When the light of the rising sun grew over Bastonne, in Bretonnia, people could see far away at the horizon dark smoke rising above the plains, to the north. None doubted of the nature of the fire. The enemy was coming. For months, Chaos was extending over the Old World, destroying everything in its path, in what was called the Storm of Chaos. While Archaon himself was fighting the Empire to the east, he had sent a great number of his forces to Bretonnia. Now, the barbarians of Norsca, followed by countless daemons and horrid creatures, were invading Bastonne. The Valley of Blancastel (which means White Castle) was their next target. From the summit of his tower, the Count Robert watched the arrival of the enemy.

"Are our men ready?" he asked calmly as his councilor André entered.
"Almost, my Lord," the man said, bowing. "They will be on the field by the time the enemy arrives. But… from what I've heard, it will not be enough. The host of Lord Skardrek is four times the size of ours. And each of his warriors is a powerful fighter. And there are the daemons."
"I will never surrender," Count Robert replied. "Even if we lose today, maybe another will succeed if we manage to slay enough of our foes."

André knew it was no use to convince a Bretonnian warrior not to fight. He bowed again and left. The Count of Blancastel got up on his feet and put on his gleaming white armor. He was a tall and slim man of about twenty-five years old and he had beautiful features, probably because he was a half-Elf. His hair was of the purest white and shone like a pearl. His eyes were blue and piercing-gazed and they darkened when Robert was angry. The Count was finally ready for the last fight of his life. He opened an oaken chest near his bed and took out his powerful claymore. The sword was said to be one of the most beautiful of Bastonne. The hilt was forged by Elves and the blade was made by Dwarves out of pure Gromril. Robert put his weapon in its scabbard and got out of his bedroom.

The whole palace was in an uproar. Every knight was putting on his armor or searching his sword, every archer was gathering his arrows and every man-at-arms was sharpening his halberd. Young Baron Xavier was already in the fields, ensuring that his soldiers were in neat ranks. Count Robert walked to the stables to get his horse. The animal was a snow-white Elven stallion with an impressive intelligence and great strength in combat. The paladin mounted his steed and rushed to the field, where his knights were awaiting him.

Before them, the green plain was already covered with big warriors covered with armor, fur and leather. They were holding immense swords, banners decorated with human skulls and dark shields. Count Robert recognized them as the men of Lord Skardrek, one of the most devoted of Khorne's worshippers. He was said to like nothing less than the massacre of innocents and the sacrifice of women and children to his blood-thirsty god. His warriors were savage and cruel, and they had never spared one life on their way to the Count's land. Near them were ranks after ranks of Bloodletters, the lesser minions of Khorne, and a mass of Fleshhounds, wild beasts that devoured anything alive that stood in their way. For one of the few times of his life, Robert of Bastonne tasted fear. And he didn't like it.

He motioned to his men to prepare for battle. His disciplined knights were already on their warhorses, awaiting his orders. At his left, the Baron Xavier, already standard bearer at only seventeen years old, was proudly holding his red and gold banner high in the morning's fresh air. At his right, his mother, Lady Allariàn, was nervously looking the enemy. She was an Elf, and so was gifted for magic, but she didn't like fighting.

Already the armies were ready to charge into each other. Robert, a white flag in his right hand, rode towards the enemy with the faint hope that he could stop the massacre before it had begun. At the front of the gigantic Chaos army was a tall creature (for it couldn't be a man) that rode an immense black warhorse. Lord Skardrek was covered with dark armor, and behind him a crimson cape was flying in the wind. He wore a hideous helm with the form of a daemon's face.

"Why have you come to your death in our land, lord of darkness?" Robert asked. "Whoever it is who will watch the sun set on this bloody day, this battle will be costly for your men. Think again if you are not foolish, servant of accursed Chaos. We shall not die without a fight."
"We can negotiate, friend," Skardrek said in a deep voice. "It is not my desire to spill more blood than necessary."
Robert would have laughed if he could.
"You serve Khorne. I do not think you are here for peace."
"You are right. I am here for conquest. Power. And you are here to protect your people. This is my offer, knight. If you do not fight and let me take your land, civilians will be spared. No innocent person shall be slain."
"We Bretonnians never surrender," Robert replied. "We are not cowards from the Empire. We will lose our life, but we will keep our honor."
"So be it," Skardrek sighed. "It's a pity that you will not live to see my men slaughter the people you have sworn to protect. Fight, knight, and may your sword be as sharp as your tongue."

