Post by heychadwick on Jan 31, 2011 7:14:54 GMT -5
The end of round fluff for those that are interested:
Turn Two
Abbey of Storms, Sangre Mesa Viento
Brother Jimenez ducked his head and whispered to his fellow monk, "What is Padre de Pasco thinking?" another monk nudged his gentle from the other side. Lined up along the path from the main gate the monks waited patiently. Padre de Pasco stood near the main building at the end of the path. He nodded and called out for them to open the gates. Several monks left the line and pulled free the timbers that held the wooden gate. They swung wide the gates and then feel back into their position in the line.
Skaven poured into the abbey itself. The monks could have resisted, but they were not warriors. Halberds and sword threatened the humans as ratman after ratman scurried quickly to secure the area. Once it seemed that the monks were safely covered, that this was not an ambush or double cross Chieftain Darkfang himself entered. He struck a fine figure, fur glossy and clean, weapons and armor flashing with a fresh polish. His slaves were diligent, even the leather straps seemed to shine.
Padre de Pasco gave a silent signal and every brother present turned outward. They would open their doors to their conquerers but their faith would not allow them to ally with the foul ratmen. Paw-hands tightened on weapons as the Skaven instincts fought with orders from Darkfang. The naked backs of the passive men awoke dangerous passions in the Skaven and everywhere weapons quivered. As Skaven surrounded them each brother looked to their feet refusing to see the Skaven. When one after the other was forced to look up, a jagged dagger point stuck beneath their chin their eyes looked past the Skaven or closed.
Pawleader Kizzkwik glanced to Chieftain Darkfang for orders. Silent communication blazed between the two and then the Pawleader barked commands. The huge mass of Darkfang's forces left with the chieftain himself. The forces left behind to watch over the passive monks chittered and divided up the tasks the weakest rushing off to secure quarters for the stronger. Skaven took up watchful positions throughout the abbey while the monks stood quietly in the courtyard staring at their feet well into the night.
In a valley deep in the Durango mountains a Skaven scouting force clambered over a steep slope, their nimble fingers and toes incredibly useful in the scaling they were doing. Ears cocked towards a series of slight echoes that bounced across several sheer faces. Adept at tracking echoes back to their source underground they were not as adept at doing so above aground. Even so they eventually worked out a direction to check.
Nothing was apparent at first and so the scouts quickly removed themselves from such an exposed area and slipped up over the crest of the ridge. Behind and below them a larger force of Skaven marched with slaves spread out around them to absorb the worst of any ambush. This unit was tasked at being sure the right ridge was clear. The left was too sharp a climb to safely search so they were tracking that side as well unable to do more than a visual inspection.
As the last member of the unit slipped up over the ridge they formed up and started towards the scrub brush and trees that clung to this tiny level area. Branches cracked and a large form shoved something forward. Skaven reflexes saved 3 of them from the resulting explosion and spray of broken stone and metal pieces. The ogre mercenary dropped the chain wrapped cannon with a clang to the ground and pulled another cannon from the brush behind him where he had been crouching. In his teeth was a burning brand.
Estalian men, looking more brigands than soldiers, rushed the few remaining ratmen. Two were slain and one was driven screeching back over the edge. "This was to be done quietly!" screamed a man's voice behind the Ogre who shrugged and kneeled to brace the new cannon barrel better. He sighted the opposite cliff and touched off the cannon. Again a boom echoed across the rocks but the Skaven force below had already reacted to the first, withdrawing back the way they had come. The large ball struck the cliff across the way releasing a cluster of rock that had been determined to be ready to sheer off anyway.
A third time the mountains rumbled. Despite the noise a man's voice could be heard chiding the Maneater for his poorly timed blasts. Waving away dust from his eyes and mouth the Ogre pointed into the valley and said simply, "No advance, dem's da orders." The resulting reply painted him, his ancestors, and future whelps in a rather poor light. He ignored the man, chuckling and seeing if he could pitch fist sized rocks far enough to hit the retreating Skaven.
