At The Edge Of Darkness... (Sylvania/VC AAR)

[McScottish]

Ground rules/basics/etc:

- Medium/Medium setting, just prefer it that way. When I want to be wiped out then I'll try the hard/hard settings.

- Toggle_fow, not because I'm a cheat but just because I prefer to be able to see the whole map.

- Most importantly, this AAR will contain very few pictures. Not because I dislike pictures but because I am a writer and not anything else really. I realise that pictures can spice up AAR's and I apologise to everyone who dislikes reading a lot of text. If you don't like it, don't read it.

Prologue

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

No one wants to come here any more, not to travel, not to wage war and certainly not for any good reason that one could think of. The land known as Sylvania, the accursed province of the Empire, is a land full of a thousand dreads and things from only your darkest nightmares. Here the dead walk freely through the landscape, like one of those murals we so often see on places of worship to Sigmar, followed by things not entirely dead but not entirely human. Then there are our masters, ivory skinned and red-eyed predators of the night who rule over their superstitious and fearful flock, supernatural beings, the Vampyren.

Please, I have not introduced myself and, though I consider myself of no importance in ages to come, it may well be prudent of me to leave you with my story nonetheless. I was born in the province of Sylvania to a poor peasant family, a hunchback and a cripple, shunned by the other people of the village who considered it a bad omen or even a curse on them. My birth provoked outrage amongst the reasonless provincials and so, along with my parents, we retreated into the depths of the nearby forest. Often I considered myself fortunate for, that very night, the village was raised to the ground by walking corpses. Funny how things play out.

To finish this introduction, my name is Igor (pronounced eye-gor), son of my fathers sister and scribe to the Von Carstein Dynasty. It is their tale that I shall be writing about over the next few chapters so sit down, rest yourself and let me take you to the first night in my masters presence and in fact a night that would change Sylvania forever.

**********

“Listen to them. Children of the night. What music they make...”



It was gloomy in the sullen and shadowed hall of Drakenhof Castle, like the veritable spider sucking away the lifeblood of the land, high arches and exquisite architecture from ages past certainly little or nowhere near enough to disguise or draw suitable attention away from the evil that was within. Turrets sprung forth from the battlements where dead men marched and the citadel, sat atop one of the most hellish portals of Chaos, emanated a feeling of dread and despair that few mortals could withstand.

With this in mind I turned my attention back to the travelling troupe, halfway through their play of my masters life and at the beginning of an act where the dashing Imperial Witch-Hunter confronted the Count only to realise too late who the mysterious figure was. It was a tawdry play with ill effects and a dialogue that would make even the most amateur playwright weep into his breakfast. In spite of all this my master appeared, for all intents and purposes, to be enjoying what he was watching, his crimson eyes flitting back and forth between the actors and even a small smirk revealing itself as his theatrical double bit into the ill-advised and unwary Witch-Hunter.

At this time I was new to the Counts court, only twenty-three years of age, though I had a natural way of adapting to things that had come from growing up as an outcast. I believe it was for this reason that the Count not only refused to feed on me but also gave me a clergyman class education. Only because of this am I able to tell this tale to you now, curious reader.

As the play moved onwards at an almost grating pace I looked about the high-roofed dining hall and noted in my mind all of the personages present that I could. This was no easy feat, let me tell you, in a hall with very little light, in the dead of night, trying to peer at a variety of somebodies who made it their business not to be seen in the pitch black of night.

From what I could see, which was not much, I could make out all the members of the Counts immediate “family”although bloodline would probably be a better word for it. For all of them were Vampyr, not a single mortal amongst them, only myself and the travelling theatre company still owners of fully beating hearts and a less-than-deathly complexion.


Yes, there was the Counts eldest Protégé, Prince Marcos, formerly the son of the noble Hartmut family of Reikland but now the newest in line to take the place of Mannfred when or if the time came. Sat to his left and right were the able generals Filep Von Joachim and Elec De Lyonesse from Bretonnia. A few persons of lesser note, such as their own thralls and consorts, were present but unimportant to this tale. Oh yes, there was one more, his name was Edmond Guatier and he was the representative that evening of the exiled warriors of Blood Keep.

