The land of Mousilion had a particular smell that could not be explained easily to one who had never smelt it. It was a strange mix of rotting meat, rusty metal, mold, dead trees, pitch and death. It was the smell of corruption. The Count Robert of Bastonne knew it well, and he wished he didn't. For he had smelt it too many times during the past weeks, and it was far to be over. He had obviously not come here to sniff the breeze, though. He had come here to help in the cleansing of the cursed land, a cleansing that lasted for centuries and was far to be over. Step by step, the young Bretonnian knight thought. One day, this country would lay in waste, just like his land now did.

The knight was on his quest for the Grail. He had sworn the Vow of the Quest, by which he had decided to seek the holy chalice called the Grail in order to drink from it and become more than a human. To become a living saint who would spend all his extended lifetime fighting evil. It was the ultimate dream of any Bretonnian. Robert had chosen to seek the Grail the day when his homeland had been completely destroyed by Skardrek, a lord of Khorne, during the invasion Storm of Chaos (now over for less than a month). He had always felt responsible for having failed to protect his people since his enemy had offered him peace that the knight refused. That grim day, Robert had lost his land, his castle, a part of his faith and, worse than anything else, his honor.

Now the Count was leading the Red Crusade, a growing force of knights and peasants who wanted to avenge their own land. Most were from Blancastel, Robert's country, but some others had joined him later, having heard of his exploits, to help him in his quest for revenge. A few weeks ago, the Crusade had finally caught up with the host of Lord Skardrek and slaughtered the warriors of Chaos who were part of it, but the general himself had managed to escape, now blind and deeply wounded. Robert was eager to pursue and slay him, but the Fay Enchantress told the knight that he was not ready yet and that the time would come later. The Fay being the Lady of the Lake's emissary, the paladin obeyed to her. Now, he had begun a great quest to rid Bretonnia from the influence of Chaos.

Mousilion was the corrupt dukedom of Bretonnia. Numerous were the servants of Chaos who had ruled on this forever cursed land, such as Maldred and a few others. It had been decided by the King himself that the land would have no duke from now on, but it was said that a black-armored knight had declared himself ruler of Mousilion. Some whispered that he was gathering a host of fallen warriors, followers of Chaos and even daemons. In the streets of the city, zombies and skeletons were wandering everywhere. Foul Skaven lived in the ruined chapels of the Lady and uncounted beastmen were hunting in and out of the woods for young children to sacrifice to their barbaric gods. Said to be dishonorable and merciless, the knights from Mousilion were clad in black and never removed their helmet, not wanting to show how Chaos had twisted the flesh of their battle-scarred faces. It was obvious that this land would be the first target of any righteous warrior fighting evil. Like Robert of Bastonne.

The paladin looked far away in the morning sky. Six points were growing as they were approaching.
"The Order of Courage comes back from their scouting mission," the Count said to his trusted standard bearer, seventeen-years-old Baron Xavier. "Make sure our men are well hidden. Our enemies have sentinels everywhere."
"Yes, Robert," the young knight said before going back to his men of the Order of Bravery.
"Is Simon gone for long?" the paladin asked, this time to a very beautiful twenty-three-years-old woman with long dark hair and green eyes who was standing next to him.
"About an hour," the Lady Caroline said with a smile on her perfect lips. "I suppose he'll be here within ten minutes. He's reliable."

As the woman who was Robert's wife for a few days now had said, Simon returned very soon. The White Falcon, reincarnation of a dead knight, arrived from the sky and landed on the young sorceress's fist. The bird screeched something and Caroline seemed to understand.
"Good boy," she said. "Now go hunt a rabbit, please. I'm hungry."
The snow-white falcon flyed to the forest to the north.
"What did he say?" Robert asked.
"The Fallen Temple is well guarded. You will have to be efficient. A quick raid only."

Caroline had been freed from the Orcs two weeks ago by the Count. She had been the student of the Fay Enchantress, who had taught her the arts of magic. Now she was Robert's guide in his quest from the Grail. She had decided that the knight's next objective was to retrieve a sacred reliquae that was currently belonging to the foul duke of Mousilion, a remnant from the time of the Elves called the Book of the Elders. For some reason, she knew that the artifact was hidden in the Fallen Temple, an ancient shrine to the Lady that was now a place where innocents were sacrificed to the four gods of Chaos. The Count was preparing the Red Crusade to strike deep through the cursed city of Mousilion and assault the temple.