Mula Verde - San Pedro
The Mula Verde was empty this early in the day. A local watering hole known for stocking an excellent wine from the hills of Jaen it saw it's share of business even in these times. Enjoying that excellent import were two older gentlemen. Señors Perez and Sanchez met each workday to wage war over a checked field with green and red river stones. The game was less important then the company and banter, and today was no different.
"How fares your son?" asked Perez as he moved his first stone.
Sanchez replied after a sip of wine, "Very fine, my grandson has approached me asking after his grandmother's wedding dress. Apparently he has already asked my son about her ring. He intends to marry that girl." He still pondered his move, he was like this, opening slow but deciding his moves very quickly later in the game.
"Excellent, he should. His taste is very good, she is lovely and her family well placed." said Perez but Sanchez simply snorted and moved. Studying the board Perez took his own sip of wine and then sighed, "I suppose we will soon need to find a new vintage for our mornings. What with Margritta bringing the surrounding countryside under their control. I don't suppose they will be inclined to ship many barrels this way with your friends in charge of the peninsula."
"They are not my friends, " announced Sanchez. "The Intervention Forces have lived up to their end of their promises." Stones slid into positions to strike against the opposing color, each man knowing the other's tactics so well after these years that the game had evolved into a ritual now.
"What about the mines?" Perez thrust as he moved into a more offensive position on the board.
Sanchez parried with, "Since that they have expanded the market, bringing in trade just as they stated. My son told me they have started patrolling the sea lanes as well, which is good considering what is happening up North. Whole villages taken as slaves they say." He fell back to a more protected position and sipped at his wine.
"Stop trying to change the subject. This has nothing to do with those, what are they calling them? Reavers? That is a problem of Muros and those northern provinces. There is little danger of them striking here and anything to the contrary would be bogeyman stories meant to scare us into being good little subjects of the Arabian Intervention Forces." He put particular stress on the word Arabian reminding Señor Sanchez of the particular affiliation of those he was defending.
"I would not be so sure. I've heard tell they have taken Furo and disrupted the northern trade routes. Should they swing South..."
Perez cut him off, "Then they would be Muros' problem long before they were ours. Both Bilbali and Muros will likely deal with them." He sighed and moved back his aggressive thrust seeing the trap in the emerging pattern of the board, instead he captured an out of the way piece. "Even so I suppose it wouldn't be a bad thing is Arabian ships sank instead of good Estalian ones. I was also shocked to hear that they were funding the building of a Mirmidian shrine. Is that rumor true?"
Sanchez nodded and stated, "Yes my nephew's wagons have been recruited to haul stone from the quarry. They paid in good gold not writs and script. My sister has not shut up about it since she heard several days ago." Now he moved into the offensive capturing several pieces in a row and smiling into the put on frown of Perez.
"Hmmmmmm, " stated Perez pondering the stones and the thought of stone. "Isn't the best stone from the mountains? I've heard Muros forces now patrol up that way. I've also heard that Margritta's patrols have been stretching far and wide of late. Will he be able to port it with the amount of unrest in the land?" He counter captured a piece realizing he would loose another in the exchange.
Sanchez nodded and poured them both some more wine, "Well, from what my son says Muros has claimed Corazon as part of it's protectorate but Margritta appears to be sending troops to the East to blunt a growing greenskin Waaaagh!, some Shattered Sunz tribe has crawled out of their holes and riled up a large number of their cousins. Besides the Intervention Forces are friendly with both Muros and Margritta from what my son says." He chuckled and stated, "In fact, he said while he was on watch in the entryway he saw envoys from both encounter each other. He said they seemed rather surprised and embarrassed to encounter each other. From that I can only conclude Muros has also been courting both factions. I can't say I blame them if those Reaver tales are true. Well, and the Maderasari seem up to something as well. They to have sent emmisaries here.'
"To a city? Will he be allowed back into the woods without bathing?" stated Perez in a light tone. Both men had a laugh while he moved another piece. "Well, I suppose it could be much worse. We could be drinking Murian wine." Again laughter struck both men. Perez then raised another question while watching his opponent's latest move and quickly countered with a piece of his own, "So what of these yellow men?"
