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The Campaign Archive => The War of Ostermark Succession => The War of Ostermark Succession: Evaluation & Nostalgia => Topic started by: wissenlander on April 18, 2005, 09:16:12 PM
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I posted this as well in the Imperial Office, but maybe it would be better served here.
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“What are you going to do my lord?” A deep voice echoed from the darkness of the shadow.
“It is not my choice, Gregor.” The chamber fell silent for a brief moment before the lord of Brennenburg spoke again. “I am sick of all this bickering. All of the provinces squabble like children, weakening everyone as they go.”
The Graf rubbed his head slightly as he stopped speaking and looked over to his friend who sought reassurance. Silence again fell upon the room, the only sound coming from the fire crackling in the hearth. Graf Wolfgard leaned forward over the table in front of him looking at papers scattered about, squinting due to the lack of light. He slowly closed his eyes as the pain became a little more intense, leaning heavily on the table in front of him.
“Are you alright my lord?” asked a concerned Gregor as he poured a small amount of brandy into a chalice.
“Yes, I am fine,” the Graf commented as he opened his eyes seeing Gregor offering the chalice. “Thank you. I did not receive much sleep last night. Lukas was reminding me yet again why we should fight by Martin’s side.”
The Graf’s servant smiled, knowing all too well the priest of Sigmar’s passion and speeches. He had been heard by many in public and private proclaiming that Brennenburg should support Martin no matter Wissenland’s decision. This had been causing Wolfgard some trouble as his people were devout Sigmarites and he feared they may be riled into a frenzy.
“That man is driving me mad,” spoke Wolfgard as he tipped back his chalice. “And if the Count in Wissenburg chooses to side with the Ottilia or Severin he may incite a rebellion.”
“Do you think the Count will do that, sire?” asked Gregor with a hint of concern in his voice.
“I am not sure. I do not think so, but politics is a fickle game.”
“Well, what do you desire my lord?”
“My wishes matter little in this matter, Gregor. Of that I assure you,” he said quietly as he leaned back in his plush chair. “I long for peace in the Empire, however, and I believe that the best hope to unite the land may lie with Martin.”
“Lukas would be pleased to hear those words,” smiled Gregor. “And I think you under appreciate your value, my lord. Your counsel is highly sought after, for the Count himself has asked for it.”
“I trust you will not tell him,” Wolfgard chuckled. “And thank you. Your loyalty and friendship has steadied me for many years. Now, if you will take your leave my friend, I must get some rest. The journey to Wissenburg is long and I shall need my strength for the trials ahead.”
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Part 2
Confrontation in the Rain
The rain fell steadily on the landscape making life miserable for the people. Luckily the streets were cobbled or else they would be impossible to traverse. No one would be out on a day like that unless there was a need. Unfortunately for many, there is always a need. The streets were somewhat crowded with individuals coming and going, and at this time of day, it was travel to inns or home to obtain a mid-day’s meal. Nothing troublesome was about at this hour usually. An occasional discrepancy or scuffle would occur but nothing to worry about. The real worries came after dark. Many things happened at night, and the patrols were always out, but eyes and ears work but so well and the darkness hides much.
Captain Schaufelein walked the streets with his small patrol, keeping an eye out for any foul play, although he really did not concern himself with that so much. He was bothered more about trying to stay dry, which was utterly impossible. As he passed the townspeople he would receive greetings as a man of respect often does and he graciously returned them with a smile. As he and his few men continued onward down towards the central market area, the sound of a man’s booming voice could be heard over the rain and the random noises of the town.
“Not again,” Schaufelein muttered to himself as he stopped in his tracks. His men quickly halted behind him, spears held expertly over their right shoulders.
“Pardon me, sir,” spoke one of the men behind Schaufelein.
“Yes, Rolf. What is it?”
“Sir, is that Father Lukas?” the young man questioned as he strode up next to his commander.
“Indeed. I believe it to be lad,” he responded as he ran his gloved hand over his dark beard. “Let’s go take a look and see what he has to say today.”
The patrol marched out of sync into the plaza where a statue of Rhinehard, the first great leader of Brennenburg, stood. Beyond the effigy the voice of Father Lukas was heard again, him speaking to a crowd that was slowly gathering. This was a testament to the man, for few could hold an audience of any magnitude in a steady rain.
“The time has come to unite the Empire!” shouted Lukas. “We have been given a great opportunity to do this. With our never ending trust in Sigmar we shall achieve victory over the heretic Ulricians!” The warrior priest stood in the open on top of a cart to where all those in the crowd could plainly see him. No one ever doubted his piety, but often his means were questioned. He had been noted for bravery in battle several times, but it had been shown on many occasions that he liked to fight, no matter who it was with. This is what worried many in the higher rungs of the town’s hierarchy.
“All right, Lukas, that’s enough,” bellowed the Captain as he and his patrol exited the plaza into the market area. He had heard all he could handle, and that was not much anymore, at least from the priest. “Let the people go about their business. You wouldn’t want to be the reason they become ill now would you?”
“Ahhh, Anton! Have you come to try and quash my devotion to Sigmar yet again?!”
“Lukas, you do not even know how the Count votes. He may yet, and probably will side with the Stirlanders. So let us end this now. Move along,” Schaufelein moved towards the back of the crowd and gently nudged a few telling them to proceed and to get out of the rain before they caught their death.
“I never thought I would see this from you Anton!” the priest shouted from atop his makeshift pulpit. “How you lose faith in Sigmar and show sympathy towards the Ulricians disgusts me!”
“I said that’s enough!” replied the Captain, now very angered. “Do not ever call my devotion to Sigmar into question! It was Sigmar who stood by my side when I received this wound,” he pointed to a huge gaping scar that ran across the left side of his face. “And this limp that I walk with now,” pointing down towards his right leg where he took an arrow that lodged into his bone, the arrowhead still remained. “I have prayed to Sigmar many a night and day and he has guided me through countless engagements. Be wary of whose honor you question Lukas,” he now said more quietly as he made his way through the crowd. “It may bring about your demise. Now move along!”
The crowd murmured quietly amongst themselves and began to disperse. The priest’s tactic to discredit Captain Schaufelein upset many, for they knew what a great warrior and patron of Sigmar he was. Father Lukas jumped down from the cart and gave the Captain a long stare before proceeding down a small alley, retreating back to the temple to lick his wounds.