Count Robert rode back to his men and shouted: "Lower the lances!"
As one, all the knights lowered their lances at the height of the heart of a man. The archers drew their bow and prepared to shoot. The three trebuchets were loaded with heavy rocks. The men-at-arms awkwardly tried to stay in ranks as they raised their shields and halberds. Robert put himself in position in his unit. Then he raised his horn to his mouth and blew. A powerful sound got out, and the twelve regiments of knights of his army charged as one man.










This was the first part of the history of my army, the Red Crusade. Next time, I'll write the battle itself. THIS IS NOT A BATTLE REPORT, but simply a story. My host and my main character have a very complex background, and if there is enough interest, I'll write it all.

Any comments? :angry: <_< :mellow: ^_^ :thumb: :clap:

:clap: dude keep it up i liked alot. I really want to see how Robert will fari , hopefully well he seems like a interesting mut.

Count Robert rode back to his men and shouted: "Lower the lances!"
As one, all the knights lowered their lances at the height of the heart of a man. The archers drew their bow and prepared to shoot. The three trebuchets were loaded with heavy rocks. The men-at-arms awkwardly tried to stay in ranks as they raised their shields and halberds. Robert put himself in position in his unit. Then he raised his horn to his mouth and blew. A powerful sound got out, and the twelve regiments of knights of his army charged as one man.

At the same time, a hundred archers released the string of their bows. As many arrows whistled in the air, and thirty enemy warriors fell. The trebuchets shot their rocks, crushing ten daemons and fifteen foul mortal servants of Chaos. The Fleshhounds were released, and the blood-red monsters ran across the battlefield to feast on the peasants. They were not halfway through the field when a third of their number was brought down by arrows.

Then the knights crashed into the foe. The first clash of steel was Count Robert's sword ringing against Lord Skardrek's axe. The second was the iron-tipped lances of the Bretonnian heavy cavalry piercing through armor and ripping the three first ranks of the enemy. The third was the swords of the warriors of Chaos trying without much success to cleave the knights' heavy armors. After one minute of combat, great were the casualties of the invaders. Then the daemons entered the fight. Assaulting the knights on theirs vulnerable flanks, they slew a dozen of them in no time.

Meanwhile, the Fleshhounds were still running on the already bloody grass, and for each step they took, one of them fell with an arrow in the throat. But about twenty of them made it to the archers and devoured alive as many. The men-at-arms threw themselves in the battle, striking the hounds down with their halberds, but it wasn't enough. Within a few minutes, half of the archers had been slain and the servants of two of the three trebuchets had been killed. The casualties could have been much higher, but then the battle Pilgrims, frenzied fanatics willing to die in the name of the Lady, arrived from the village and repelled the threat. They fought fiercely, ignoring their horrid wounds, and although most of them fell, so did the hounds of Khorne. Then the remaining archers took their bows and returned to "work".

The Bretonnian knights finally broke through the enemy's first ranks and crashed into the elite units of the invaders. At the head of his army, his white cape flying behind him, Robert was swinging his mighty claymore around him, felling two or three enemies every time. He was looking for Skardrek to challenge him in a duel, but the servant of Khorne had disappeared from his line of sight shortly after the first charge. He finally found him not too far. The armor-clad creature, half-daemon and half-human, was crushing Robert's knights easily, his axe cutting armor like butter. The Count turned his Elven stallion and rode towards the enemy general, cleaving his way in the melee with his claymore.