The Count sat on his mount, a stallion as white as the paladin's shining hair, and glanced at his men. The knights of the realm, all in red and white armor, were awaiting the charge. The city ahead looked calm, but Robert knew it to be full of daemons, Skaven, undead and people horribly mutilated by the influence of Chaos.
"Ready, men?" the White Knight said to his host. "Let's go through. Don't kill anyone who doesn't attack you first."
The peasants, armed with bows, were staying behind with the powerful trebuchet to cover the knights' escape once the raid would be over and that the Red Crusade would flee, pursued by foul creatures and daemons. Then they could face the threat from Mousilion with all their might. It was a dangerous mission, although essential in Robert's quest. According to Lady Caroline, the Book of the Elders could be an invaluable tool for the war against Evil, since the Book was in fact the diary of Aenarion, the High Elven hero who had repelled Chaos from Ulthuan thousands of years ago.

The pegasus knights of the Order of Courage joined the Order of Honor and the Order of Bravery as they advanced through enemy territory. Robert hoped that there would be no fighting and that the people of Mousilion would clear the way without resisting before the might of the Red Crusade, though he didn't think it would actually go this well. Far ahead, he could see black-armored knights reaching for their swords and riding their horses. A few skinny and very poor-looking peasants of the Cursed City were preparing their bows, and Robert saw from the corner of his eyes the Baron Xavier tightening his fists. Xavier hated ranged weapons since the day his parents had been killed by brigands armed with bows, when he was nine.

A fallen knight, his face hidden by his helmet, strode ahead of his men and went directly to the Count Robert.
"Turn back, stranger," he said with an arrogant voice. "You are not welcome here. We serve the Duke, and he does not like you. If you ever come again, you shall be slain on sight."
"I have a condition," the White Knight replied, his blue eyes darkening. "Give me the Book of the Elders."
"You're not in a good position to bargain. I have forty men behind my back, and you have only about twenty."
"Let's do it the Bretonnian way," Robert replied. "Choose a champion to fight me in a duel."
"Sorry, servant of the Lady. We do not care about honor here, and that's why we will win in the end. Why don't you learn that?"
"Then you are coward," Robert replied. "Your Duke would be ashamed of you."

Angry, the knight in the black armor snapped his fingers and ten archers released their taut bowstrings. Nine arrows whistled in the air (one bow breaking in the hands of an archer), aiming Robert's unprotected head. The Count blocked or dodged most of them, but one grazed his right temple. Now, the Count was more than annoyed by his enemy's dishonor. His eyes almost black with hate, he warned one last time the cowardly knight.
"This was unfair, friend. You're testing my patience. You better get out of my way right now."
The black knight barked a laugh.
"Just try to get through."
"Okay then. Order of Honor, chaaaarge!"

Around him, he heard the Baron Xavier and the Champion Gordon shouting the same order to their own regiment. The true knights of Bretonnia, their red and gold banner flying over their heads, assaulted the over-confident men of Mousilion, lances lowered at heart height. Six damned souls were taken back by the Lady of the Lake before the servants of Chaos had a chance to react. Steel rang and blood was spilt as swords and lances bit through armor and flesh. While Xavier and his men were busy hacking black-armored warriors of the Cursed City, the pegasus knights were already flying towards the archers of Mousilion to stop them from shooting arrows from far away like the dishonorable cowardly dogs they were. Robert fought the arrogant leader of the enemy army in a duel, but his adversary was always trying to get near of his own men, who could help him.

As the White Knight brought down the Black Knight by hacking him halfway through the upper chest with his two-handed sword, the men of the Red Crusade were pursuing the fleeing men of Mousilion. Robert called them back. No need to spill more blood than necessary.
"At the Fallen Temple," the Count shouted. "Follow me! Don't waste time, but kill anyone who stands in our way."
The knights of Bastonne tightened their formation around Robert to protect him. On the roofs of the slums where the people of Mousilion lived, archers were awkwardly shooting dozens of arrows at the Red Crusade, but the Champion Gordon and his men mounted on flying horses were already upon them, hurling them down their houses. Peasants, most of them horribly mutilated by a disease of Nurgle or a mutation of Tzeentch, were trying to stop the advance of Robert's host, but were stunned by hits given with the flat of the blade. A few of them had to be killed, but hopelessly, it wasn't as bloody as the battle with the black knights, a few minutes ago.

