Urgency

Ashwood and cinder. The materials of Lord Bromric 's varnished desk and library cupboard. A very fitting room for the Lord indeed. With all the heraldry, Swords, and helms that display around his room. But though it was decorated, it was never too outlandish for the Lord to feel too unhomely inside.

He sipped his wine in approval, as he pondered upon the origins and grape used in the fermentation of the delicate drink.

It was morning, the sun clouded by the seasonal rainclouds that covered the sky. Preparations were already in progress as the knights of Aisenhald got ready to receive the Fay Enchantress who wishes to seek Audience with Lord Bromric.

Apparently, She brings much urgent news to his province and furthurmore, many important royalties will be attending including the Duke of Carcasonnes.

Much has to be discuss, especially regarding the sudden offensive the Empire is taking, from the ruins of Erengard up Northwards.

It has receive quite a disapproval and shock among the Conclave of Light, for the reckless Actions, but the Participating Counts and their Noble Lords beg to differ, immerse in their selfish vengence against Chaos for the cause of Valten's Death, of which it has not been proven so.

The Emperor is already enroute to assess the situation. Things are already getting very bleak up North and the Empore are ruining an efficient defense constructed by her allies for many months.

"It is a fool's errant i tell yer, Lord Bromric.. A fool's Errant" : said one of the recently arrived noble, having heard of the Assault.

The Hours go by and finally the meeting commence with the many same concerns in which the Noblemen of Bretonnia would usually discuss, particularly war among the many vile armies who threaten the Lady of the Lake's Sovereign lands. Orders made, Policies given and most of all local issues largely resolved with immediate effect. The Fay Enchantress' authority comes swift. Governance hardly runs array with her judgement and wisdom. Even for a Senior knight like Lord Bromric, none dare look down on her as an inferior, lest they suffer her wrath. He feels her radiance and her power emitting even across the large table that holds the gathering. And even as she speaks, her eyes never lifts off Lord Bromric, giving the Lord a Commanding Stare that made him uneasy throughout the entire counsel.

The meeting ended with many urgent messengers sent on their horseback delivering the decisions made during the council. The Enchantress focus on Lord Bromric did not cease. He could not take it anymore, kneeling down toward the Enchantress when the room was vacant of the council, he spoke,"Mi lady, what do you ask of me, for thy body tremble upon thou's baleful stare."

"Fear not, Lord Bromric, for i stare at the yonder through you and at the coming of end times"

"End Times??" Lord Bromric Replied, looking puzzled. " But we have repelled Archaon and his vile demons.. we have save the brink of existance, how can it happen again? so swiftly?"

"The sense of evil, has deepen in my heart, and the power i feel, the power foretold in the prophesy that bring the end of times, has emerge from its slumber" mumbled the entranced Enchantress.

Slowly she turned towards Lord Bromric and added, " My dear Lord, the prophesy has just begun.. and i fear we have little time or even awareness of the oncoming doom. As you may have known, Mesa has gone, for i bid her to search for the one thing that can stall and perhaps change the course of the prophesy, But i fear that I might not have pay more attention to it. Mesa needs help, your help Lord Bromric. The winds from the east brings coldness that steals the life of the living and the sane. I must urge you to seek her and aid her."

"Yes Mi lady, But where do i even start"

"Uth Tenpar Tulos Ungard" The words echoed throughout the Halls, out of the Keep, and spread across the lands around. Upon The Fay Enchantress summoning, a white falcon return in response. "My beloved Hiphanith will guide you to her. I shall depart immediately as matters have arised to the southeast with The Elves of Athel Loren. Till then, may our Lady's Blessing be upon us all."

With that the Fay Enchantress rode on the Unicorn along with her entourage away. Turning her head back, she gaze towards the Lord again. "Do not fear..She has a plan for you since the genesis of ascension"

Lord Bromric frozed as she communicate to him through is mind, flowing freely through all his thoughts.

And as he lifted his stare, the falcon sounded, awaiting furthur orders....

The Deliverer

The etheral shroud twirled in anger. Like a twisting tempest, it bellowed in fury. The gods of Chaos were displease. Nothing could explain the magnitude of their fury and anger. And while the daemons shriek in pain and fearwithin the shroud itself. Lord Archaon continued to rally the dispersed tribes south from the fiery of the Chaos Gods, hoping to appease their temper.

But the Gods had a plan, they were not ready to give up their ambitions and their new found sense of unity with each other....
Beyond the turmoil of the Old World, far north east into the desolate lands, north of Cathay and Nippon, came a beckoning to a maurader.

"Wake Up... Wake up young one.." echoed the chilling spidery call, with a daemonic accent to it.

The young Maurader, no more than 28 Summers woke with fright. Afraid and Unsure, he came out of his nomadic tent to search for the occurance of the voice. Never in his warrior years have he felt fear like he has felt now. Fear so powerful, it ensures submission. It was an eerie cold night, but the daemonic call sent a painful sear down the maurader's heart. He obeyed the unknown force, following the voice where it sounded more intense.

And so he walked, till he approached the top of a ridge about 500 paces away from his tribe's camp.

"Approach thee, for thy master is here" said the voice, echoeing the same phrase repeatedly, before the language became unrecognisable to the young barbarian. Like a daemonic incantation that seems like a fluid frightening poetry, it was subtle but caused banging burst of pain to the young maurader. The spidery daemon incantation echoed throughout, as if it could be heard from the ends of the earth, announcing the coming of chaos. The tearing pain was to intense for the young barbarian and as Chaos gripped him like that of a vice to the heart, his mind lost itself into the depths of the infernal that was forged by pure chaos.