“That’s it folks, move along,” said Schaufelein, his tone much less angered and in his normal friendly manner. “Get inside out of this rain.” Looking around at the nearly empty market he turned to his men saying, “Alright boys, now let’s do the same. Back to the barracks.”
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Very good! I hope there is more to come.
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:-D Thanks a lot. I'm really geared towards writing at the moment. Now I just need to find time in between all of my history and anthropology papers. :cry: I'll make due though.
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New addition for all those interested. The tension builds in Brennenburg. :twisted:
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Very nice :-D
If you could pen a brief one-paragraph introduction on what/where Brennenburg is and how it stands in IY 2146, I'd be happy to include this in the "fanfic" section of the website.
...once it goes open to the public, of course ;)
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As requested here's a synopsis on my town prior to the war....
Brennenburg lies along the Wissenland side of the Upper Reik, and some two-hundred miles (320 kilometers) up stream of Nuln. It has come to prominence as a fortress town which has been growing for over four-hundred years. By the year 2146 the town is lead by Graf Wolfgard Olenbay, a man who has ruled justly for nearly twenty years. He tires of warfare amongst the provinces and longs for a united Empire. Not an overly religious man he is beset by those in the community that are ardent Sigmarites, decrying all Ulricians and all those that would show any sympathy towards them. With the coming of war, Wolfgard is wary of entering the fray, unsure of who to support. He leans towards Martin and the Stirlanders, although he thinks ideologically along the lines of the Middenlanders. He seeks guidance from the reigning Elector Count of Wissenland as his heart and mind are torn, all the while trying to look after his people.
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Part 3
Devotion
Running quickly through the back alleyways of Brennenburg, Father Sebald pondered to himself what he had gotten himself into. As he came to an opening in the alley he quickly stopped, crouched down and cautiously peered out into the larger street. As he was ready to dash across the intersection he heard footsteps. He slammed himself into the wall at his back and hid there in the shadows. Soon, a patrol of the town’s guard passed by casually laughing and talking in order to pass the time on what seemed to be a rather dull night. As they turned the corner down the street Sebald breathed easily and ran across the street to the entrance of the temple.
“Where have you been?” questioned Lukas, as he gazed at the young priest in front of him.
Sebald’s heart leapt inside him as he was frightened by the words. He slowly closed the door and turned to face the head priest of the temple. “I had to avoid the patrols, I…I apologize for my lateness.”
“Excuses,” Lukas spat as he turned his back and walked quickly away from Sebald. The young priest walked hurriedly to catch up to him and finally did once reaching the small library in the back of the temple. As Sebald began to close the door to the room, Lukas spoke once again, “Well, do you need to be told to light a candle?”
“No, I am sorry Brother Lukas,” he replied scrambling to light a few candles on a table at the middle of the room.
“That is more like it,” Lukas stared with distaste upon the young man who was the newest edition to his order. “Now what news do you carry?”
“Well,” Sebald hesitated for a moment but noticed Lukas’ impatience growing with each passing second. “Jakob is not willing,” is all he could manage to say as he cringed in anticipation of the tongue lashing he would receive.
“What did you say?”
Again Sebald hesitated, his fear growing vastly inside him. “Jakob is unwilling to support your cause, Brother. He feels as though we should at least wait until Lord Wolfgard returns from Wissenburg before any further dialogue is continued.”
“The fool!” Lukas erupted, banging his fists upon the table. “He looses faith along with the rest!”
Sebald remained silent as his infuriated Brother paced in front of him, before finally summoning the courage to speak. “Maybe Jakob has a point, Brother.”
Before the time it takes an arrow to strike a foe from a hundred paces, Lukas turned and back handed the young Sebald. “How dare you,” he spoke callously and calmly. “I knew you were not worthy of being a priest of our Father Sigmar. You lack the faith, as does everyone else in this forsaken town.”
The young man held his face where his Brother had struck him, looking away tears welled up in his eyes from the words that he had just heard which hurt far worse than any physical wound. He slowly looked up to see Lukas pacing back and forth, with his hand on his brow muttering words softly to himself.
“Jakob can not be trusted anymore,” Lukas began. “It looks as though we shall have to deal with him. And it looks as though I shall have to take my plea to the people with a renewed vigor.”
“Jakob has much to lose Brother,” commented Sebald, shocked at the words that escaped his mouth. “As a member of the town council it would be almost foolhardy to act.”
Lukas turned to hit the youthful priest again but held himself. “Get out of my sight,” he said lowering his hand. “Get out of my sight!” he shouted as Sebald paused. “You are just like the rest! You are all unworthy of Sigmar’s grace! Get out damn you!”
Sebald ran out of the room as Lukas turned around and pulled a rather elegant looking chair from beneath the table. He fell hard into the lush cushions and leaned back fully covering his eyes with his hand, his many gold rings gleaming from the small light in the room. “This lack of devotion sickens me,” he spoke softly to himself. “I shall make sure that all these heretics burn for their treason to Sigmar.”
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Part 4
The Homefront
The rain had started yet again. It had paused for a short time during the night, but as dawn broke the clouds answered with a downpour. There was already more rainfall at this point in the year than was normal, and this caused obvious concern amongst the people who feared the crops would be ruined. This concern was magnified by the increased talk of the men marching north to Ostermark and fighting alongside one of the three great powers. The rain seemed to symbolize the mood of the people, who like their lord, tired of warfare with their kinsmen. Warfare with orcs, goblins, and even the occasional skirmish with the Bretons to the east was expected, but stability in the Empire was craved in Brennenburg..
Rolf could see this in the eyes of the people as he walked from the barracks to his home on the fringes of the town, near the south gate. He moved at a quick pace down the main street eager to get home and enjoy a little time off which was granted him by Captain Schaufelein. As the young sergeant moved closer to his home, cries could be heard from the inside which made him smile. He hurried along and entered his modest home, unhooking his sword from his belt and placing it on the table by the door, soon followed by his drenched cloak.
As he set down his weapon, his young wife, Lucia, called out. “Rolf,” she came towards him opening her arms. “I’m so glad you’re home,” she smiled as they embraced.
“I’m happy as well, my love,” Rolf replied as he pulled back holding her at arms length, admiring her beauty. “Once Captain Schaufelein heard, he insisted I take some time to be with you.”