They finally reached the Fallen Temple. Robert got down his white horse and walked up the stairs leading to a once beautiful shrine to the Lady now decorated with human skulls and statues of daemons in Khorne's name.
"Wait for me outside," he said to his men. "I won't be long."
He opened the large blood-red doors and entered in a vast hall full of hideous things such as heads on poles, chunks of flesh hanging from the ceiling and skeletons. Then he heard a cry behind him and turned back. He had just enough time to see the men he had left outside fighting Bloodletters, the lesser daemons of the Blood God, who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Then the huge doors closed and locked immediately. Robert was now on his own.






This was the first part of the third and last chapter of the epic history of the White Knight and his Red Crusade in their struggle to rid Bretonnia from all forms of Chaos. You can also read the first chapter, The Fall of Blancastel, and the second chapter, The Fortress of Doom.

Any comments? Does someone other than Enkil read my stories around here?

The Count of Blancastel took five precious minutes to realize that he couldn't open the huge doors of the Fallen Temple, not even by hitting the bolt with his sword. He was worried about the rest of the Red Crusade that was fighting daemons right now. He would have given anything to get out of there and go help them. But he didn't know if they were still fighting: the door muffled all sounds from outside. Maybe his knights had succeeded and slaughtered all the minions of Khorne. Maybe they were now lying in their own blood, headless. But whatever was happening outside, Robert couldn't do anything about it. His only choice was to go ahead. So that's what he did.

The hall was large, but it was only the entrance. It was a disgusting place. Human skins covered the floor and served as carpets. The walls looked as if they were painted with blood, and maybe it was actually the case. On the poles, heads were contorted into an eternal grimace of pain, probably because they had been tortured before they died. Robert hoped that it wouldn't be his men's fate. His eyes darkened with anger once again. Cursing Chaos, he slowly walked from one room to another. He was alone, as he could see. No guards anywhere. Strange. So much defenses outside, and no one inside. The paladin had a bad feeling about this place. He reached a gigantic and magnificent room with white walls and beautiful tapestries of the Lady of the Lake and smiled. Caroline had told him about this room. Such was the power of magic here that no one had ever managed to make this place ugly. Every time Chaos had tried to re-paint the walls, the new paint would fall off after a few hours. When a priest of Nurgle had placed a statue of his god, the statue had shattered by itself shortly after it was installed. So even with corruption and evil everywhere around, the room was still beautiful.

The Book of the Elders, surprisingly small, was on a pedestal. It was closed. Its cover was made with dark blue leather (dragon leather, even though Robert didn't know it) and ornate with a single Elven rune that the Count, despite his limited knowledge of High Elven language, recognized as Minaith. He sighed. The thought that Aenarion's diary was written in Elven hadn't even occured to him. Yet it was so obvious. But his mother was an Elf, and even though she had lived on Ulthuan only the twelve first years of her life, she must be able to decipher the Book of the Elders. Count Robert's hand reached for the book, then froze. It was too easy. Something as important as this artifact wouldn't be left here without a trap or a guard. The paladin looked all around the pedestal, touched the volume with the tip of his sword, tested the stability of all the tiles of the floor, pushed the four walls at different places with his hand, but found nothing suspicious. He wouldn't know what trap there was as long as he didn't take the book. He drew a deep breath, muttered a quick prayer to the Lady of the Lake, grabbed the Book of the Elders and put it in his bag.

"Robert! You found it!" a voice called from the entrance of the room.
The Count jumped. He looked behind him and saw Caroline in her pink dress. Her green eyes were shining and a wonderful smile warmed her face. The paladin realized that he had never seen yet how exquisite his guide was.
"What are you doing here?" he managed to say. "I told you to stay with the infantry, outside of the city. It's dangerous here."
He couldn't say more, since the young woman had reached him and was now kissing him passionately on the mouth. The White Knight felt himself sinking down a deep pit filled with warm water. It was the most enrapturing moment of all his life. His strength and his willpower drained as he heard Caroline's whisper:
"You know I don't like it when you take too many risks, my love. Let's go back, shall we? We absolutely need to talk this night. A very long talk. About… intimate things."
Such was the Count Robert's wonderful and pleasant weakness that he didn't react when a flash of red passed through Lady Caroline's eyes for a moment.

