiftly!"

Forlania wastes no time in commanding her men to mount a defence of the Inn. Meanwhile, Alsaelle and her glade riders mount up and prepare to counter any attacking forces.

The waywatchers take positions on the balustrade.

"Wait until my signal," Gwynion said to her fellow waywatchers, "We must ensure we do not fire blindly and hurt any innocents."

The villagers continue their routines, oblivious to any dangers.

Alsaelle and her glade riders swing around the Inn and prepare to meet the orcish foe.

The wood elves are ready to defend the Bretonnian village.

The glade riders charged forward down the main street, their elven eyes having spotted the rampaging orcs in the distance. 

The orcs ran through the street, swinging their brutal weapons at anything in their path. 

The half-dozen orcs were cut down easily by the glade riders, and barely put up a fight. Alsaelle is suspicious, and wonders where the rest of their tribe could be.

The windmill suddenly comes to a stop and an eerie silence befalls the village.

The glade riders returned to the Inn, victorious but a little confused. Greenskins never raid in such small numbers.

Suddenly, blood-curdling screams were heard from the edge of the village. The cavalry re-positioned themselves to face the new threat, and saw a horde of undead shambling through the streets!

The glade riders charge once more, this time into an unnatural foe!

Alsaelle spurred her men on and led the charge. 

A bewildered villager hurriedly picked up his prize pumpkins and tried to make it back to his cottage.

The yeoman scout is sent to Parravon to call for reinforcements.

Forlania managed to convince the local militia to head out and fight the creatures. Captain Otto Reinhardt joined them, hoping to fight his way to Elise's house.

The forces of darkness converge on the village.

A mysterious masked Necromancer directed the zombies into the nearby houses. The sounds of a struggle were heard.

More undead shamble into the village.

Forlania's fox makes its way to a group of zombies outside Elise's house.

Forlania's fox engaged a group of the zombies. They were strong and numerous, but they couldn't match the speed or wiles of the vicious canine, and were torn limb from limb.

More zombies emerge at the other end of the village.

Reinhardt directs the Bretonnian militia to charge the undead horde.

Wood elves give covering fire from the balustrades and balconies of the Inn.

The night air was filled with the din of battle. Villagers screamed as they were eaten alive by the monstrous zombies, swords and axes crunched bones and sliced flesh and arrows whistled through the air.

Reinhardt and the Bretonnian militia joined Forlania's fox in fighting the zombies to the East of the village, and through strong leadership and teamwork, they managed to defeat the walking corpses. Reinhardt burst into Elise's house, expecting the worst. Thankfully they had made it in time however, and he was met with the sight of his lovely (if terrified) partner.

Meanwhile, the glade riders fought the zombies on the West of the village. They were skilled lancers, but they were glad to have the assistance of the archers from the Inn. Their deadly accuracy felled many a zombie that would have been the death of the cavalrymen.

Forlania made her way through the village, directing peasants to the safety of The Stoic Arms. She arrived too late at the blacksmith's house, however, and saw a site of such carnage that she was almost paralysed with grief. The mangled corpses of the smith's family began to move and lurch in her direction, and she cut them down mercilessly. She was angry with herself, and wished she could have gotten there sooner to save them.

Leaving the blacksmith's house, she saw the battle raging between the glade riders and the zombie horde. She was about to draw her sword to join them, when she noticed the masked magician directing the undead with his foul necromancy. She knocked an arrow, prayed to Lileath and loosed it at her target. It struck the dark magician directly in the eye, and he dropped to the ground.

The undead began to crumble where they stood, their limbs dropping off and their joints stiffening suddenly. Whatever dark ritual had been keeping them in their state of undeath was clearly broken.

***

With the threat over, the defenders of Saint-Lys-Du-Parravon returned to the Inn and accounted for the lost and wounded. In the end only the blacksmith, his wife and their daughter had been killed in the attack, although that in itself was tragic, it could have gone a lot worse for the village.

The wood elves were hailed as heroes, and the Bretonnian militia pledged themselves to Forlania's cause. Captain Reinhardt also offered to join her in her journey to the Reikland, and she gladly accepted.

After a proper night's rest, the company continued towards Grey Lady Pass...