“I am thankful he did. Sigmar has blessed him in many ways. You thank him for me when you return to the barracks,” the whole time she spoke she gazed deeply into his eyes.
“I will,” he said embracing her again. As he did he heard cries come from the back of his small home. He looked over his wife’s shoulder to see a small basinet relatively close to the fire, but not too close. Taking his wife’s hand, Rolf walked over to the basinet and looked down and beamed with pride and love as he looked down upon his small daughter, only a few days old.
“She’s as beautiful as her mother,” he smiled as he reached down to pick up his first child. “She’ll be the fancy of many lads as she grows.”
“She’ll need her father then, to guide and protect her,” Lucia stated softly as she put her hand on Rolf’s shoulder.
“I will do everything in my power to do so,” he replied, his voice shaking with emotion.
There was a short silence that seemed like an eternity as the loving parents looked down upon their child. Rolf knew that his wife was trying to build up the courage to ask him the question they both feared.
“Will you march north to Ostermark?” she asked. The words nearly seemed to shatter the silence though they were spoken gently.
“It is not certain yet, my love” he replied as he sat on the bed in the corner. “But unfortunately, it looks as though we might. All regiments have been called up. Captain says the town militia will be called up soon for extra training for home guard,” he paused looking at his daughter rubbing her cheek gently with his finger before he spoke again. “For whose banner we fight for, I do not know. That is still to be determined.”
“I trust in Lord Wolfgard to make the right decision,” she said as she sat down next to Rolf, leaning her head onto his shoulder. “Sigmar will guide him. Now come,” she said as she took their daughter into her arms. “Let’s rest.”
As they laid there, Lucia feeding their little daughter, Rolf’s arm wrapped gently around them, protecting the two loves of his life, they all slowly fell into slumber. For a short time, at least, they could be happy.
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This is really shaping into an excellent story! Keep up the good work.
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This is really shaping into an excellent story! Keep up the good work.
Coming from the great Imperial scribe that's one heck of a compliment. :wink: Thanks, and there's definitely more on the way.
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I'm hooked too - keep it going.
I had to go back and read the first pieces again, to refresh my characters understanding.
Hopefully the Imperial Scribe will be able to collate it, at a future date, into one nice long read..............350 pages?
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Well, now you are just putting me to shame. :-D
Keep it coming. It's nice to have so many different writing styles around. Now I have to find some motiviation...
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Thank you faithful readers. :wink: I really appreciate the feedback. It's inspiring me to keep going, well at least to keep posting my stories.
Part 5
Devotion's Test
Wolfgard and his retinue slogged through the mud, but at least the rain had stopped. The men were tired from their trip, forced upon them by the swelling flow of the Upper Reik. The small barges used to drift downstream were traded in for horses, but only a few. Wolfgard rode at the head of the column flanked by his servant Gregor and one of his finest Marshals, Hoffman Breytenbach, with a few aides close at hand.
The trip to Wissenburg was quite disappointing and frustrating in Wolfgard’s opinion. He went to discover the Count’s decision regarding the upcoming crisis in Ostermark, but only received more indecision. Wolfgard understood the weight that came with this decision, so he did not condemn his lord. After all, he himself had the same difficulties. The one positive, he thought as they marched, was that the Count did assign a contingent of provincial troops to serve under him and utilize them as he saw. These handgunners, as they were called, would provide an extra punch to his forces.
“Damn the rain,” spoke Breytenbach. “The barges would have made this easier.”
“You know as well as I, Hoffman, that they would not make the trip upstream,” responded Wolfgard as he snapped out of his trance. “It would have been too difficult and dangerous,” he said glancing towards his friend lethargically.
“You are right my lord,” Breytenbach sighed in response. “This marching through the mud has worn out the men,” he then said turning in his saddle and seeing the soldiers of the Graf’s guard marching wearily. The handgunners walked directly behind them while the halberdiers pulled up the rear. They moved in a haphazard manner, trying to keep up with their lord commander. Despite the fatigue, they all carried their weapons skillfully over their right shoulders.
“I know, Hoffman, they have done well to march so steadily. We are close to home, their rest will come soon,” replied the Graf, pointing towards a small sloping ridge ahead. Behind the trees that lined it, the walls of Brennenburg would be in plain site.
Suddenly, an arrow whistled through the air, flying between Wolfgard and Hoffman, striking an aide and toppling him from his horse. Quickly other arrows started to land around Wolfgard and the forward elements of his column, frightening the horses.
“Ambush!” shouted Hoffman, steadying his steed.
“Battle formation!” roared Wolfgard, pulling his sword from it’s scabbard. “Gunners pour a volley into those trees,” he pointed towards the grove ahead and wheeled his horse to look at his men rushing into formation.
The handgunners stepped up and moved into two files, the first kneeling, and fired a volley. The effect was not what Wolfgard was hoping. A few shots went off, splintering tree limbs, but the damp air made it difficult for the matchlocks to stay lit. “Come on boys!” shouted their sergeant, cursing as he realized what the problem was. “Fire at will!”
The arrows began to come quicker, a few of the gunners clutching arrows that protruded from their body. Breytenbach rode over to them seeing what the problem was and he and the sergeant screamed at each other to understand. With the shouts of the other men and the occasional shot it was nearly impossible to hear.
The halberds moved to the right of the handgunners pushing forward a bit drawing the fire from their exposed comrades. “Come on lads!” their sergeant shouted as an arrow struck him sending him to the ground. As the men formed up, the next in line took command and the halberdiers pushed forward as quickly as possible, fighting fatigue and mud as they went.
“That’s it lads, push on!” shouted Wolfgard as he spurred his steed, with Gregor close behind, bow in hand. As the men rushed forward, their lord passed them and headed directly into the griffon’s lair, determined to vanquish the threat that hid in the trees. As Wolfgard approached, a man turned the corner of a tree readying himself, but was relieved of his head before loosing his bow. “What is this?” Wolfgard shouted in confusion, expecting orcs or goblins.
Another foe, seeing the Graf of Brennenburg exposed, rushed from behind to cut him down. Gregor rode between his lord and the assailant and unleashed an arrow that plunged into the man’s chest. “You must be careful my lord,” said Gregor calmly, restringing his bow and loosing another upon a shadow scurrying through the grove.