"Yellow men?"
"I've heard rumors of Yellow Men, Cathyans, seen along the docks and moving through the city. A force of them in exotic armor with exotic weapons." explained Perez.
Sanchez considered and then answered, "Ah yes, my son had mentioned them when the Arabians first came. They are from Nippon, and island off Cathay from my understanding. They follow the lead of one Hugo de Payns; yes a Bretonnian working with the Arabian forces. Apparently he is well traveled and impressed these men so much that when they lost their lands and lords they swore alligence to his banner. What his countrymen think of his choice of allies none know." A few sips of wine and he moved again.
"Most interesting, I wonder if he has heard of his countrymen in the North?" mused Perez. "Oh damn." he exclaimed quietly, "That was dumb of me. Game to you in 5 moves."
Sanchez smiled and confirmed the analysis with a simple, "I was wondering what you were thinking. Another game?"
Eying the level in the wine bottle Perez nodded, "Definitely time for another."
Umberto, Southeastern Estalia
A trail of refugees streamed across hillsides passing olive groves and vineyards they once worked at heading west. Greenskin forces swarmed the hills they had just traveled over. Despite the growing light hooded goblins chased them hooting and banging weapons to shields. Although already footsore and weary the refugees stayed ahead of the horde. Goblin and Orc seemed reluctant to overcome the fleeing women, children, and elderly. Instead the smashed any defenders foolish enough to turn and offer a fight. Slowly they advanced.
The days long chase saw many fall behind, only to be captured by the greenskin tribes. Those that kept up their pace looked to make the lines of forces sent by Margritta to capture and guard the Eastern provinces. Instead they suddenly swung North heading towards the mountains. Luckily Margritta forces had flanked those of the greenskins and countrymen greeted the exhausted refugees, not empty lands.
They were asked why they swung North instead of continuing on towards Margritta proper. The word quickly spread of the craftiness of this Waaagh! Numerous fast and quiet Orcs had raced past the refugees in the night. When the morning came the refugees ran headfirst into an ambush, painted and sporting local vegetation as camouflage Da Ghostz drove the refugees back before they reached friendly forces. As near as the Captain could determine from the descriptions coming in from the refugees; the greenskin lines were off, not angled correctly, and this alone allowed them to slip North instead of the Shattered Sunz capturing them all.
Notas, North Eastern Estalia
Little Roswinda rushed into the small house. "Nana, Nana, Nana!" she shouted as she entered. Her grandma was resting quietly in a bed under a heavy load of blankets. Roswinda fed the fire another log and then skipped over to her grandmother's bedside. Taking her grandma's hand she said, "Nana, you should have seen it!" He excitement made the old woman smile and blink at her with grey-white eyes.
Her sight had fled years ago but she still said, "Tell me pretty little one, what has you so excited?" She knew her granddaughter was lovely. When she was younger she looked just like her mother at that age. She would be just as striking as her mother in the coming years.
"I saw a lady. A royal lady." She rubbed her grandma's hand while she spoke. "Those Bretonnians rode into town again. There she was in the middle of all those knights on a huge horse, bigger than Tiago who wrestles bulls. She was up there so high with her men all around her. Know what she did Nana?"
Her grandmother coughed softly and said, "No dear. Tell me."
Roswinda gave her grandma a concerned look but continued, "She dismounted. She got right down off that horse as she came into town. Her men were all confused and she ordered them away. She walked in the mud getting her pretty dress all dirty." Roswinda sighed, "A dress like that and she stepped right in the mud. It was so blue, like the sea and had pearls sewn into it. She wore armor too, over the top a big metal chest thing and mail like the guardsmen. Well, not just like them. Her armor was pretty, all shiny with little flowers carved into it at the shoulders. She even carried a sword. She was like Mirmidia, Nana, and she spoke of her, how the Lady blessed those who helped others and protected them. She said the Lady had sent here to help us and she knew some of her boys were a little wild but she would be sure they were spanked." She frowned, "The adults all laughed at that. I don't think that is very nice. A spanking isn't very funny."
