View Full Version : My wip Bret peasant army fluff.

29-12-2005, 09:03
I have bretonian peasant army and am writing up the fluff asa go C&C welcome.
2420/ Year 1442

In this year King Charlen calls for an errantry war to be started or simply renewed, his intentions to rid the entire world of greenskins. All seemed well in his kingdom as knights of the realm arrived in the thousands outside the forest of Loren. They constructed burning pyres and cut down the trees thousands of yards into the forest. They traveled into the mystical and foreboding forest to hunt elk and deer. But when time had alas come to travel into the dark forest and make war with the green horde the knights of Montfort where nowhere to be found. They sent messengers out to see why they had brought shame to there once proud land fabled for defense of axe bite path against the orcs. But no messengers ever returned. Assumed to be under siege from the foul orcs King Charlen put a halt to the errantry war to send a small army to the defense of Montfort.

400 miles away Jules threw the body of a night he had impaled off the rampart to a crash 60 meters below. The sound could be heard threw out the canyon many miles away as the knights contorted carcass hit a pile of dead knights in tarnished armor that had met the same fate as he. The sound reverberated and carried so that Jules could hear it again and again. He cringed at the sound. He knew that sound was the sound of every peasant in Montfort being executed.

That dusk Jules found himself wandering the castle courtyard, striding over dead knights and fellow peasants like he. His face was stricken and gaunt and his emotions somber. A slow rain began to fall and made the dirt below him soften and turn to mud. He paced the courtyard for about an hour longer, remembering the faces of the dead. Finally he crouched down and sat on the back of a knight. Steam still arose from his dead body into the air. Jules straddled the dead man beneath himself and with all of his might turned him over to see his mud caked face. Already the man was begging to decompose but from the distinct scar of the grail on his left cheek Jules knew it was the duke of Montfort.

Oberon walked across the sodden courtyard in a sense of urgency. He knew Jules had anticipated him coming. They had once been the best of friends until the uprising a week ago. Jules was coward in his mind; he took no action while the barons oppressed them. He was beaten so many times he gave up hope. He remembered the last moment of their friendship, they were standing in the courtyard and Jules elderly father was laid upon the slab to be beheaded for incompetence. The man was old and his days where numbered, Jules had said; to help him would only cause suffering at the hands of the serfs. Oberon was disgusted at his friend’s cowardice.

When the final moment came and the axe was descending downwards in a fatal arc, Oberon struck. With an untamed fury he lunged forward and swept back his cloak and revealed a crude dagger, which he then implemented to slay the slayer with. In midair he plunged the weapon into bare white skin of the executer right above his heart. As he fell to ground the weapon descended disemboweling him and sending an arc of blood into the crowd. Their red spattered faces look at Oberon in astonishment. Everything was quiet for a moment and the only sound was of Oberon panting in exhaustion. Moments later three youths clad in the heraldry of Montfort rushed forwards pushing the malnourished peasants away and breaking their bones like kindling. When they reached the center of the circle and saw what had happened they all rushed Oberon. As they came close to him they realized he had dropped his weapon and was no longer a threat. The obvious leader of the knight’s clique stood over Oberon and blocked the sun out. Oberon closed his eyes and prepared to die as the leader raised his sword. But he turned his head as he head as he heard the sound of metal crunching. Someone in the crowd had thrown a rock at the new executioner. In the confusion Oberon picked up his sword and plunged it into the knee of the leader. At that very second the peasants erupted into an angry mob. The knights were young and inexperienced; they had never been to battle before and were easy foes for hardened veterans like the peasant men who were forced to fight for the duke. With no weapons but there callused fists they beat the three knights to death and left there tattered bodies armor less in the courtyard.