Then the Count felt a kind of struggle in his mind. His own soul was asleep and didn't want to wake up, but two more souls were fighting. One was Caroline's, who kept whispering words of love and passion. The other was trying to say something, but was somehow muffled. Finally the third consciousness managed to say to Robert:
"How did she enter the temple? You can't even get out of it."
The knight started in his mind (if such thing can be explained). That's true, he thought. The third soul is right.
"The battle is raging outside. How did she come here unharmed?" the unknown voice insisted.
The Count's consciousness began to wake up and tried to hear what the soul was saying.
"How did she know that you were here? Why did she arrive right when you found the book? Why is she so passionate right now? She has always loved you, but has never behaved this way."
Robert finally recognized the third mind as being the Fay Enchantress.

Then a name, like a stone thrown from a trebuchet, exploded in his mind.
SLAANESH.
He woke up immediately and opened his eyes. The illusion disappeared as reality, all of a sudden, enlightened the White Knight like a sun ray piercing the fog. It wasn't Caroline who was kissing him. It was a Daemonette of Slaanesh, a strange female creature with sickeningly pale skin and curved blades where hands would normally be. The paladin's eyes became as dark as a night sky without stars as rage flooded in his veins like liquid fire. With a swift movement, too fast for any human eye to understand it, Robert drew his greatsword and made it describe a graceful arc before sending it through the soft flesh of the creature of the God of Pleasure. Iron cleaved bone and sent pink blood in all directions as the blade chopped the Daemonette clean in two from her right shoulder to her left hip. The mutilated corpse disappeared through the Warp before it hit the ground.

Robert felt sick. He had kissed a daemon… A DAEMON! On the mouth, with all his passion. And he had liked it! It had been the most wonderful minute he had ever had, and that he would ever have. Yet now that he thought about it, he had to resist with all his strength the urge to vomit all his insides on the ground. Luckily, he controlled himself, and the white floor of the room was unsoiled. He put his sword back in his scabbard. The next time he would meet the Fay, he would thank her for saving him. Without her, he would have been slain mercilessly by the daemonette or (he shuddered at this thought) he could even have joined the ranks of Chaos. He realized that Khorne was the least dangerous of the Chaos gods, for the worst you could lose by fighting him was your life. By fighting Slaanesh, you could lose your soul.

The Count steeled himself and decided that it was time to join his men. He had the book now. The only thing left to do was to figure out a way to open the damn door. But maybe it was the hardest part. Robert remembered his men outside. He doubted that they were still fighting, but he had no idea of the outcome of the battle. He ran to the hall, then to the blood-red door. He stood before it for five entire minutes. There MUST be a way. As he was thinking, he suddenly saw a bright white lightning going straight through the bolt of the door. Robert jerked back. Then the gate exploded, sending bits of red-hot metal in all directions. When the cloud of smoke cleared, the young paladin saw Lady Caroline standing in the doorway, the ruby of her wizard's staff glowing with blazing energy.

Robert recognized her immediately as the true Caroline, who had come to free him when she had heard that he was trapped in the temple. Her ran to her and kissed her. He couldn't help realizing that the sensation wasn't as enrapturing as when he had kissed the daemonette, but in a way, this was better. It had more love in it. Not only pleasure. The knight went back in daylight. Most of his men were alive, even though a few more had been slain during the battle against the lesser daemons of Khorne. All were covered with dark blood. The survivors cheered when they saw their general back with them. The Count Robert mounted his stallion and said:
"I have the book. Let's go back. We have spent enough time here. Finally, it wasn't as quick a raid as we had expected, but it wasn't too bad, was it, men?"
The Bretonnians cheered again.

"My general!" the Baron Xavier called. "Enemy reinforcements are approaching! The duke of Mousilion himself is at their lead. They have numerous knights, Skaven and even daemons."
Robert looked at the direction the knight pointed. It was true: an entire army was marching.
"Fall back to the camp, where our peasants are!" he shouted. "They shall face the true might of the Red Crusade!"
They rode with all their speed out of the Cursed City, the enemy at their heels. The day wasn't over. It had just begun.