The generals finally met face to face, and the duel started almost immediately. Both were powerful warriors, and none was able to get through the other's defense for some time. None of those who surrounded them intervened. The Bretonnians because they were honorable, and the warriors of Chaos because they were arrogant and sure of their lord's victory. Maybe they were right: after a few minutes, Robert realized that he could probably not win. His enemy didn't seem to tire, as Khorne was providing him the strength to fight relentlessly. Then the Count saw the warhorse ridden by the lord of Chaos. It was a powerful beast, as dark as night, with blood-red eyes that always looked at him and never blinked. And Robert noticed that Skardrek was cautious never to put his immense shield before his mount's eyes.

Then the Count saw what he hadn't noticed before: the lord of Chaos's helm didn't even have holes for the eyes. One and one. Skardrek was blind, and it was his horse that somehow informed him of what was surrounding him. No, more than that: the worshipper of Khorne saw through his black horse's eyes. Then Robert smiled. Swinging his claymore as fast as lightning, he deceived Skardrek by feigning a blow at neck height, than aimed low and slashed the mighty horse's face, ripping its eyes. Now his enemy was blind and screaming with rage and confusion.

The warriors of Chaos seemed to understand immediately and tried to kill the Count with their swords. Robert's blue eyes darkened. Had they no honor? Driven angry with his enemy's behavior, he cut off a couple of heads. By the time he had cleared an area large enough for the duel, Skardrek was gone. Cursing his opponent, he turned his attention to a sorcerer of Chaos who was unleashing black lightning on the Bretonnian knights. The wizard was defeated easily and fell headless to the ground.

Count Robert looked around him and realized that half of the enemy's army had already been defeated. But most of his men were also dead or injured, and he understood that the end was near. While he was thinking, a ball of fire nearly caught him, but vanished at two feet of his face. It was another sorcerer of Chaos, mounted on a horse and wearing a cloak with a hood. Baron Xavier, the standard bearer, ran to the hooded man and melodramatically drove his sword through his heart. It was Robert's mother, Lady Allariàn, who had dispelled the ball of fire just in time. She was riding in the thick of the battle, her sword covered with dark daemonic blood, and waved at her son.

Robert was angry.
"Thank you mother, but you take too much risk. They are about to win. It's a matter of minutes before the end. I want you to go away. Return to the village. It's too dangerous here."
"But, son," the damsel protested. "They will get me there, too. I want to die while fighting."
"No," Robert shouted. "Escape from the Valley of Blancastel. Save your life."
Then he turned to the young Baron Xavier.
"Friend," he said. "Go with her. Protect her. Take a few men and escort my mother to safety."
"But…" Xavier began.
"You heard me," the Count replied angrily. "Go with her."

Robert knew that Xavier was proud and brave and that he never liked being told to escape a fight. He was no coward and, like all Bretonnian knights, had no dream but to die with honor. But Lady Allariàn was too important. She would the last member of Robert's family, once her son would have died in combat. The Count hoped she could make it to safety, from where she could help another army to fight Chaos. As Xavier and Allariàn were riding to the village, the paladin gathered his few remaining men with him.

The army of Chaos was still big. Skardrek was nowhere to be seen: he had probably decided that odds weren't with him if he didn't have vision. But what was left of his army was still scary: a hundred barbarians and twenty Bloodletters of Khorne. Robert counted his men. Fourteen knights. So it was true: it was the end. Time had come to charge one last time through the thick of the enemy and bring down as many foes as possible. The Count put his men in ranks and turned them to face the threat. A knight at the right of Robert muttered:

"Looks like we shall fall today, my Count."
"No, we shall not," Robert replied.
He stayed silent for a moment, then said:
"The man who fights to his last breath and dies with honor to protect his people does not fall. He rises."
The knight smiled.
"Then let's rise."
The Count turned to his men and shouted:
"For honor!"
"For honor!" his warriors shouted back.

They charged, swords drawn. Robert muttered a prayer to the Lady that not himself heard in the noise of the horses' hooves on the bloody grass and the screams of the warriors of Chaos. The knights hit the enemy with the strength of a raging bull. The Count barely saw the twelve warriors of Chaos falling at his left and at his right. All he saw what his own sword, slashing the invaders with an impressive speed. He felt maces and swords biting into his armor, but he ignored them and fought with all his talent. Only the Lady knows how many foes he brought to the ground before he felt a mighty flail crashing against his skull and knocking him into unconsciousness.






