Friday, 6 February 2015
Warhammer Campaign Empire Army (4)
The others have already told their tales, so here, ahead of the first game is the background to my Empire army.
Standing outside the thick oak door the quivering functionary could hear the roars of delight and hoots of pleasure from within. Gathering his courage he knocked loudly on the door.
“Sod off” came the reply, followed by a huge guffaw of laughter.
With a deep breath the nervous man pushed at the door and stuck his head into the room.
Then swiftly pulled it back as a half full chamber pot shattered against the jamb.
“I said SOD OFF! You punctilious little worm!” bellowed the occupant and object of the little man’s search.
“But my Lord” he wheedled, pushing the door open once more and sidling into the room “I have a message from Karl Franz”
“Who? You worthless little dung beetle!” roared the huge figure that stood, naked bar a blue and white jester’s hat, in the middle of a scene of chaos.
His eyes swiftly took in the room. Over in the corner he could make out the somnolent form of the Elector Count of Wissenland’s youngest son. Face down in a puddle of what he hoped was his own vomit. On the bed three ladies-in-waiting, all from the noblest houses in Talabecland lay semi-naked and entwined. A ruddy faced dwarf sprawled beneath a table from which poured the contents of a barrel of Bugman's Stoatfondler ale straight into his open mouth. The owner of the hat that currently perched on his Lord and Master’s head sat grinning in the corner, strumming tunelessly at a three stringed lute, and gave the secretary a wink. This scene of debauchery was capped by the diminutive and chubby figure gyrating on a table in the centre of the room, barely covering her modesty with a pair of canary yellow fans.
Tearing his eyes away from the Halfling burlesque dancer he spluttered to his Lord
“Karl Franz, sire!” and held out a scrap of parchment. “The Emperor”
“What does that joyless little toe-rag want of me?” demanded the noble Abelard von Gesegnet, his imposing appearance only slightly undermined by the jester’s hat
“Run out of fawning nancy boys in the capital to do his bidding and needs a real man for the job, eh?”
“Something along those lines, sire.” muttered the secretary
“His imperial majesty” he went on in a louder voice, “finding himself under severe pressure is reduced to asking pretty much anyone he can to help out, my Lord. Apparently a Bretonnian Lady…”
“Typical of those snail munching fops to be led by a woman!”
“And an invading force of High Elves” he pressed on
“Ah, the skirt wearing pointy ears!” bellowed his lordship, causing the Dwarf to snort with laughter and then choke on his ale
“Quite sire. Anyway they’re fighting over something and it’s interfering with his majesty’s plans and he’d very much like you to gather an army and chase them both off.”
“Tell him to bugger off”
“He said that’s what you’d say sire, so I’ve been asked to point out that if you don’t do what he asks he’ll be forced to present evidence to your mother, the Dowager Countess von Gesegnet, that you are a dissolute drunkard and philanderer “
Abelard von Gesegnet went a very peculiar purple colour before hurling his still full mug of ale against the wall.
Reaching over to the diminutive fan dancer he grabbed a bright yellow feather and shoved it into the jester’s hat that still perched on his crown.
“I’ll show that jumped-up popinjay how a real man fights” yelled Von Gesegnet “assemble me an army. And you” he pointed to the halfling, “stay there, I‘ll be back soon for the rest of the dance!”
And with that he lurched out of the room calling loudly for his armour and horse to be made ready.