Her grandma laughed softly which brought upon another bit of soft coughing. "Oh little Roswinda, you will understand that someday."
Roswinda frowned, she didn't think she would ever understand what was funny about a spanking. Not even when her bratty older brother got spanked did she think it was funny. Instead she thought of how it must feel, just like when she had been spanked that one time, and suddenly she could no longer find his howling humorous. Blowing out a breath that moved one of her dark curls out of her eyes she looked up as her mother came in quietly. Her mother moved straight off to the kitchen and so she continued to tell her grandmother about the lady. "Her name is Evette. She has such pretty hair. Curled but not dark like my own. I wish you could see her Nana."
"I am sure she is beautiful. Tell me what she did?"
Roswinda smiled and said, "Oh Nana she walked all over the village. I followed her and no one yelled at me. She talked to the mayor, and señor Alba who owns the trade shop. She talked to everyone, even me. She called me pretty and touched my hand. She was so beautiful Nana, like Mamá's statue." Roswind looked around as a teapot whistled in the kitchen.
"Go see if your mamá needs help little one, " her grandma told her, patting her hand and then pushing her in that direction. As Roswinda left the room she coughed heavily almost causing the little girl to come back and check on her. Instead Roswinda continued on to spy her mother pouring a hot liquid into a rough cup.
Approaching her mother Roswinda sniffed at the cup. The acrid smell of it caused her to pull back and make a face. Her mother chuckled at it which caused Roswinda to glance upward in shock. Ever since Nana had fallen ill with a Chill in her lungs her mother had laughed less and less. If her mother could laugh, that was a good thing. She missed her mother's laughter, missed it so much she tried another sniff and tried to make the same face. It did not work this time though. She asked, "What is that Mamá?"
"That is for your Nana, Rosa." said her mother. She was the only one her called her Rosa. "The soldier's have set up a place for those that are sick or injured. I went to see them and they said we could not move Nana until the weather grows warm. They gave me this," she held up a small clothe pouch, "for your Nana. This tea will help her until it is warm. Should help the Chill leave her lungs." Her mother smiled a bit but Roswinda saw the tear and hugged her mother fiercely about the waist.
"It will be alright Mamá."
"I know."
"Then why do you cry? Nana will be alright."
"And that is why I cry." said her mother with a smile down at her despite another tear. "You will understand when you are older." Roswinda smiled up at her mother despite the frustration inside her, she was really getting tired of people telling her she would understand later.
Southern Pina Wood
Young Elthoria had seen only 167 winters and spent all of it in this region of the Pina Wood. Her kin and she had protected this section for as long as even the elders remembered. Yet they had failed now.
She stared at her evident failure. It glared at her from the bark of an Ironwood tree, and ugly smear upon her honor and a shameful reminder that she was only an elf and just how quickly one could be nothing. The symbol was etched into the wood of the tree. Flame had been the ink and quill and living wood the parchment. Chewing on her lower lip so hard that she tasted coppery blood Elthoria wondered who could have done this. Not her kin, they could not do this. No Maderasari could.
Could it have been one of their seeming allies? The fallen elf maybe? The human, Tristan du Tamarind? Maybe but she wondered. That one with the mechanical monstrosities, that dwarf, what was his name? Bran Wyr? His kind used flame and considered the woods as material for his steam monsters. She shook her head and flexed her tight jaw only then realizing the damage done to her lower lips. She could not keep thinking this way. These had come as friends and they needed them, but if they turned out to be false... she let that dangerous thought drift away on the winds, blowing it out with a calming breath.
Instead she focussed on thinking rationally and focusing on what needed being done. Whistling she held out her arm. A small wild falcon dropped to her wrist and clung to the leather there. She chirruped to it quietly, "Find Aisleigh. Bring her here." was the simple message she imparted before thrusting the bird skyward. She followed it's form up into the canopy and then dropped her eyes back to the mark.
Three angular lightning bolts bisecting a billowing cloud. That symbol accused her of her lapse patrolling. It had not been here when she passed by last week, there was no way should could have missed it or the pain that radiated out from this particular tree. She was not as in tune with the forest as some, being only a scout, but even she could feel this blackened wood as if it was her own flesh.