This was the second part of the Fall of Blancastel, the most important event of my army's background. I'll write the third and last part as soon as possible. Any comments? Questions? Whatever...

I'm liking this story alot , its a good background . I really want to know what's next , too bad more ppl havent replied though . but keep written its a good story

A blood-red sun was setting on Bastonne. The once superb city of Blancastel, with its white walls and its beautiful gardens, laid in waste. The castle itself was still burning and most of its towers had been destroyed. In the streets of the town, the savage warriors of Chaos were busy raping the women and sacrificing children to Khorne. They laughed as they cut off heads to put them on poles and they chuckled when they saw people they had impaled to the walls who were still moving. Even the dogs and cattle were not spared. The barbarians had found every bottle or barrel of alcohol there was to find and were drinking like thirsty dwarves.

Lord Skardrek, still furious to be blind now that his horse's eyes had been slashed, walked with the aid of one of his warriors. He liked the smell of blood and the screams of the women being tortured, but he would have liked to see the massacre. He shouted:
"It's over, boys, we're leaving! Enemy reinforcements could come any time, and they'll get us easily if you guys are not sober enough to stand up."
The men groaned, but none was foolish enough to protest. They left whatever they were doing, slew those infortunate enough to be still alive and came to Skardrek.
"We still have a lot to do," the lord of Chaos said. "There will be more blood to be spilt on our way back to Norsca. But we can't continue further: the battle has killed too many of us. We must hurry up before more cursed knights arrive to avenge those we slaughtered today."



Robert woke up with a groan. He felt cold water on his face, and the taste of blood in his mouth. How long had he been unconscious? He didn't know, and didn't care. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was the beautiful face of his mother, Lady Allariàn. Then it came to him in a flash. He remembered the army of Chaos, the battle, and his final charge. He looked around him and realized he was still laying on the grass of the field. The ground was covered with blood, cadavers and broken armors and weapons. The enemies hadn't even buried the corpses of their own men in their eagerness to slaughter innocent civilians. They didn't take the time to check if everyone who was on the ground was dead, either. That probably explained why Robert was still alive.

"What are you doing here?" he asked his mother.
"It's no matter now. The enemy is gone. Can you stand up?"
Count Robert could. Barely, but he could. It was the bloodiest massacre the knight had ever seen. Hundreds of men had been killed this day. Yet there were a few survivors. Including the young Baron Xavier and his men. In the dusk, Robert could see the town, still burning, and what was left of the snow-white castle of his ancestors. His entire land had been destroyed and few of its inhabitants could escape the slaughter.
"Gather the survivors," the paladin said to his knights. "Bring them on the hill, over there. We will decide what to do."
"Yes, my Count," Xavier said.

Robert walked to the top of the hill, where his horse, unharmed in the battle, was waiting. From where he was, the young noble could well see the town burning. He felt guilty for the massacre of his people. When he had been given the title of Knight of the Realm, he had sworn to protect them. He had failed.
"It's not your fault," his mother said, as if she was reading his thoughts. "If you had accepted Skardrek's offer, the result would have been the same. We can't trust a lord of Chaos. He came to destroy, and that's what he would have done. You have saved your honor, at least."
"No, I have not," Robert replied. "I have failed. I had sworn to protect my people with my life, and now most of them are dead… while I'm still alive."
"You have done everything you could."

Xavier finally arrived with most of the survivors of the battle. Of the ninety-six knights there were at the beginning (twelve units of eight), thirty had survived. Of that number, seven would die of their injuries, four were crippled for life and three more decided that it was their last battle. Sixteen were left, not counting Robert and Xavier. Two units. Out of twelve. There were a few peasants who had survived, too, and a trebuchet. Not much of an army.
"What do we do, my Count?" a knight asked.
Robert sighed.
"I don't know."