When the Red Crusade reached the top of the hill where the peasants awaited, the sky was covered with dark clouds. The Mountainbreaker, the trebuchet of the army, was already loaded. The archers were in a straight line and would shoot a hail of death as soon as Robert would give word. The men-at-arms, in one big block, were pointing their halberds to the sky as if they were challenging the enemy to come within range. A powerful wind was blowing, revealing the full length of the red and black flags of the peasants, the red and white banners of the knights and the red and gold battle standard of the Red Crusade. The host of Bretonnia stood proud and ready, and they feared not the army of Mousilion marching towards them. For the Lady was with them this day again.

The enemy was quite numerous. The black knights, each of them wearing a horrid helm and wielding cruel-shaped lances inflicting a pain that went far beyond the very limits of human imagining, were in neat ranks, their dark and yellow banners flying above them. On the flanks, rank after rank of Skaven clanrats and slaves were standing, all claws and knives out. Their stink alone could win a battle on its own. And at the rear guard, protected from missile fire, were dozens of daemons of the four gods of Chaos: the horrid and foul-smelling Plaguebearers of Nurgle, the fearsome and violent Bloodletters of Khorne, the misshapen Horrors of Tzeentch and the seductive yet lethal Daemonettes of Slaanesh.

The Count, sitting on his white stallion before his knights, couldn't help recalling the fall of Blancastel, even though the army he was facing wasn't quite the size of Skardrek's. Still, he felt that this day would be his last one. He prayed for the Lady of the Lake and suddenly became more confident. He shouted to his archers and his trebuchet:
"Fire!"
A hail of iron-tipped arrows was released over the heads of the knights, soon followed by another. At the same time, the trebuchet shot, sending its rock right into the ranks of the fallen knights. The projectile claimed the lifes of seven of them as it rolled on the grass. The arrows hit the ranks of the Skaven, effectively felling fourteen of the evil ratmen.

Standing at the left of Robert, the two damsels unleased their powers. Lady Allariàn, Robert's mother, sent a lightning through the ranks of the black knights. Their armor was useless against electricity and four of them fell. The High Elf was proving herself worthy of her noble race. Lady Caroline, trained to the arts of controlling the forces of nature, commanded the birds in the sky to assault the Skaven. More ratmen were slain. The enemy sorcerers counter-attacked by sending seven men-at-arms meet the Lady of the Lake.

The battle truly began when the knights of both armies charged at the same time. The red and white warriors of the Red Crusade were led by the Count Robert, magnificent in his shining white armor, and the young Baron Xavier, his sword shining despite the darkness of the sky. At the head of the enemy host was the Duke of Mousilion, a powerful man in a black armor who had his face hidden under his helm. The two charges met with a thunderous clash. Numerous knights were slain on both sides. The Skaven assaulted the flanks, soon followed by daemons. The din of the battle could be heard miles away as steel rang with all its might.

What would be called later the Battle of Twilight lasted for all the afternoon. This day, the Red Crusade was heroic and brave, and every man on Robert's side made himself a hero. The White Knight slew a sorcerer of Chaos, mortally wounded a Chaos Spawn and succeeded in a daring attempt to bring down alone a huge chariot. The Baron Xavier massacred an entire unit of Horrors, vanquished a minautor in a duel and defeated the plague monks of Clan Pestilens. The Lady Allariàn roasted the Warhounds with a tornado made out of pure fire and burned the Battle Standard of Mousilion. Lady Caroline saved the lives of countless men of the Red Crusade with her magic and even found the time to break the mounted marauders by making their own horses attack their riders. Yet the enemy was still too numerous, and by mid-afternnon it was clear that Chaos would be victorious.

Hope began to falter. Lady Caroline decided that the time had come to use her position as one of the Goddess's servant. She fell on her knees and began praying, her eyes closed. She muttered words on an unknown language for ten minutes before anything happened. Then a sun ray of late afternoon pierced the dark clouds, pointing directly a little forest on the side of the battlefield. In the woods, green smoke rose from the ground and took the form of a horse. Then a man appeared on it. It became more and more clear that it was a knight. Then the form became completely visible, as if it was real. It was a man in a green armor riding a powerful stallion. He had a shield covered with leaves and a helm decorated with ivy. In his right hand he wielded a long sword with a glowing green blade. He rode at an amazing speed out of the woods, then placed himself between the army of Mousilion and what remained of the Red Crusade.
"None shall pass!" he declared in a powerful voice to the men of the Cursed City.

