Some Writing
I am working on building a Warhammer Fantasy Battle army, and I'm working on creating a mercenary force from Tilea (Which is like Italy and that general area in Warhammer). I need to make background information and stories for this army and its characters, so I figured I'd post the first part of it and see what you all think. Does it make you want to read more? Does it suck? Comments are welcome.
Armored boots slog across swampy ground. The heat and gasses from the swamps were getting to the men, confirmed by the slow pace and disorderly formation they assumed. It had been weeks since Garrick and his men were hired to march into the marshes from Miragliano. Hensil von Giselbrecht, the self-proclaimed "trinket-master" from the lands of the Empire, had offered quite a large sum of gold and other fine jewels for this trek. There was also promise of certain items to be plundered once this mission was at its end.
"By the gods, Garrick, what are we even doing out here?", mutters Renaud, between labored gasps of swampy air. He brings his cloak over his mouth, hoping the fabric will filter some of the air.
Originally, Garrick had only stopped in Miragliano to refresh the men's supplies and spirits. His company had finished defending a group of shipwrights and carpenters while they repaired a beached trading galleon on the coast while under threat by a local bandit lord, but only directly after protecting a caravan from Remas to Trantio from a different mercenary group hired by an opposing merchant. The men needed their rest and some opportunity to spend their pay, and Renaud was to purchase food and other supplies from the market. Like he normally did, Garrick was trying to cut deals at the local inns for his men to stay at when he managed to overhear a scholarly looking fellow leaning over some papers. He seemed to be skilled at cartography, marking a mathematical path somewhere to the west of Miragliano.
A thick smack catches their attention as Hensil plants a firm boot into the bog.
"I'm surprised he didn't tell you all, Renaud," Hensil interrupted, "I know what's out here in the swamp. It only just got here - Its of immense power." Unpacking and opening a tome, he plants his finger on a page and begins to read aloud, "...On the fourteenth anniversary of the Reckoning, shades from the House of Irenicus will bring forth the tools that brought their salvation and demise. Only at this time may they break the curse at the stratum de robigus, and this they plan to do." Then quickly unfurling a map scroll, "I have read tomes that sometimes mention a circle of mildew. First I had cast that aside, but upon doing further research I found that there used to be a superstition among hermits and others who lived alone in the swamp involving Robig, a creature or beast composed entirely of moss, or mildew, if you will." Now pointing to a marked spot on the map, "After some follow-ups, I have located this stratum de robigus. This is our destination, deep in the swamp." Renaud looked at Hensil, then cast his gaze at Garrick for he knew Renaud held a hatred for the supernatural.
Garrick shook hands with Hensil, who had earlier introduced himself as a "trinket-master from Marienberg". "Then its a deal, me and my men will march into the Blighted Marshes in... what was it, three days, to reach it in time for this... Reckoning anniversary?" "Actually, we should probably make it two days. There's no telling how distinguished this circle may be, and may have to spend some time finding it." "Hmm, fine then. All this for the sum of gold we discussed. I'm staying at the Vagabond Sanctuary Inn, ask for me there when its time to leave."
Arriving at the inn where his quartermaster, Abdon, was staying the night he let himself in. "Abdon, we leave in two days from now. Make estimates on how much food and supplies will be needed for a six week foray west. Make arrangements with merchants in town and let Renaud know where to pick them up." Abdon, an elderly man with bi-focal glasses, spoke up, "Garrick, you needn't be a master of astromancy to know there's trouble where we go..." Laughing, Garrick replies, "Abdon, there's trouble wherever we go. I figured one as knowledgable as you would have caught on to that already!" Abdon just shook his head, not so amused. "Now get to work, I must inform Captain Shen of this."
"Garrick, sir, we've got news!" shouted a young, lithe man as he and eight others dressed in hardened leathers sloshed as fast as they could through the swampy ground. "What is it Shen? What's to report?" "Some of the pikemen on our north flank were complaining about an unnatural unease in the air, something musty and thick." "And?" "Well, I took some of our scouts in that direction and searched the surrounding area," Shen pulls a faintly glowing clump of moss out of a pouch, "I found this. As we march on its showing up more and more often. I bet you'll even find some around this area soon, too." Hensil begins to mumble something under his breathe, pulls out a small lens and eyes the surrounding area, "Yes, yes! Soon! Its starting!" "What's starting?" demands Garrick, "Do you mean we've found it?" Ending his silence with a tense look on his face, Renaud stops, "I feel something. I feel it in the moss, I feel it in the air, something is close."
Cries of muffled alarm and fright break their way through the fog from the north. The regiments nearby stop and take hold of their weapons, waiting for something to happen with nervous looks on their faces. From the opposite direction, Abdon does his best to move as quickly as he can, "There's trouble! Garrick, Renaud, the situation is grave! The Sign of Amul has allowed me to spy on the events that are about to unfold, and it is most grievous. Ancient powers mingle today, devastating ancient powers. Von Giselbrecht, you knew this!" "...And that is why I needed an army," Hensil replied. "There's no time to discuss, we must act now! Renaud, Shen, with me. Adbon, see what you can do with magic back here. Men, we go. Now!" Garrick shouted as he took the lead striding off into the northern mists, still muffling the cries of the troops beyond.