Then he decided, all of a sudden. He had failed to protect his people and had lost both his land and his honor this day, and for a Bretonnian knight there was only one thing to do. His eyes darkened when he saw the town in flames, and he swore to drive Chaos out of the kingdom. He had no land, no possessions, no more title of nobility now that he had lost his honor, but he still had his sword, his horse, his life and, more than anything else, his faith. He said aloud to himself:
"I set down my lance, symbol of duty. I sprun those whom I love
I relinquish all, and take up the tools of my quest
No obstacle will stand before me. No plea for help shall find me waiting.
No moon will look upon me twice lest I be judged idle. I give my body, heart and soul to the Lady whom I seek."

The Vow of the Grail. By pronouncing those verses, Robert had sworn to seek the Grail, all his life if need be, and to fight evil wherever he found it. He had also sworn to always travel, never to gather material things, to keep faith in the Lady whatever happens and to protect the weak. The Vow of the Grail was the only thing a knight could do to have his honor back once he had lost it. Robert added:

"I will not rest until I have driven Chaos out of Bretonnia. It probably means that I will never rest again. If someone else, eager for revenge, wants to follow me in my quest, feel free to do it. Any help I can get will be necessary. Those who don't want to follow me, find another land and settle there."
"But we can rebuild our country," a knight said. "I we work enough and keep faith, nothing is impossible."
Robert turned his gaze to the greenskins-infested Massif Orcal to the south. In the fading light of the setting sun, dozens of Orcs could be seen walking downhill.
"Look at the mountains. Orcs gather their hundreds. They have seen the battle from the rocky hills where they live, and now they understand that we are not strong enough to stop them. They will invade the valley, slay those who stay and destroy every wall that is still standing. I won't stay here to see what little is left of my land being destroyed by those foul beasts. We will come back when we will be strong, my brothers, we will take back what is ours and we will rebuild what has been laid waste today."

Robert was silent for a moment, then declared:
"I have no intent to settle as long as there is Chaos roaming freely in the land of the Lady. Even if I must give my life for it, I shall fight our enemies every of my waking hours. If we accept our defeat and just lick our wounds, then Skardrek will have won."
When the Count pronounced the name of Skardrek, his astonishingly blue eyes darkened and became almost black.
"Choose what you want to do, and choose now. If you follow me, you will have a chance to save those you loved who were killed today. If you decide to get away from war, it will come to you anyway and Archaon will win easily."

"I'll follow you," the Baron Xavier declared.
"So shall I," another knight added.
"My lads wanna help ya," a peasant said. "We gonna crush Chaos, yeah, we gonna crush'em. Won't we, boys?"
Most peasants agreed, for all of them had lost their family and friends this day.
"I come with you, son," Lady Allariàn said. I have lost as much as you did."
Most knights chose to follow Robert and a lot of brave peasants, deciding that they had nothing to lose, joined the army.

"We are the Red Crusade," the Count announced. "Our armors will be painted in red, for it is the color of the blood we will spill to avenge our land and our family; and in white, the color of purety, since we will be pious and we will never harm an innocent."
The crowd cheered. Robert smiled.
"We have no homeland," he said. "We have no money. We have no family. We truly have nothing to lose, and that's why we will not know fear. We will roam the Old World, stalking all forms of Chaos, and I swear that all the enemies of Bretonnia shall tremble before our anger. The anger of those who have lost everything. The anger of the Red Crusade!"

Robert put back on his shoulders his white cape and rode his horse. He raised his large claymore to the night sky and declared:
"Let's go, Red Crusade, we have a long way to go. First, we pursue and slay those who killed our family and destroyed our land. Then we cleanse Bretonnia of evil. For the Lady!"
"For the Lady!" the Red Crusade shouted in unison.











This is the last part of the first chapter of my army's background. But the quest has not begun yet, and if there is enough interest I'll continue the story. In fact, I write it more for myself than for you guys, so I'll probably continue it anyway even if nobody cares.

I like reading tales of chivalry and honour . Keep writing I'll read it fo sho