I've been noodling with some in game fiction for the scenarios to the Campaign Carnival 2022 I've been gaming out as part of the group fantasy campaign started by @WargameCulture.
I adapted the faction from the Dice Legions Roll vs Evil games.
This first installment is the storyfication of the campaign setup before the first scenario.
Opportunity Knocks?
There was silence in the Reception
Chamber,
Baron Arron was angry. Very angry. And everyone in the room
knew it
The envoy from the Barony of the
Vulthead (more Often referred to as Mireland for its many swamps, but not in
this room), who had delivered his baron's reply with a smirk, had broken into a
sweat. The trickle down his cheek mirrored the flow of blood from the Baron's
chin. Blood from a gash created by the broken edge of the Baron's scepter when
he snapped it.
The envoy's news had not been well
received.
"Tell your baron," Arron uttered from above a graying beard slowly dyed crimson, "l will not
forget this."
The envoy bowed and retreated as quickly as possible while
still retaining some dignity.
The Baron stepped down from the throne. With a glance he
collected his assembled ministers and proceeded down the corridor to his
council chamber. As a page dabbed as his chin to staunch the flow of blood, he
muttered almost to himself, "That Baron Barren will rue this day. Those
piddly lands of his, and he dares say 'You don't like our price? We don't need
your gold. You can go elsewhere.'???" By the end, the Baron was loud
enough for those trailing him to hear...and possibly some on the other side of
the castle.
He swept into the council chambers where
the captain of his Heirland Corps, spymaster, and court wizard were waiting.
('Didn't go well?" queried Marshal Mayfor
(The Mane) Mansfield, with a shake of the well-coiffed head that inspired his
nickname.
'11t did not," responded Izgar from the far end of the
table.
"You 'saw?" the Baron
inquired of the impressively corpulent wizard.
Ulndeed, Your Eminence. *We*
" he pointedly looked at Sir Mansfield, who shrugged, "all are up to
date."
"Good," the Baron plopped down at
the head of the table, as his ministers to their chairs. "Then all that
remains is to decide the next step."
"WE ATTACK!" the Marshal,
slammed his gauntlets on the table, but gently. To spare his gauntlets, not the
table.
"Sandovar?" The Baron's question was directed
towards his self-styled 'Director of Rumor'.
"I have consulted my
sources," The small, slim figure replied, "They have a small
populace. The multitude of swampland limits farming and discourages
immigration. There's a reason so many of their miners end up in the mountains
of our kingdom."
"If it weren't for the
presence of manatite in those swamps they wouldn't have the influence or
presence to be an independent barony," editorialized Sieber's chief
minister.
The Baron pondered for a few moments. "Any
dissenters?" He had recruited his ministers to hold strong to independent
views. It could be frustrating when there were many viewpoints and much
spirited debate. But as he looked around, there were only nodding heads.
"Anyone? Anyone in the room?" He opened it up beyond the ministers.
There was a small sound, like a stifled cough from the far
end of the room. In the silence that had fallen, all eyes turned to Izgar's
protégé. "Go ahead." Izgar urged.
The young woman (Arron had thought
something untoward might have been going on before discovering she was Izgar's
niece) spoke softly but strongly, "The signs I have seen when scrying that
realm are...unnerving."
"As much so as when the Crimson Plague was knocking at
our door?" inquired Arron.
"No, Your Eminence, but it...is a physically large realm.
And I am still learning," she answered.
"1 respect your talents, Jarnidan," he was pleased
with himself for recalling her name, despite so little time spent around her.
His next words were addressed to all. "But we shall proceed. Sir Mayfor,
the Heirland Corps is at your disposal. But be quick. I agreed
to send so many on promise of quick victory. These lands will be at risk until
your return."
"You shall have your prize in a twiceten or less, my
liege!" A shine of perfect teeth punctuated the pronouncement.
That smile was not so perfect when dragged before Baron
Rigar de Formath von Barren. After being unceremoniously dropped on the ground,
he slowly pushed himself to his knees.
"Soon that is where Sieber himself will be,"
gloated the Baron. The two goblins on either side of Mayfor hissed
disinterestedly.
Mayfor fervently hoped his lieutenants could
shepherd the army home. His surprise at the force arrayed before him in the
swamps turned to utter dismay when those gods' carchted gator men rose up from the
swamp to break his cavalry charge. Arrows and boulders (boulders!) pelted his
men from all sides. But though the army wavered it never broke. So it was a
retreat in good order as he and a chosen few tried to hold the enemy at bay.
Still, those flying lizards were pursuing in quick order...
He was not as beaten as he seemed. With a quick move
he disarmed the inattentive goblin to his right then skewered his companion on
the left. He finished the unarmed one as the Baron's guards descended. He turned
and ducked and slammed one into the other. Their heads came off before they
could recover. The Baron's eyes were big as Mayfor climbed the stairs. But
Mayfor had not heard the big gatorkin that came in behind him...