Imagine a world of no logic, of no sanity, a world of incomprehensible chaos and utter damnation to overbearing for the feeble mind to even understand. Beyond eternity, beyond all, his soul tore apart by the sheer power of chaos as a dark abyss warped in front of him, followed by a radiant blast of silencing black darkness. His mind was wasted. Permanent Insanity was probably the only thing that save him from eternal implosion of the true essence of Chaos.

He gnawed at his tongue, choking himself and thrashed his head on the ground, while he scratched the coarse rocks with his fingernails incessantly, hoping it would ease away the pain.

The dark rift between Chaos and the realm of the maurader clashed like crushing tidal waves upon each other. It made the maurader shed of all his hair, while his skin turned pallad and rock hard.

Consumed in damnation by the daemonic essence, the maurader was not like he was before, vile torns scream for life through his skin, and as he stood down, lowered in submission.

A dark figure, clad in ebony black armor loomed over the Maurader. The newfound master had come to him. He was 7 feet tall, his horned helm dark and simple, ebony ivory tusk were embedded on the helm as the horns themselves. His eyes, amber like, while the helm hideaway his face, casting only a silouette of mindless hatred . his hulky armor was as heavy as 2 minotaurs yet, he dawned it with ease. His movement as fluid as the elves. There he stood, and there he gazed upon the young disciple given to him by the Gods.

Without emotion, he spoked, "Arise Child of Chaos. arise and aid me in fulfilling the prophesy...."

The Masters amber eyes burned bright as the young barbarian looked up upon him.

"...For i am the Deliverer. The Deliverer of the End".

Solace At Last

Its been almost a half a week since they left Marienburg, and the Army of Tempest has finally arrived in Aisenhald. The entire settlement was there to await their arrival. Many already tearing for those who never made it back. Some knowing in their hearts that their husbands, brothers and fathers did not make the journey back. Though there are still many who cling onto the hope that their love ones were among the few who made it. But the atmosphere was solemn and silent. There were no cheering, no victory songs or even gleeful groups of children running about in gladness of the triumph over Chaos. There was only anticipation to reunite with those who were away for so long, and relief that there were at least survivors who return.

Lord Bromric return his keep, hoping to avoid the sight of more of the unmendable agony many of the people have come to feel. His squires work to undo his armor while dressing him up in his noble clothing. The trusted advisors came to Bromric to update him on the happenings in Bretonnia.

Apparently, the situation in Bretonnia seems relatively promising. Though there have been many lives lost. The kingdom heals and recuperates fast, there have even been talks of an errantry war to rid internal evil in order to boost the defenses of the kingdom. Many even seem keen on drawing arms against Mousillion, ridding the eternal plague there.

As for the Lord, it seems that he has come across too much a bloodshed for too long a time. He mutters a silent prayer before he lays to bed. As he faces the ceiling from where he laid, he thought of the things he loved, nodding to himself in satisfaction that he is still sane from the ravages of gruesome mindless fighting, he shut his eyes... and into another plane he went.

The Cold March North

With the passing of the Chaos invasion, the Empire has been left shattered, barely able to hold herself together. The tattered Imperial Army struggles to bring back order to the disparate lands.

It is truly an unenviable time to be a soldier of the Empire, especially for combat hardened soldiers like Captain Wincor Dinishere. Having successfully defeated the Hordes of Chaos, he returns to his beloved Empire as an outcast.

No one trusts the soldier and Dinishere admits that they are not at fault. Faced with the grim prospect of yet meeting another full-fledged invasion with greatly reduced ranks, many soldiers have turned away from the cause of the Emperor. Some have bowed down to the despicable Chaos gods, while the avaricious plundered the wealth of others.

The upper brass turns a deaf ear to the deterioration, as they rush to fortify their own defenses and such news is unpleasant to the wealthy and unscarred South. Dinishere finds it a great test to uphold his loyalty for the ever-distant Emperor, who seems to be getting more distant with each passing day...


Lost in deep thought, the Captain gazes into the freezing air of a wind-swept tundra. His body rocks with the stride of the horse, incessantly producing the clanking of his overlapping armor plates. His nostrils bellow out clouds of mist under his heavy helm as he heaves on under the weight of his platemail.

His men, the Grimmigkopf, wearily follow their leader in disciplined rows behind him, on the way towards Schaeffer's Point. Despite of having a garrison short on men, it is one of the few settlements known to have some semblance of order. The Grimmigkopf have been tasked to join the garrison to bolster the numbers for a period of time before the next batch of fresh conscripts arrive.

Grimly he sets his sights to the front, leading his men on to their destination. He continues on with the slushing of snow and the clashing of metal rumbling into his ears...

Suddenly a distant shout woke the Captain out of his thoughts. Awakened, he called his soldiers to a halt, shielded his eyes with his hand and squinted into the distance. He could barely make out the silhouette of 3 mounted knights, standing in a straight row, with the standard bearer in the middle, set against a backdrop of a swirling gust of piercing tundra wind.

"Hail the Empire and her greatness!", shouted one of the knights again, with his voice muffled by the strong winds.

"And long live the Emperor!", the Captain responded back with a stentorian voice.

Upon hearing the Captain's reply, the 2 knights took up their reigns and galloped towards the Captain. The Captain and 2 of his trusted knights rode out to meet their compatriots...