The halberdiers crashed through the trees around Wolfgard, screaming and brandishing their weapons, a sudden jolt of energy bolting through them. They hacked and slashed through any enemy that was unfortunate enough to cross their paths. Following close behind was Hoffman shrieking at the top of his lungs, bypassing pleasantries with his lord, seeking the head of the fool in charge of the ramshackle ambush.
“Are you alright my lord?” Gregor asked surveying the chaotic scene.
“Yes, thank you my friend,” he said panting from the exhilaration. “Looks as though you have saved me once again.” He himself began scanning the area, and the sounds of the fray were dying away. The halberdiers were mopping up resistance, which was heard by the occasional cry of pain.
“Lord Wolfgard!” The shout came from Breytenbach and seemed to originate from the foliage itself.
Wolfgard and Gregor headed towards the direction of the voice, until soon they came upon a small group of men huddled together around a large tree. “What is it?” questioned Wolfgard as he dismounted, Gregor taking the bridal of his horse. As he walked through the small cluster of his guard meeting Hoffman at the center, he saw the frame of a man with a large gash disfiguring his chest.
“Father Sebald?” Wolfgard gasped in amazement as he fell to his knees next to the young priest. “What is this about?” he wondered as he looked up at his men who returned looks of confusion.
“I did not mean to,” choked Sebald as the blood ran from his mouth. “It was the only way to show my devotion,” he began to sob uncontrollably. “Oh, Sigmar, I’m not worthy of your grace!”
“Shhhh, shhh,” whispered Wolfgard. “Sigmar loves all of his children, you are no different,” he tried to console the young man. It seemed little use, Sebald continued to weep as his eyes slowly closed and his breathing faded.
Silence fell upon the men as they looked to their lord for any sort of reaction. He only stood and reviewed his men. Looking finally upon Breytenbach, Wolfgard began. “Tell the men to keep silent of all that happened here. We were ambushed by orcs. Is that understood?” Hoffman and the rest of the men nodded in agreement, all realizing the magnitude of the situation. “Good,” Wolfgard continued. “Good job lads, you fought well,” he said taking a deep breath. “Tend to the wounded…let’s get them home.”
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Niiice :)
Do you intend to keep a running chronicle during the campaign or are you going to wrap it up at some point? This will unfluence how it gets put on the site.
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I'm working on the "finale" for the pre-war part. Then there's going to be a segway where Wolfgard decides which faction to fight for, and I was planning on writing some about the war itself. Summer's coming up, and I'll have some more spare time to work on this project. :-D
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Part 6
Damage Control
Word of the ambush on Lord Wolfgard’s entourage spread quickly throughout the town. He did not wish for it, but it was difficult to hide when wounded and dying men were being carried through the streets. As instructed, the men told stories of orcs attacking from within the trees. People flocked to the gates and walkways as the battered men lumbered towards the barracks. Many concerned faces watched as their men were carried on improvised gurneys made out of handguns and cloaks. A few individuals ran into the streets, lending a shoulder for their soldiers to lean on as they hobbled along. Soon, talk of orc invasion forces began springing up. The people believed that was the next action, the orcs in the woods were only a scouting party for a much larger horde. There was an uneasy tension that rapidly gripped them.
Wolfgard rode atop his horse quietly and calmly behind his men, watching them as they walked through the gates of the city. He wanted to make sure they would all make it to the barracks where they could be cared for. Inside his head it was a much different scenario. The rage he felt was hidden behind his stoic face, reassuring the people of his strength. Visions of the skirmish leapt to the forefront of his mind as he saw men attacking him in the shadows of the grove. Seeing Father Sebald’s mangled body confused and upset him. He knew the young man and admired him for his devotion, but did not realize it would come to that. Staring blankly ahead, seeing his ancestral castle on the hill in the center of the town, the faces of some of the men that opposed him appeared. Many of them he did not recognize, but a few did, which only furthered his anger. He admired his warriors for their loyalty to him, they held to the story of the orc ambush, even though it only spread fear and panic. It was a small price, however, Wolfgard thought to himself. The people must not know that it was their own kin who perpetrated the attack. At least not yet. There was only one action left to take, and he would make sure it would be carried out soon.
Captain Schaufelein leaned against the wall of the apartment complex. He crossed his arms and braced himself heavily with his left leg, trying to alleviate some stress on his right which was bothering him. The dampness seemed to always have that effect. He looked down the street to his left and saw the crammed walkways filled with carts and people, moving along down towards the plaza and the market. It was the major day for visiting the markets, and the inhabitants of the town were making sure they could get the best deals before someone else got them. People talked about the ambush that occurred the day before, but Schaufelein smiled as he saw them, knowing that they were going about their lives as best they could.
Turning his head the other way, he looked down towards the temple. He gazed down the street and tried to focus his vision but had some difficulty. His eyes were not what they used to be and he tried to pick out any noticeable figures from the few that wandered the streets. He looked for a few minutes, finally noticing a figure enter the temple when a patrol turned the corner near him blocking his line of sight.
“Sergeant,” Schaufelein grunted, pushing himself away from the wall. “Is everything in place?”
“Yessir,” replied Rolf. “All patrols are in position, if an escape is attempted there will be no where to go.”
“Good job, lad,” Schaufelein grinned. “I just noticed our friend enter the temple. Let’s go and pay him a visit.”
The Captain and his small force moved down the street towards the temple at a quick pace, as quickly as Schaufelein’s scarred body could take them. As they passed the side street where Rolf exited, they saw other men dressed in the state colors holding positions around the doors of the building. Moving along, they quickly came to the main entrance and halted, Schaufelein whispering final instructions to his men. After taking a deep breath, Rolf threw open the door to the temple and they flooded into the grand hall. There, just in front of the altar, stood Lukas talking to another one of his fellow priests.
“What is the meaning of this?” Lukas questioned with a disgusted tone as he saw Schaufelein.
“Father Lukas,” the Captain began. “You are under arrest for treason against lord Wolfgard and the people of Brennenburg.”
Lukas burst into laughter, and shooed his brother away as he turned towards Schaufelein. “Treason?” he laughed heartily again. “I have done no such thing.”