Turn Two
Abbey of Storms, Sangre Mesa Viento
Brother Jimenez ducked his head and whispered to his fellow monk, "What is Padre de Pasco thinking?" another monk nudged his gentle from the other side. Lined up along the path from the main gate the monks waited patiently. Padre de Pasco stood near the main building at the end of the path. He nodded and called out for them to open the gates. Several monks left the line and pulled free the timbers that held the wooden gate. They swung wide the gates and then feel back into their position in the line.
Skaven poured into the abbey itself. The monks could have resisted, but they were not warriors. Halberds and sword threatened the humans as ratman after ratman scurried quickly to secure the area. Once it seemed that the monks were safely covered, that this was not an ambush or double cross Chieftain Darkfang himself entered. He struck a fine figure, fur glossy and clean, weapons and armor flashing with a fresh polish. His slaves were diligent, even the leather straps seemed to shine.
Padre de Pasco gave a silent signal and every brother present turned outward. They would open their doors to their conquerers but their faith would not allow them to ally with the foul ratmen. Paw-hands tightened on weapons as the Skaven instincts fought with orders from Darkfang. The naked backs of the passive men awoke dangerous passions in the Skaven and everywhere weapons quivered. As Skaven surrounded them each brother looked to their feet refusing to see the Skaven. When one after the other was forced to look up, a jagged dagger point stuck beneath their chin their eyes looked past the Skaven or closed.
Pawleader Kizzkwik glanced to Chieftain Darkfang for orders. Silent communication blazed between the two and then the Pawleader barked commands. The huge mass of Darkfang's forces left with the chieftain himself. The forces left behind to watch over the passive monks chittered and divided up the tasks the weakest rushing off to secure quarters for the stronger. Skaven took up watchful positions throughout the abbey while the monks stood quietly in the courtyard staring at their feet well into the night.
In a valley deep in the Durango mountains a Skaven scouting force clambered over a steep slope, their nimble fingers and toes incredibly useful in the scaling they were doing. Ears cocked towards a series of slight echoes that bounced across several sheer faces. Adept at tracking echoes back to their source underground they were not as adept at doing so above aground. Even so they eventually worked out a direction to check.
Nothing was apparent at first and so the scouts quickly removed themselves from such an exposed area and slipped up over the crest of the ridge. Behind and below them a larger force of Skaven marched with slaves spread out around them to absorb the worst of any ambush. This unit was tasked at being sure the right ridge was clear. The left was too sharp a climb to safely search so they were tracking that side as well unable to do more than a visual inspection.
As the last member of the unit slipped up over the ridge they formed up and started towards the scrub brush and trees that clung to this tiny level area. Branches cracked and a large form shoved something forward. Skaven reflexes saved 3 of them from the resulting explosion and spray of broken stone and metal pieces. The ogre mercenary dropped the chain wrapped cannon with a clang to the ground and pulled another cannon from the brush behind him where he had been crouching. In his teeth was a burning brand.
Estalian men, looking more brigands than soldiers, rushed the few remaining ratmen. Two were slain and one was driven screeching back over the edge. "This was to be done quietly!" screamed a man's voice behind the Ogre who shrugged and kneeled to brace the new cannon barrel better. He sighted the opposite cliff and touched off the cannon. Again a boom echoed across the rocks but the Skaven force below had already reacted to the first, withdrawing back the way they had come. The large ball struck the cliff across the way releasing a cluster of rock that had been determined to be ready to sheer off anyway.
A third time the mountains rumbled. Despite the noise a man's voice could be heard chiding the Maneater for his poorly timed blasts. Waving away dust from his eyes and mouth the Ogre pointed into the valley and said simply, "No advance, dem's da orders." The resulting reply painted him, his ancestors, and future whelps in a rather poor light. He ignored the man, chuckling and seeing if he could pitch fist sized rocks far enough to hit the retreating Skaven.