And that's the first part. I'm tired. I should have been studying.
Armored boots slog across swampy ground. The heat and gasses from the swamps were getting to the men, confirmed by the slow pace and disorderly formation they assumed. It had been weeks since Garrick and his men were hired to march into the marshes from Miragliano. Hensil von Giselbrecht, the self-proclaimed "trinket-master" from the lands of the Empire, had offered quite a large sum of gold and other fine jewels for this trek. There was also promise of certain items to be plundered once this mission was at its end.
"By the gods, Garrick, what are we even doing out here?", mutters Renaud, between labored gasps of swampy air. He brings his cloak over his mouth, hoping the fabric will filter some of the air.
Originally, Garrick had only stopped in Miragliano to refresh the men's supplies and spirits. His company had finished defending a group of shipwrights and carpenters while they repaired a beached trading galleon on the coast while under threat by a local bandit lord, but only directly after protecting a caravan from Remas to Trantio from a different mercenary group hired by an opposing merchant. The men needed their rest and some opportunity to spend their pay, and Renaud was to purchase food and other supplies from the market. Like he normally did, Garrick was trying to cut deals at the local inns for his men to stay at when he managed to overhear a scholarly looking fellow leaning over some papers. He seemed to be skilled at cartography, marking a mathematical path somewhere to the west of Miragliano.
A thick smack catches their attention as Hensil plants a firm boot into the bog.
"I'm surprised he didn't tell you all, Renaud," Hensil interrupted, "I know what's out here in the swamp. It only just got here - Its of immense power." Unpacking and opening a tome, he plants his finger on a page and begins to read aloud, "...On the fourteenth anniversary of the Reckoning, shades from the House of Irenicus will bring forth the tools that brought their salvation and demise. Only at this time may they break the curse at the stratum de robigus, and this they plan to do." Then quickly unfurling a map scroll, "I have read tomes that sometimes mention a circle of mildew. First I had cast that aside, but upon doing further research I found that there used to be a superstition among hermits and others who lived alone in the swamp involving Robig, a creature or beast composed entirely of moss, or mildew, if you will." Now pointing to a marked spot on the map, "After some follow-ups, I have located this stratum de robigus. This is our destination, deep in the swamp." Renaud looked at Hensil, then cast his gaze at Garrick for he knew Renaud held a hatred for the supernatural.
Garrick shook hands with Hensil, who had earlier introduced himself as a "trinket-master from Marienberg". "Then its a deal, me and my men will march into the Blighted Marshes in... what was it, three days, to reach it in time for this... Reckoning anniversary?" "Actually, we should probably make it two days. There's no telling how distinguished this circle may be, and may have to spend some time finding it." "Hmm, fine then. All this for the sum of gold we discussed. I'm staying at the Vagabond Sanctuary Inn, ask for me there when its time to leave."
Arriving at the inn where his quartermaster, Abdon, was staying the night he let himself in. "Abdon, we leave in two days from now. Make estimates on how much food and supplies will be needed for a six week foray west. Make arrangements with merchants in town and let Renaud know where to pick them up." Abdon, an elderly man with bi-focal glasses, spoke up, "Garrick, you needn't be a master of astromancy to know there's trouble where we go..." Laughing, Garrick replies, "Abdon, there's trouble wherever we go. I figured one as knowledgable as you would have caught on to that already!" Abdon just shook his head, not so amused. "Now get to work, I must inform Captain Shen of this."
"Garrick, sir, we've got news!" shouted a young, lithe man as he and eight others dressed in hardened leathers sloshed as fast as they could through the swampy ground. "What is it Shen? What's to report?" "Some of the pikemen on our north flank were complaining about an unnatural unease in the air, something musty and thick." "And?" "Well, I took some of our scouts in that direction and searched the surrounding area," Shen pulls a faintly glowing clump of moss out of a pouch, "I found this. As we march on its showing up more and more often. I bet you'll even find some around this area soon, too." Hensil begins to mumble something under his breathe, pulls out a small lens and eyes the surrounding area, "Yes, yes! Soon! Its starting!" "What's starting?" demands Garrick, "Do you mean we've found it?" Ending his silence with a tense look on his face, Renaud stops, "I feel something. I feel it in the moss, I feel it in the air, something is close."
Cries of muffled alarm and fright break their way through the fog from the north. The regiments nearby stop and take hold of their weapons, waiting for something to happen with nervous looks on their faces. From the opposite direction, Abdon does his best to move as quickly as he can, "There's trouble! Garrick, Renaud, the situation is grave! The Sign of Amul has allowed me to spy on the events that are about to unfold, and it is most grievous. Ancient powers mingle today, devastating ancient powers. Von Giselbrecht, you knew this!" "...And that is why I needed an army," Hensil replied. "There's no time to discuss, we must act now! Renaud, Shen, with me. Adbon, see what you can do with magic back here. Men, we go. Now!" Garrick shouted as he took the lead striding off into the northern mists, still muffling the cries of the troops beyond.
And that's the first part. I'm tired. I should have been studying.