“Aye, I believe you have,” Schaufelein grinned as he limped forward. “You were behind the attack in the woods, and you caused the death of many fine lads. Now come peacefully or I’ll be forced to restrain you,” he stated drawing his sword and holding it towards the priest. His men followed suit and closed ranks behind their commander.
“There is no proof of what you speak,” responded Lukas coolly. “Besides, the people will not stand for this.”
“The people?” Schaufelein emphasized with contempt in his voice. “Once the people find out it was you who forced Sebald into leading the ambush…and the cause of so much pain to them and their brave warriors,” he paused for a moment calming himself. “Well, you’ll be begging for their forgiveness.”
Lukas stared down his nose at Schaufelein and said nothing. The Captain moved towards the priest, sword in hand, gesturing for him to move towards the back. The men exited towards the rear of the temple and made their way through the alleys towards Wolfgard’s castle. There Lukas would await his destiny, which firmly depended on how the people would take the news.
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WoW!!!! I love it!! This is some really good writing!
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Thanks. I appreciate it. :-D
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Huzzah!
Write more for us :)
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Thanks. I appreciate it. :-D
Belive me! It is good!! I am only 15 but I had finished the LOTR Trilogy by age 10. So I think my opinion is not only another post(I hope :? )
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Excellent stuff! Please keep up the good work.
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Well, due to lack of internet capabilities I've been away for a while, but I haven't forgotten about my series. I haven't had the chance to write anything new, but there should be something coming soon, especially with the start of the war coming. Thanks for all the positive comments.
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Wissenlander, would you mind if I copied your masterpeice into a word document to share with my gaming group? I would of course give your most honorable name along with your mest excellent story.
-Pete
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Sure thing. I don't mind at all if you share the love. :-D Are there any Wissenlanders in your gaming group by chance?
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there are not, I'm the only Empire player...Middenland, but I'm sure they will appreciate it all the same
-Pete
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Well that's cool. Glad to see that my stories are liked so much.
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We want more!!! We want more!!!!.....but dont rush.
....please
-Pete
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Sorry it's been so long, but here's the next part of the saga. I have the next part in the works and hopefully that'll be up and ready before you know it. Enjoy.
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Part 7, Arriving at Hohleburg
It had been a long march from Brennenburg to Ostermark. There was much debate amongst the town council over what should be done, but finally Wolfgard made the decision. Brennenburg must stand alongside Martin, and he would lead his men. This was met with great concern by nearly everyone. It was believed that one of his marshal’s should lead the men while he stayed at home, but this idea repulsed the lord of Brennenburg. If his men were going to fight and die to unite the Empire, he would be beside them during the struggle. He only wished that the Count in Wissenburg had made the decision. Instead, it was left up to each individual Graf, Baron, Herzog, or Prince to decide his path during the upcoming struggle.
As the Brennenburgers marched into Hohleburg, men dressed in yellow and green scrambled around, making repairs on the dilapidated castle. There was urgency in the air, but everything seemed to be in order. The men moved quickly but without panic.
“They seem to be well trained,” stated Gregor matter of factly as he rode behind his lord at the head of the column.
“We have not seen them in battle,” responded a tall knight riding beside Wolfgard. “They may not be so cool under real pressure.”
“Settle Reinier,” chided Wolfgard quietly. “We do not need to cause an incident with our allies. Especially before we set up camp.”
“Yes my lord,” replied Reinier lowering his head as a sign of his apology. The knight rode closer to his lord and leaned in slightly, and in a hushed voice, “you’re lucky my dear cousin, that we are family. For you know not many men would survive such an open rebuking of me.”
Wolfgard laughed out loud and then smiled over at his younger kinsmen. Reinier returned the smile, with a hearty chuckle soon to follow. Reinier served as his second in command during this expedition. There were not many close familial ties in the Olenbay family during this time, but Reinier and Wolfgard were nearly like brothers, growing up together in the Border Princes, they faced many hardships. When Reinier discovered that Brennenburg was marching north, he was determined to fight under his brethren’s banner. He brought with him some of the finest knights of his order, the Wissengaurd, men sworn to protect the land and people of Wissenland. This body of knights served as Reinier’s personal retinue, and proved to be fiercely loyal to him.
The column of troops began to file through Hohleburg, when Wolfgard spotted a captain shouting out orders to his men. Calling out to the stocky man, Wolfgard inquired of the location of Count Martin. “He’s inside the Hohleburg, who wants to know?” was the response from the captain.
“Lord Wolfgard Olenbay, of Brennenburg,” he replied with pride in his voice. Not for the sake of his own name, but for the lands and people he represented.
“Never ‘eard of ya,” retorted the man crossing his arms. “But, ya do look important…follow me, and I’ll lead you to him. Sergeant!” the captain shouted loudly. “Show ‘em where they can set up camp,” he added as a young man barely old enough to shave approached.
“Thank you,” responded Wolfgard as he spurred his horse to follow the Stirlander. “Reinier, look to the men.”
Reinier nodded his head, staring intently at the Stirlander captain. He did not like the way the fellow had greeted his lord, and it took every ounce of strength he had to not lance the portly man. Instead he focused on his task at hand, which was to get the men into camp as quickly as possible so they could rest from a long march. “Forward men, a good night’s rest awaits you.” The column of Brennenburgers cheered, that was some of the most encouraging news they had heard in several weeks.
It did not take long for Lord Olenbay to make his way to the Hohleburg. He was lead to a waiting area, or so it seemed, where there were several other men standing around conversing amongst one another. As Wolfgard looked around, he noticed that the men were representatives from several areas of the Empire. That heartened Wolfgard, because it showed him that he was not the only one who wanted to see the Empire united once again. As he entered the room, all of the men turned to see a man that they did not recognize. A man whose livery they did not recognize. It looked much like the colors of Wissenland, but the right sleeve was black with red stripes adorning the length.
“Wissenlander?” one of the men stepped forward, sporting the colors of Reikland.
“Aye, I am Wolfgard of Brennenburg,” he replied extending his hand in friendship.
“Wolfgard you say? It is my distinct honor to meet you, sir. I am Georg Sander, and I lead my Reiklander’s in the name of Sigmar and under the orders of the Grand Theoginist Kurt III.”