Robert felt a mix of hope and fear. It was the Green Knight, the ghost who haunted the most beautiful forests of Bretonnia and slew the enemies of the kingdom. He was the Champion of the Lady and was said to be immortal. No one knew for sure who he was. He only appeared sometimes during a battle and massacred countless foes before disappearing mysteriously. Some said that he was the ghost of Gilles, the savior of Bretonnia. But whoever he was, he was the most dangerous enemy one could have, and the best ally.

The Green Knight charged alone in the thick of the battle. His aura of fear sent dozens of brave black knights fleeing. Some stood and tried to fight, but their swords passed right through the ghost without harming him. But the green sword was real enough and described dangerous arcs, slaughtering mercilessly all who foolishly came into its range. The mysterious hero was invincible, for no one could even scratch his armor. Every time his blade hit, it took one more life. Some fallen knights surrendered, but all were slain without pity. One minute later, the entire army of Mousilion was fleeing for its life, pursued by the protector of all Bretonnia. The duke of the corrupt dukedom and his men went back in their cursed city, where the Green Knight didn't enter. The ghost let out a powerful laugh that sounded like a roar, and all those who heard it, even those of the Red Crusade, felt as if their blood had turned into ice in their veins. Then the creature disappeared.

A long silence fell on the plain. Then, as one, all the men of Count Robert's army let out a cry of joy. The clouds vanished and the evening sun warmed the cheerful faces of the knights and peasants of the Crusade. Still astonished, the White Knight finally smiled. They had been the witness of the Lady's full might, and now the paladin's faith was renewed. He got down his horse and shaked hands with every single survivor of the battle.
"Wine for everyone!" he shouted.
A peasant ran into a tent and got out with two huge jars of the best red wine of Artois. This night, the host of the Count celebrated their courage, their victory and the heroism of the Green Knight of Bretonnia. They ate and drank until midnight.

Alone in a tent, Robert, his mother Allariàn and his guide and wife Caroline examined the Book of the Elders.
"Can you read it?" the Count asked to his mother.
"Yes I can. For a start, it is said that only a kin of Aenarion can touch this book without being destroyed."
Robert jumped.
"How could that be?" he began. "I am no kin with…"
"Yes you are," Allariàn replied. "For some reason unknown to myself, I didn't tell you about it. But it's the truth. It's not a direct bloodline. You are far away from his heir, the Prince Tyrion. But you DO come from Aenarion. It comes from me. Because my mother was the sister of the Prince Sidranath, who was the son of Malaydeth, the brother of the daughter of the cousin of…"
"I believe you," Robert said hurriedly, not wanting to hear what were the twenty generations that separated him from the greatest hero of the High Elves, Aenarion. But still, it was an amazing discovery for him to learn that he was of Aenarion's line, direct or not. He suddenly felt proud.
"What does this book say else?" the Count asked.
"It's more or less a kind of guide to fight Chaos. It also includes the history of Aenarion, by his own hand. I can't tell you all right now. It's very long. Besides, I'm not so good in ancient High Elven. And I'm tired. I'll go eat something."

Lady Allariàn left the tent. Now Caroline and Robert were alone.
"How was it in the temple? Did you have to fight?" the young damsel asked.
"Yes. A very difficult fight… with myself. But the Fay Enchantress helped me a lot."
The beautiful woman didn't ask what he meant. She gave him a long gaze that seemed to read through his soul. Like the gaze of the Fay, Robert thought.
"I'm glad you're alive. But I hope you're not tired. We still have a lot to do. Your quest is far to be over."
"I know," the paladin said, smiling. "Tonight, we need to talk."
As if she was reading his thoughts, Caroline blushed, then her eyes shone.
"About intimate things?" she said, but her voice was sweet and soft. Not like the hungry voice of the daemon in the temple. Robert knew that from now on he couldn't mistake her for anything else.
"Yes."
"Okay," Caroline whispered, smiling. "All night long if you want."
And so they "talked". The young paladin had never known before how talking was sweet.





Here ends the recorded history of the Count Robert's quest. For the following years, the hero travelled everywhere in Bretonnia and even beyond. The Red Crusade fought countless battles against all the foes of the kingdom of the Lady and became known and feared by Chaos, Orcs, Skaven and Dark Elves alike. For all I know, they are still somewhere out there in their endless quest to avenge their devastated homeland and to rid the Old World of evil. Bretonnia is eternal, and so are its heroes. May the Lady be with them.

haha nicely told! :D