Mula Verde - San Pedro
The Mula Verde was empty this early in the day. A local watering hole known for stocking an excellent wine from the hills of Jaen it saw it's share of business even in these times. Enjoying that excellent import were two older gentlemen. Señors Perez and Sanchez met each workday to wage war over a checked field with green and red river stones. The game was less important then the company and banter, and today was no different.
"How fares your son?" asked Perez as he moved his first stone.
Sanchez replied after a sip of wine, "Very fine, my grandson has approached me asking after his grandmother's wedding dress. Apparently he has already asked my son about her ring. He intends to marry that girl." He still pondered his move, he was like this, opening slow but deciding his moves very quickly later in the game.
"Excellent, he should. His taste is very good, she is lovely and her family well placed." said Perez but Sanchez simply snorted and moved. Studying the board Perez took his own sip of wine and then sighed, "I suppose we will soon need to find a new vintage for our mornings. What with Margritta bringing the surrounding countryside under their control. I don't suppose they will be inclined to ship many barrels this way with your friends in charge of the peninsula."
"They are not my friends, " announced Sanchez. "The Intervention Forces have lived up to their end of their promises." Stones slid into positions to strike against the opposing color, each man knowing the other's tactics so well after these years that the game had evolved into a ritual now.
"What about the mines?" Perez thrust as he moved into a more offensive position on the board.
Sanchez parried with, "Since that they have expanded the market, bringing in trade just as they stated. My son told me they have started patrolling the sea lanes as well, which is good considering what is happening up North. Whole villages taken as slaves they say." He fell back to a more protected position and sipped at his wine.
"Stop trying to change the subject. This has nothing to do with those, what are they calling them? Reavers? That is a problem of Muros and those northern provinces. There is little danger of them striking here and anything to the contrary would be bogeyman stories meant to scare us into being good little subjects of the Arabian Intervention Forces." He put particular stress on the word Arabian reminding Señor Sanchez of the particular affiliation of those he was defending.
"I would not be so sure. I've heard tell they have taken Furo and disrupted the northern trade routes. Should they swing South..."
Perez cut him off, "Then they would be Muros' problem long before they were ours. Both Bilbali and Muros will likely deal with them." He sighed and moved back his aggressive thrust seeing the trap in the emerging pattern of the board, instead he captured an out of the way piece. "Even so I suppose it wouldn't be a bad thing is Arabian ships sank instead of good Estalian ones. I was also shocked to hear that they were funding the building of a Mirmidian shrine. Is that rumor true?"
Sanchez nodded and stated, "Yes my nephew's wagons have been recruited to haul stone from the quarry. They paid in good gold not writs and script. My sister has not shut up about it since she heard several days ago." Now he moved into the offensive capturing several pieces in a row and smiling into the put on frown of Perez.
"Hmmmmmm, " stated Perez pondering the stones and the thought of stone. "Isn't the best stone from the mountains? I've heard Muros forces now patrol up that way. I've also heard that Margritta's patrols have been stretching far and wide of late. Will he be able to port it with the amount of unrest in the land?" He counter captured a piece realizing he would loose another in the exchange.
Sanchez nodded and poured them both some more wine, "Well, from what my son says Muros has claimed Corazon as part of it's protectorate but Margritta appears to be sending troops to the East to blunt a growing greenskin Waaaagh!, some Shattered Sunz tribe has crawled out of their holes and riled up a large number of their cousins. Besides the Intervention Forces are friendly with both Muros and Margritta from what my son says." He chuckled and stated, "In fact, he said while he was on watch in the entryway he saw envoys from both encounter each other. He said they seemed rather surprised and embarrassed to encounter each other. From that I can only conclude Muros has also been courting both factions. I can't say I blame them if those Reaver tales are true. Well, and the Maderasari seem up to something as well. They to have sent emmisaries here.'
"To a city? Will he be allowed back into the woods without bathing?" stated Perez in a light tone. Both men had a laugh while he moved another piece. "Well, I suppose it could be much worse. We could be drinking Murian wine." Again laughter struck both men. Perez then raised another question while watching his opponent's latest move and quickly countered with a piece of his own, "So what of these yellow men?"
"Yellow men?"