“It is an honor,” Wolfgard bowed. As he did, he surveyed the rest of the room seeing a couple of Averlanders looking in his direction. Neither took the courtesy to introduce themselves, which did not surprise him in the least. Averland and Wissenland had been fighting border skirmishes for some generations, and one act of allegiance would not change all of those years of bitter fighting. To show that he would not let old hostilities sour the situation, and to add a little salt to the wound, Wolfgard bowed to the two and smiled. Standing in between the two Averlanders was a short man; Wolfgard had not seen him prior to that moment. On closer inspection it was no man, but a dwarf. As the two warrior’s eyes meet, the dwarf strode between the Averlanders towards Lord Olenbay.
“Good day to you manling from Wissenland,” the dwarf spoke with a deep, gruff tone. “I am Unri Sunrisson of Karak Kadrin.”
Wolfgard bowed to the dwarf, and extended his hand. “I did not expect to see our Dwarf friends here. What brings you into this fray?” The two shook hands and the dwarf smiled showing a near full mouth of golden teeth. Only a few teeth were the standard white that one would be accustomed to.
“My lord sends me to watch over our trade relations with the Stirlanders. We have been partners for a long time, and we will not let anyone interfere,” the dwarf took his free hand and rubbed the broad expanse of his warhammer, which hung in his belt, to prove his point.
“Well, that is a good enough reason for me,” Wolfgard and Unri released each other’s hand and to show a little more respect to the dwarf, he placed his right arm across his chest and again bowed. “I am glad that you are in allegiance with us, I would hate to have to face such fine warriors in battle.”
Unri slapped Wolfgard on the arm with his broad hand and bellowed a huge guttural laugh. “You’re a fine diplomat manling! And at this rate, I’m sure you’ll be a friend for ages.”
Wolfgard smiled, knowing that it was always good to be friends with a dwarf rather than an enemy. At that moment, a door at the far end of the room opened. A priest of Sigmar exited the room soon followed by a few others of his order with a Stirlander bringing up the rear. As the holy men exited, the men already present in the room greeted them with respect as was often accorded to priests. The priests in return greeted the generals back, all except one. Wolfgard looked closer and recognized the man, Father Lukas. Lukas did not say a word to a man, or dwarf, present. He only stared furiously at Wolfgard.
“A friend of yours manling?” Unri questioned.
“I do know the man,” Wolfgard began as the Stirlander attendant invited them all in to meet with Count Martin. “He used to be the head of the church back home, until he conspired a coup to overthrow me.”
“And you let him live?” Unri asked in confusion.
“The church decided that in these troubled times, it would be a waste for a man of his devotion and courage to be dismissed or executed. Not to mention it would look bad upon the church,” Wolfgard smiled and winked as he continued. “He was transferred out of Brennenburg and I was assured that he would never return, under pain of death.”
“I’d watch my back if I was you, manling, the stare he gave would’ve killed lessers I assure you.”
“Thank you for the advice,” Wolfgard grinned as they entered the room.
The small group entered Martin’s provisional headquarters to see the young man milling over papers and maps. “My lord,” began the attendant.
“What is it?” Martin questioned impatiently.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, my lord, but there are several army commanders that have recently arrived.”
Martin threw the papers in his hand to the table in seeming disgust. “Alright,” was all he could manage to say as he turned to see the generals already in the room. “Well, I haven’t much time,” Martin went down the line of each commander and shook their hands quickly. Without asking names or inquiring to the status of the men under their command, Martin directed each general where to deploy their regiments for the upcoming operations. Before dismissing the generals, Martin did formally introduce himself to Unri, for it would have been foolhardy not to. The men of Reikland and Averland exited the Hohleburg in a near rage at the unpleasantries. Wolfgard, however, remained in the waiting room for Unri to exit. It did not take long for the dwarf warrior to saunter out of Martin’s chamber, and as he did it was noticeable that the dwarf was vexed.
“What is it my friend?” questioned Wolfgard to the fuming dwarf.
“The man,” was all he could start out saying. The doors shut behind them, and Wolfgard and Unri began walking out of the castle. “He is not as cordial as you my friend, I can say that,” he finally was able to say through clinched teeth.
“It may be that he has a lot on his mind, friend,” responded Wolfgard. He said it aloud to reassure himself that that was the reason for the near snubbing.
“Aye, that’s what he told me. But then he has the nerve to place me and my lads back here guarding the baggage trains. What kind of disgraceful operation is this man running?” spat the disgruntled dwarf.
“I am sure that it is just to see where your stout warriors are needed most,” answered Wolfgard as they exited the castle gates.
Unri again roared a mighty laugh. “You may be right Wolfgard, you may be right. Farewell friend,” the dwarf shook Olenbay’s hand as they parted ways. “I saw a wagon or two with some fine lookin’ ale as it’s cargo. I think that’s a good enough reason to stick around for a while.”
“Indeed,” Wolfgard smiled as he bowed and watched the dwarf shuffle away, greeting a few of his comrades in the gruff dwarfen tongue, undoubtedly telling them of what had occurred.
Wolfgard mounted his steed as an attendant brought it to him and he thought to himself, “At least I hope that it was because he had a lot on his mind.”
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Nice to hear from Brennenburg again!
Keep it up. I'm saving you space on the campaign website :)
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Here's that next part I was talking about. It's a bit longer than my previous posts, but I needed to get the description in. This was loosely based on a game that I played. Enjoy!
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Part 8 Action at Udo's Fall
Wolfgard did not know what to make of the man who he hoped would become emperor. Martin seemed to care little of those men who were not of his county. As Wolfgard returned to his command, he wondered if the rumors were true. Did Martin really sacrifice the Ostermarkers at Hel Fenn? He had talked to a few veterans from Wissenland, those who had fought at the battle. But they were on the right flank, away from the reported atrocities, and were in no position to confirm or deny the reported events.
Wolfgard took in a deep breath and sighed. All of that had passed. And there he was, standing on a hill in Ostermark. He was concerned for his home, so far away, but trusted that Hoffman and the council would make sure that nothing bad would occur in his absence. The sigh that Wolfgard released was one to bring clarity, to let all of his concerns and fears escape him. He had no time to worry, for his men were here, on a ridge near Udo’s Fall in Ostermark, and they needed his leadership.