The guards that stood sentry on the ramparts blew the horns to alert the knights. But before any reinforcements could arrive the peasants had killed all the guards in an animalistic rage. They stormed the castle armories and adorned themselves with iron swords and armor. Everyone who stood before them was slaughtered, women men and children who bore royal blood in them was killed on the spot. They barred the castle doors against the knights but they only held for a week before being broken down in siege. When the Knights of Montfort entered the castle they wretched at the smell of feth. The towers where burning or smoldering and the great paintings of there ancestors where torn or smeared with blood. Bodies in the hundreds hung from the ramparts, and crows sat upon them and leered at all who passed.

That was three weeks ago and finally the fighting had ended with the death of the last knight of Montfort. It was at last time for the two men to talk again as friends and not as soldiers. As Oberon sat next to Jules on a stump with an axe embedded in it he noticed the moon wasn’t out, an ominous sign.
“They’re coming,” said Jules monotonously.
“We must flee or certainly we will dye,” he added.
“You would say that coward,” snapped Oberon briskly.
“ We killed the messenger for a reason, to defy the king, we are no longer his pawns,” Oberon stopped to take a breath.
“We are freed men,” he said as he exhaled.
“ I know but we should leave to avoid more deaths of our people, we should travel axe bite pass through the mountains and as soon as we get to the empire we will be safe,” said Jules.
“Its not just us we have to worry about, if the kings armies come they wont just kill us, they’ll take our wives and children to; I can fight their scum forever but the elders cannot. Please don’t be selfish think of them to and not just of you’re glory. If we leave tomorrow by nightfall they wont catch us.”
“ Fine,” said Oberon defeated.
“ Ready the rabble, make sure there ready by nightfall tomorrow,” said Oberon gruffly.
“And Jules.”
“Yes,” Jules replied
“Make sure the men are armed for war.”
As Oberon said this he walked away slowly his tattered robes silhouetting behind him in the blank dark empty sky.

The king’s army was given army to ride all throughout the night to make good time. Led by Gilles le Couronne, a famous knight said to have the blood of the famed Gilles le Brenton coursing threw his viens. There horses exhausted from traveling the endless grape vineyards of Parravon against the midnight sky. They had abandoned their extra belongings long ago and now only traveled with their Armour and lance. But If they only stopped to rest in a small village that one knights hailed from they would make it there by nightfall the next day.

The sun was begging its slow descent and the sky run red like blood. The peasants streamed out of the castles gates for hours in an endless column. Thousands of them marched in rough lines, their belongings carried upon their heads and strapped in huge bags upon their bodies. Jules and Oberon watched from high above upon the ramparts above the gates in silence.
“They’re not moving fast enough,” said Oberon breaking the silence.
“ I’ve gotten word that the kings army marched through the night from one of the sentries, there less than two hours away.”
“Fine tell the men at arms to fall back and everyone else to march on, we shall take the war to them,” said Jules a newfound courage in his eyes.

Hideous Loon
29-12-2005, 15:10
There's something that you missed. A pack of peasants manage to overwhelm (I realise that strength in numbers is good, but Knights have been trained in the arts of war their entire lives) a whole garrison of Knights Errant, Knights of the Realm and the occasional Questing Knight? The knights are awfully good at what they're doing. Even though they may never have seen actual combat, I'm sure that they could defend themselves against a rabble of malnourished peasants.

A few comments:
First paragraph: "In this year King Charlen calls for an errantry war to be started... his intentions to rid the entire world of greenskins."
Sounds good, like the arrogant Bretonnians I know.

Fifth paragraph: "...the weapon descended disemboweling him and sending an arc of blood into the crowd..."
A bit too graphic for my liking, but hey, it's your story.

“We must flee or certainly we will dye".
What will they dye? Or did you perchance mean DIE?

"...their belongings carried upon their heads and strapped in huge bags upon their bodies..."
I just have the image of Patsy, the servant of King Arthur in Monty Python:Quest for the Holy Grail, clacking two empty halves of coconut together... :D

I hope you realise that, unless you find a great explanation for it, this goes against everything that the Bretonnians are. The peasants are AFRAID of the knights.