"I've heard rumors of Yellow Men, Cathyans, seen along the docks and moving through the city. A force of them in exotic armor with exotic weapons." explained Perez.
Sanchez considered and then answered, "Ah yes, my son had mentioned them when the Arabians first came. They are from Nippon, and island off Cathay from my understanding. They follow the lead of one Hugo de Payns; yes a Bretonnian working with the Arabian forces. Apparently he is well traveled and impressed these men so much that when they lost their lands and lords they swore alligence to his banner. What his countrymen think of his choice of allies none know." A few sips of wine and he moved again.
"Most interesting, I wonder if he has heard of his countrymen in the North?" mused Perez. "Oh damn." he exclaimed quietly, "That was dumb of me. Game to you in 5 moves."
Sanchez smiled and confirmed the analysis with a simple, "I was wondering what you were thinking. Another game?"
Eying the level in the wine bottle Perez nodded, "Definitely time for another."
Umberto, Southeastern Estalia
A trail of refugees streamed across hillsides passing olive groves and vineyards they once worked at heading west. Greenskin forces swarmed the hills they had just traveled over. Despite the growing light hooded goblins chased them hooting and banging weapons to shields. Although already footsore and weary the refugees stayed ahead of the horde. Goblin and Orc seemed reluctant to overcome the fleeing women, children, and elderly. Instead the smashed any defenders foolish enough to turn and offer a fight. Slowly they advanced.
The days long chase saw many fall behind, only to be captured by the greenskin tribes. Those that kept up their pace looked to make the lines of forces sent by Margritta to capture and guard the Eastern provinces. Instead they suddenly swung North heading towards the mountains. Luckily Margritta forces had flanked those of the greenskins and countrymen greeted the exhausted refugees, not empty lands.
They were asked why they swung North instead of continuing on towards Margritta proper. The word quickly spread of the craftiness of this Waaagh! Numerous fast and quiet Orcs had raced past the refugees in the night. When the morning came the refugees ran headfirst into an ambush, painted and sporting local vegetation as camouflage Da Ghostz drove the refugees back before they reached friendly forces. As near as the Captain could determine from the descriptions coming in from the refugees; the greenskin lines were off, not angled correctly, and this alone allowed them to slip North instead of the Shattered Sunz capturing them all.
Notas, North Eastern Estalia
Little Roswinda rushed into the small house. "Nana, Nana, Nana!" she shouted as she entered. Her grandma was resting quietly in a bed under a heavy load of blankets. Roswinda fed the fire another log and then skipped over to her grandmother's bedside. Taking her grandma's hand she said, "Nana, you should have seen it!" He excitement made the old woman smile and blink at her with grey-white eyes.
Her sight had fled years ago but she still said, "Tell me pretty little one, what has you so excited?" She knew her granddaughter was lovely. When she was younger she looked just like her mother at that age. She would be just as striking as her mother in the coming years.
"I saw a lady. A royal lady." She rubbed her grandma's hand while she spoke. "Those Bretonnians rode into town again. There she was in the middle of all those knights on a huge horse, bigger than Tiago who wrestles bulls. She was up there so high with her men all around her. Know what she did Nana?"
Her grandmother coughed softly and said, "No dear. Tell me."
Roswinda gave her grandma a concerned look but continued, "She dismounted. She got right down off that horse as she came into town. Her men were all confused and she ordered them away. She walked in the mud getting her pretty dress all dirty." Roswinda sighed, "A dress like that and she stepped right in the mud. It was so blue, like the sea and had pearls sewn into it. She wore armor too, over the top a big metal chest thing and mail like the guardsmen. Well, not just like them. Her armor was pretty, all shiny with little flowers carved into it at the shoulders. She even carried a sword. She was like Mirmidia, Nana, and she spoke of her, how the Lady blessed those who helped others and protected them. She said the Lady had sent here to help us and she knew some of her boys were a little wild but she would be sure they were spanked." She frowned, "The adults all laughed at that. I don't think that is very nice. A spanking isn't very funny."
Her grandma laughed softly which brought upon another bit of soft coughing. "Oh little Roswinda, you will understand that someday."