They had just arrived in their position that afternoon, at the request of Martin himself. In all actuality, they were ordered further down towards the forest that stood in front of them, but Wolfgard was not willing to have his men stumbling through thick underbrush at night while reports came to him telling of enemies close at hand. No, instead he held the high ground, where his men could remain in tight battle formations rather than worry about the disorder that would occur in the trees. Night was coming, and quick, only a few more hours of day by that point and if need be camp could be struck upon the hill.
While Lord Olenbay surveyed his position, he noted a tall, wiry man who stood alone behind the front lines of his troops. The man had a brown cloak on and had the guise of a person who did not know much of personal hygiene. The man gazed into the skies and noted the birds as they flew by. The men did not understand the ways of magicians, or warlocks, and neither did Wolfgard, but they all realized that in order to counter act the evil in the world, it was necessary to have one or two of these unsavory characters around for protection. This man, Alden as he was known, was one of them. He in fact, never sought out trouble, but it seemed to find him. Wolfgard was wary of the man, but did his best to respect him, and on several occasions Alden proved his worth in battle. It still did not matter much to some folks, as was noted in the way the men kept their distance as they milled around in loose formation, keeping their distance from him. They thought the practice of magic evil and Alden was never fully accepted into the town. This did not concern Alden in the least, however, for he was not much of a people person himself and much preferred the company of animals to humans.
“My Lord,” Schaufelein’s voice rose above the murmur of the men, snapping Wolfgard out of his daze. The veteran captain limped forward, bowing his head slightly as he approached. “Reports have just come in from the scouts, orcs are moving in this direction.”
“Good,” replied Wolfgard. “This is the perfect position, they will run squarely into us. I am glad we received word when we did, I was ready to give word to the men to pitch their tents,” he said with a voice clearly indicating he wished that was possible. “Good work, Anton.”
“Thank you my lord,” responded Anton, squinting as he looked up to his lord, the sun shining brightly as it moved lower in the sky. “My lord, your cousin Reineir has still not yet arrived with his retinue.”
Wolfgard looked down onto his grizzled captain from atop his horse and admired him for his loyalty and devotion, then he spoke, “It seems as though that orc raiding party held him up longer than expected. We will have to make do without him and his retinue. That town was far too important to let fall to those savages,” Wolfgard sighed again.
“It’s alright my lord,” Schaufelein said quickly, as he patted Wolfgard’s horse on the side. “It had to be done. The lads’ll do fine, they always have.”
“Of course they will Anton,” he smiled. “They are from Brennenburg.”
At that moment, a man dressed in brown and green ran up to the crest of the hill where they stood. It was one of the scouts, and he was greatly winded. “Lord Wolfgard, the orcs are just past those trees there,” the man pointed behind him, gasping for breath as he did. “They were right behind us, the whole lot of them.”
“Relax, lad. You did well. Assemble your scouts over in those trees to our right and form a skirmishing line. Hold our flank on that side as best you can, I know you will not be able to all day; I just need you to forewarn us in case we are turned. Am I clear?”
“Yes my lord,” the man bolted from where he stood off into the direction of the woods.
“Alright Anton, it is time.” The two shook hands and parted ways. Anton limped down towards the front of his spearmen, the 1st Regiment, and Wolfgard galloped towards Gregor who sat high in his saddle behind the 4th Regiment. Wolfgard nodded his head for the drummer of the swordsmen unit to signal the other regiments of the action to come. As the call beat from the drum, other drums sounded and the men hurried into formation and the flags were unfurled. All the while, as this happened, the orcs emerged from the trees, one large mass of green ferocity that was ready to wreak havoc.
“It looks as though Martin had the right assignment for us, my lord,” spoke Gregor.
“Aye, he did indeed. It seems our reputation as orc fighters has preceded us,” Wolfgard chuckled. “We do not have much of a reserve this day my friend, so you and I will have to fulfill that role.”
Gregor nodded as they reviewed the men. Holding the left flank was Schaufelein’s spearmen. There was nothing to anchor the line at that end, so this tough assignment was given to the veteran, for he was the only one that Lord Olenbay entrusted with such a difficult task. In order to add more strength to his weak end, Schaufelein drew up his crossbow detachment to his right to provide supporting fire, and to keep in contact with the spears to the right, while the halberdiers formed to the left and back in a refused position. Next in line were the swordsmen, with their detachment of archers forming a skirmish line in the front which covered both them and their detachment of halberdiers. Out to the right were more archers, hidden excellently in the woods. To the rear of the line were stationed the handgunners, the recently formed 7th Regiment, and the only cannon that made the trek from Brennenburg. A name had not been decided for it as of yet, which was a debate that raged quite heatedly around the campfires at night. Some thought it to be a bad omen not to name the machine, but many laughed it off as unneeded superstition.
The orcish horde stood still at the edge of the forest, screaming primeval grunts to their heathen gods. As they did, drums pounded and horns sounded causing the host to further increase their rumbling. To ease tension, the men of the 4th Regiment began singing, soon followed by their detachments and quickly spreading to the other regiments. ‘Sweet Home of Wissenland’ was the song of choice that day.
As the soldiers sang the winds began to pick up and the hair stood on the back of every neck. In the ears of all the adrenaline crazed warriors was heard the pulsating energy flow that only occurs when sorcery is about. Quickly, the sensation passed, Alden dispelling the vile trickery before any harm could come of it.
As the orcs surged forward, Wolfgard looked down his line, confident that each man knew his assignment he stood in his saddle and spoke, “Here me men of Brennenburg!” he shouted over the singing, the men’s voices slowly faded to hear their beloved leader. “The menace that you see before us is an old one. It was not expected that we would be fighting this hazard, but it matters little. This band of orcs threatens our lines, and whether they know it or not, they are acting in conjunction with the Ulricians. So we fight them as we have always fought them, and let it be known that this battle here today WILL help us in winning this war! May Sigmar be with you!”
With that, the men of Brennenburg cheered their approval, rivaling anything the orcs could ever muster, and then their voices again arose in song. Wolfgard raised his hand and in a quick motion waved to his cannon crew. The chief gunner shouted a final order and they opened fire, signaling to the army that action was to commence, the first shot sailing well over the heads of the greenskins. All crossbowmen and handgunners soon followed suit, dropping but a few of the vastness of the orc hoard. The cannon crew quickly reloaded and fired again, the shot sticking firmly into the ground this time. The shell landed in front of a pack of wolf riders who were howling quickly towards the 4th Regiment. All fire was directed at this threat, and before the gibbering pack could reach the line, they were scattered by a concentrated volley. As the smoke cleared, only a few wolves scurried back towards their line as most were struck down. The fleeing wolves did little to dismay the oncoming line, only a few orcs in the back stopped to bicker amongst themselves for a brief moment, but they quickly reformed ranks.
