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Betrayal and War- The Calm Before the Storm PDF Print
Tuesday, 19 September 2006

This is the second official chapter, third bit of the story though, I hope you read it and appreciate the work! This one is more Bretonnia-centered.


Betrayal and War

The Calm Before the Storm

Jean rode with haste to the city of Miragliano. The march was long and strenuous, his peasants marched at their full capable speed as his knights stormed the field, trying to rush to the aid of his old friend, Lord Dubane, whom he once helped reach the fabled city long ago after being falsely accused of treason.

Shannon wished to know what the note contained, though, so Jean pulled the troubling letter out once again and read it out.

"Jean Marcel, my dear loyal friend,

My only trustworthy companion among the ranks of men these days, I have much to tell you. My stay in Miragliano has been great, the city is beautiful. Yet, the peasants have grown worried as of late. Tales have reached here of an army of darkness rhat marches towards us, saying they have already decimated much populace in Estalia. Some of the knights grow weary and uneasy by the same thought. The other day the peasants revolted and now band together to attempt to escape the city as they grow very fearful from this thought. Our lack of defenders barely had the chance to fight back as the peasants ran amuck, even killing some knights.

We need reinforcements down here to calm them down and you are the only General I can trust. We must stabilize this revolt before it gets out of hand!

-Lord Dubane"

Shannon's eyes peered at Jean. She told him to fly ahead of them for it would take far too long to get there on time and he must arrive in Miragliano quickly. Lord Marcel nodded in agreement and lightly kicked Skie, his faithful Pegasus, and took off with great speed to reach his destination.


The winter was cruel and cold. It had not changed over the years though. The enemies of the wood made their same assaults and attempts they did every year, but this winter was different. The elves marched to their deaths, lining up to fight the expected enemies of Naggaroth, to fight the will of Malekith. They only awaited the sign from their Gods to march forward.


Mourn, himself, marched to Miragliano. He would make sure the southern city fell, then head north into the south of Athel Loren. His warriors marched, their deadly weapons at the ready. A wrong move against these cold elves would have your throat cut in seconds.

The refugees of Estalia, should you even find any, will tell you of the gruesome cold ones that ripped the limbs off their own comrades before their very eyes. There was not a single man taken prisoner, either you fled before the armies of darkness, or you were caught, your neck slit, you head removed and kept as a trophy of a successful kill.

A large catapult was dragged along by the elven armies along with countless repeater bolt throwers. Every armed bolt had an impaled head upon it. The catapult was a pool of blood, countless heads of the Estalian defenders piled inside of it.

Mourn was going to prove he was a force to be reckoned with, and he was going to make sure he would inspire fear in his enemy. He threw his hair out of his eyes, the same eyes that could pierce a man's heart and kill him with but a simple stare. His cold one, Sore, growled fiercly with a thirst for human flesh. The Witch King would prevail and the Forest of Athel Loren would burn to the ground, Mourn's personal banner would sit upon a throne of elven heads.

Mourn cleaned his lance as one of his followers approached him.

"The lands of Bretonnia are being savagely burnt with fury, my lord, we will eventually push into Quenelles, then to Athel Loren. Our two-pronged charge upon the cold, frail forest will end with a mighty victory." The warrior reported.

Mourn smirked at the good news and thanked the messenger. Khaine blessed this march and his army alike, this was a good sign. Mourn pulled his blade and cut the messenger in two. The other elves watching smiled. Mourn was in a good mood today.


Jean had arrived in Miragliano in the evening and spent his time speaking to the peasants, calming them down. The peasants wouldn't dare challenge the authority of a battle-hardened Grail Knight.

Finding Lord Dubane, Lord Marcel was able to speak with him. "I made record time, Henry. One and a half days of flight." Jean said with a chuckle. Lord Henry Dubane turned to his friend with a stern face. "Now is not the time for jokes, old friend. I am going to inspect this tall tale of an army that moves upon us. Shortly after the letter I sent you, I sent a group of scouts to verify this rumour... none have returned."

Jean's face grew slightly fearful of these rumours coming from the words of Dubane. A battle Lord Marcel wasn't prepared for? His decision, though, was just. He agreed to stay and await further news. Should the defense of Miragliano be needed, Jean, and his small force marching over the Bretonnian plains that would come soon, would fight for them and his friend, Lord Dubane.

That night was a calm and silent one. The wind could be heard as the breezes passed through the sleeping city, crickets could be heard in the night. Jean pulled his blade from his sheath and felt the cold steel which had proven worthy hundreds of times. Jean decided to join the guard that night.

He walked along the walls in a dead silence, thinking what was to become of him, what was to happen here, why the Lady of the Lake had brought him to this city. Unknowingly, though, the Gods wove their plan slowly, moving their pieces into place...

Last Updated ( Wednesday, 26 November 2008 )
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