The tale of Sir Beoveld throughout the Nemesis War and the fight against Settra. These include the semi-weekly fluff pieces that accompanied out fluff objectives here and at Warvault, as well as the concluding story that has not yet been shown here. As well, it includes the rules for Sir Beoveld as a special character.

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The Badlands stretched onwards, unending and unbroken, towards the distant horizon. Nothing moved across the flat lands, apart from the occasional dust cloud. Sir Beoveld sighed as he looked across the emptiness. It was so unlike the fertile lands of his home, the lush valleys and fields of fair Bretonnia. There was a serenity to this place, however, that Beoveld found compelling. The harsh, rugged landscape had a nobility to it, a savage but honourable spirit. He felt he might have found a sense of peace here, eventually.

The Bretonnian lord turned back to the field, and the sense of serenity vanished as the weight of his errand returned. Peasants roamed across the battlefield, gathering lost equipment and fallen comrades. A large pile of bones, the remnants of their attackers, lay in the center of the field. Beoveld could feel the evil of the mound like a physical presence, a blot on the landscape. The peasants refused to approach it, and only on the orders of their saintly heroes would the grail pilgrims stack the bones. A second pile nearby was heaped with gold and jewelry, trophies taken from the long-dead warriors. A blacksmith had already begun melting down the gold and forging the crosses that had become the symbol of Beoveld's avenging army as it crossed the Badlands.

The lord ran his hand over his own cross, feeling the fleurs-de-lys that capped each end, and thought on their mission. Ever since the fleets of Settra had attacked the coast of Bretonnia, he had been pursuing the vile Tomb Kings. Beoveld would have given anything to pursue the fleets immediately, and strike at Settra himself, but no sooner had he mobilized his forces then word came from the south of the undead coming north in even greater numbers. Therefore, with the will of the King's Council, Beoveld had led his avenging army into the Badlands to intercept them. Bretonnian lances caught the Tomb Kings as they marched north, and the undead scattered beneath the hooves of the fair kingdom's finest. All that was left now was cleaning up the small warbands that remained scattered across this desolate land.

A scream from the surgeon's tent snapped Beoveld out of his reverie. He rode down the small outcropping, and back towards his army. A trio of knights rode out to meet him before he entered the camp. A halo of light surrounded their heads, a sign of the Lady's blessing. Beoveld envied them the peace they had found, even if momentary, when they drank from the Lady's cup. At times he felt that such a peace would forever elude him. It seemed at times that all his life had been spent fighting, and that the grim future would hold only war. It was then, however, that he most clearly felt the Lady's touch, and even a desolate place like this would stand appear peaceful and serene.

The first of the riders called out in a strong, clear voice. 'My lord, news from the north. A message had arrived from the honourable Lord Jean Marcel l'Impetuous.'

The second knight continued, 'The unholy Settra has been seen on the rivers of the Great Forest, leading the very fleets that attacked our lands!'

The third knight finished. 'The noble lord as requested your aid in the north.'

Beoveld smiled as he pulled on his helmet. His knights had done a noble and honourable deed out here, but he relished the chance to attack Settra himself. He gestured for the knights to follow him as he rode down towards the stables. Quickly he dismounted and entered the building. A moment later he emerged once more leading a large, winged horse.

'Sons of Bretonnia,' he cried out across the field as he mounted his Pegasus, Tempest. 'The unholy Lord of these monsters has revealed himself once more, in the north, in the empire! We ride now, to the Great Forest, for our fallen kin, for honour, for the Lady and his Majesty, and for vengeance!'

As the knights cheered his words, Beoveld turned to his second in command. 'I will take the Pegasi contingent now. Follow as soon as possible with the rest of the army, and meet me in the Great Forest.'

Beoveld rose into the air and flew in a wide circle over the camp. By the time he had completed his arc, the skies were filled with the rising Pegasus Knights. Beoveld flew out across the barren landscape, and hundreds of resplendent knights followed in his wake. Somewhere beyond that hazy horizon was the Great Forest, and somewhere within was Settra.

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