Roswinda frowned, she didn't think she would ever understand what was funny about a spanking. Not even when her bratty older brother got spanked did she think it was funny. Instead she thought of how it must feel, just like when she had been spanked that one time, and suddenly she could no longer find his howling humorous. Blowing out a breath that moved one of her dark curls out of her eyes she looked up as her mother came in quietly. Her mother moved straight off to the kitchen and so she continued to tell her grandmother about the lady. "Her name is Evette. She has such pretty hair. Curled but not dark like my own. I wish you could see her Nana."
"I am sure she is beautiful. Tell me what she did?"
Roswinda smiled and said, "Oh Nana she walked all over the village. I followed her and no one yelled at me. She talked to the mayor, and señor Alba who owns the trade shop. She talked to everyone, even me. She called me pretty and touched my hand. She was so beautiful Nana, like Mamá's statue." Roswind looked around as a teapot whistled in the kitchen.
"Go see if your mamá needs help little one, " her grandma told her, patting her hand and then pushing her in that direction. As Roswinda left the room she coughed heavily almost causing the little girl to come back and check on her. Instead Roswinda continued on to spy her mother pouring a hot liquid into a rough cup.
Approaching her mother Roswinda sniffed at the cup. The acrid smell of it caused her to pull back and make a face. Her mother chuckled at it which caused Roswinda to glance upward in shock. Ever since Nana had fallen ill with a Chill in her lungs her mother had laughed less and less. If her mother could laugh, that was a good thing. She missed her mother's laughter, missed it so much she tried another sniff and tried to make the same face. It did not work this time though. She asked, "What is that Mamá?"
"That is for your Nana, Rosa." said her mother. She was the only one her called her Rosa. "The soldier's have set up a place for those that are sick or injured. I went to see them and they said we could not move Nana until the weather grows warm. They gave me this," she held up a small clothe pouch, "for your Nana. This tea will help her until it is warm. Should help the Chill leave her lungs." Her mother smiled a bit but Roswinda saw the tear and hugged her mother fiercely about the waist.
"It will be alright Mamá."
"I know."
"Then why do you cry? Nana will be alright."
"And that is why I cry." said her mother with a smile down at her despite another tear. "You will understand when you are older." Roswinda smiled up at her mother despite the frustration inside her, she was really getting tired of people telling her she would understand later.
Southern Pina Wood
Young Elthoria had seen only 167 winters and spent all of it in this region of the Pina Wood. Her kin and she had protected this section for as long as even the elders remembered. Yet they had failed now.
She stared at her evident failure. It glared at her from the bark of an Ironwood tree, and ugly smear upon her honor and a shameful reminder that she was only an elf and just how quickly one could be nothing. The symbol was etched into the wood of the tree. Flame had been the ink and quill and living wood the parchment. Chewing on her lower lip so hard that she tasted coppery blood Elthoria wondered who could have done this. Not her kin, they could not do this. No Maderasari could.
Could it have been one of their seeming allies? The fallen elf maybe? The human, Tristan du Tamarind? Maybe but she wondered. That one with the mechanical monstrosities, that dwarf, what was his name? Bran Wyr? His kind used flame and considered the woods as material for his steam monsters. She shook her head and flexed her tight jaw only then realizing the damage done to her lower lips. She could not keep thinking this way. These had come as friends and they needed them, but if they turned out to be false... she let that dangerous thought drift away on the winds, blowing it out with a calming breath.
Instead she focussed on thinking rationally and focusing on what needed being done. Whistling she held out her arm. A small wild falcon dropped to her wrist and clung to the leather there. She chirruped to it quietly, "Find Aisleigh. Bring her here." was the simple message she imparted before thrusting the bird skyward. She followed it's form up into the canopy and then dropped her eyes back to the mark.
Three angular lightning bolts bisecting a billowing cloud. That symbol accused her of her lapse patrolling. It had not been here when she passed by last week, there was no way should could have missed it or the pain that radiated out from this particular tree. She was not as in tune with the forest as some, being only a scout, but even she could feel this blackened wood as if it was her own flesh.