Again, the cannon unleashed a cloud of smoke and fire. This time however, it was a much louder explosion, and a much larger plume of smoke. Wolfgard turned to see what had happened, but the entire crest of the ridge was shrouded in the fog of war. As the smoke began to drift away, the cannon and its crew were no longer visible. Only handgunners were seen, as they hurried about checking the carnage left in a crater made by the exploding cannon. A bad omen indeed, thought Wolfgard.
The orc threat only continued on. Handgunners and crossbowmen unleashed volley after volley trying to soften up the greenskin line before it crashed into them. As the range closed, more orcs fell and the archers began to loose their arrows as the range decreased, but it still did little to deter the oncoming tide. With little more than twenty paces between themselves and the orcs, the archer screen in front of the 4th Regiment melted away and fell back behind the lines. Wolfgard shouted to his men to hold steady and prepare themselves for the inevitable impact.
In the blink of an eye the orcs were upon the 4th. A loud clash of steel echoed over the landscape, and the sweet sound of singing was replaced by horrible screams of battle, as the Brennenburgers initially reeled from the immense tide. “Steady!” Wolfgard shouted to his men, as he looked down the line at the 1st regiment, not yet engaged. The orcs on that side were lagging behind slightly and as they ambled forward the handgunners on the hill and the crossbowmen detachment unleashed a horrendous volley that toppled many of the horrid beasts. It did not deter them, however, and as they crashed into the wall of spears Schaufelein could be heard shouting out encouragement to his men.
When the orcs hit on the left they did not make as big of an impact as was made on the right. The spears held the advantage at this point and the first line of orcs were slaughtered as they were skewered on the pointed wall. The crossbowmen poured in another round of bolts and slowly began to give ground to the orcs who were lead by their boss.
The massive greenskin was riding an equally large boar and as the two monsters road through the line, men fell in droves. The boar gored with it’s vast tusks, throwing men into the air as it reared it’s head from side to side with the commands of it’s master. The immense orc wielded a large rusted sword that stood nearly the size of a man and wielded it with great strength, heaving it from side to side crushing and butchering Brennenburgers as he went. The crossbowmen could not stand up to this brute, and they continued to give ground, loosing bolts as they pulled back. Several stuck into the orc warrior, with little effect. The monstrous creature only roared a defiant cry of anger as it sliced men in two and continued onward. The crossbowmen could not take anymore and they began to flee in disarray.
Seeing this, Wolfgard spurred his charger and rode headlong into the midst of the oncoming danger, dropping several orcs as they closed in on the crossbows. Gregor followed suit and as an orc leapt at Wolfgard, he loosed an arrow that plunged deep within the tiny brain of the massive creature, felling it before it could harm his lord. Finally recognizing a human that may be able to give him some contest, the orc boss howled again in what seemed to be a challenge to Lord Olenbay. Wolfgard turned his steed to confront the orc, and the horse screamed and kicked up as the boar began to rumble towards them, carrying it’s master with it. Quickly pulling the reigns to the left, the horse skipped to the side, allowing the charging boar to pass by, which gave Wolfgard an opening. While the beast ran past, Wolfgard thrust his sword downward, slitting the neck of the boar killing it instantly. The creature toppled to the ground, hurtling the orc off it’s back, leaving him vulnerable. As the boss began to get to his feet, Wolfgard ordered the rallying crossbowmen to loose a volley into the beast. The men did as they were told and soon the orc had nearly a dozen bolt shafts petruding from it’s body. The beast bellowed a loud cry of pain as it got to it’s knees and it slowly began to give ground. The remaining crossbowmen shored up the line as there was a moments respite from the staggering orc line.
The 1st was being slowly flanked by this point and the halberdier detachment on the left swung down and around the outside and crashed furiously into the open side of the orcs. The heavy weight of the halberds added to the electrified men who stormed downhill. The tough hides of the orcs could not withstand the awesome force and quite a few of the foul creatures turned and fled as they saw others’ being crushed by the massive force of the halberdiers.
Things were going well on the left, but not so much on the right. The swordsmen of the 4th were being pushed back, but not under great effort. The position in which Wolfgard chose was a good one, for the orcs had to fight uphill in order to gain ground. It would take a lot to tire out these brutes, but every advantage would be helpful. The halberdier detachment on the right flank had been pulled back soon after the archer screen melted away, in order to provide support to the 4th when needed. Now was as perfect time as any to move in, and as they began to move at a double quick speed, the archers protecting the right loosed a volley onto the exposed flank of the orcs. This enraged many of the thugs and it caused them to lose formation and scatter in several directions, one group chasing the now withdrawing archers while others continued to charge uphill. With the fragmentation of force, the halberdiers pounded their way through the center, driving a hole into the orc line on that end. The impetus with which these men hit the orcs allowed the 4th some reprieve and they were able to support their detachment as they pushed forward.
As the first waves of the orcs ran in panic and confusion, the several untouched units lost heart and began to run themselves. Even the orc war boss who was trying to rally his boys by bashing anything that came near him could not overturn the damage that had already been done. While the orcs ran in confusion, the 7th on top of the hill fired off a few rounds to cover the other regiments as they shored up their lines. The Brennenburgers cheered as the last of the orcs ran into the trees. As the sun hid past the horizon the men began to tend to the wounded. They were tired and their lines were too weak to withstand another assault. If the orc boss could rally his warriors, the Brennenburgers would not be able to hold. Wolfgard began issuing orders, contemplating withdrawing his worn troops to a more secure location. And there, in the last glimmer of daylight, could be seen a galloping column of knights with the banner of Brennenburg fluttering at the head. It was Reineir and his men returning from assignment, the hill would remain in Sigmar’s hands!
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Oh my, I will never right another battle report again after this one! Wooh, that was really awesome!
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Absolutly jaw dropping, what a fantastic read. Vivid imagry just makes it come alive!
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I really like the story so far. More, more. Thanks.