Blood Keep, bastion of the Blood Dragon Order and fortress against invaders through the mountain passes, cleansed by Sigmarites before the coming of the storm from the north but still a haunt of the undead and things that went bump in the night. Those knights who had dwelt within had joined with others of their lineage and now, at the behest of the Grandmaster, were here to pledge their allegiance to Mannfred in return for liberating Blood Keep.

A loud thump, the sound of a fake stake being driven through a fake ribcage, bought me back to reality and I refocused on the one who I served whole heartedly and without reserve.

Turning away from the group, the play ending unfortunately in the death of the Count (and those of the theatre troupe or so I was told), my master made his way over to Edmond with a scroll of parchment curled up and held strangely lightly in his closed fist. He did not walk but I would say rather glided across the floor towards the Blood Dragon, smiling all the while and keeping his eyes fixed on the armoured vampire. Edmond rose from his seat to meet the Count who, seeing this, stopped before him and unrolled the parchment onto the table. Lucky for me I was close by with a quill and ink, otherwise I probably would not be here now.

“So, Von Carstein, we pledge allegiance to you,” Mannfred only nodded whilst the dipped quill approached the paper, “we will hold you to this bargain and if you do not keep your promise then the dragon is likely to bite the hand that feeds it.”

In a number of swift, smooth, motions the signature was there at the bottom of the scroll and Edmond, after a small nod of the head, marched stiffly from the hall and left the parchment with my master.

This was the beginning of what would become a blight on the Empire and an age of blood for the people of Sylvania.

[McScottish]

Chapter I: The Beginning of the End, Part I






"One corpse, two corpse, three corpse four.

Five corpse, six corpse, twelve dozen corpses more"

- Entry from the Libellus Turbatus Inferi written by the mad priest Yoagh Van Stratten

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

In the winter of the year 2523 AS (After Sigmar), when the Chaos warlord Vardek Crom began his march down from the northern wastes in what would later become known as The Storm of Chaos, Sylvania was killing itself from the inside out. Villages, hamlets and even the larger towns remained populated by lazy wastrels who did not even deserve whatever shelter they had over their head. Though they did not know it, it was by the mercy of Count Mannfred that their lives and dwellings were not taken wholesale by hordes of marching death and were instead kept intact for what some would call a genuinely good purpose, if a vampire can be “good” in any way.

- Famous oil painting by Hermann Bowen, deceased.

“The people, Igor, do they suffer?”

It was an odd question to be asked, especially by the only “person” you would never expect to ask it although I heard no emotion in my masters voice so perhaps he really didn't care. I chose to indulge him any.

“They suffer, my lord, plague, high taxes and conscription have taken their toll,” I said slowly as I watched for any sign of changing expression, I got none, “since you raised taxes in all the major settlements there inhabitants have started to migrate away to the smaller settlements in hopes of avoiding your tax collectors.”

Mannfred nodded his head in what looked like an almost human gesture, so much so that it was extremely hard to believe that he was anything else. Yet he probably could not have been further from these snivelling cattle he attempted to give a care about. My master was mighty, unchanging, a master of Necromantic arts, skilled in combat and generally everything that the mightiest of mortals were not.

“I grow tired, my scribe, things pass by in the blink of an eye to me but sometimes I wish that I could feel time as you feel it. Once more. Time was such a precious commodity when I was human but, once I had tasted the Blood Kiss, I threw it away like grains of sand on a beach. People live and people go about there lives but death is a definite for all creatures except the already dead and those like myself.”

Although I had been listening to, hanging onto, every word that my overlord said I was still taken aback at the very sound of his voice. Even after all these years in his service. It was a voice both ancient and deep, dark and gloomy, yet melodic and as fluid as liquid silver. It was a voice that could foretell the doom of those who opposed its speaker or one that could seduce even the most prudish of the female gender.

“We all grow tired,” I replied as I shuffled through a number of papers concerning the aforementioned topics, “though I cannot begin to imagine how time is for you...” then I noticed the way the Count was looking at me and averted my eyes “...my lord.”

Mannfred stretched out his manicured fingers, pale skin glinting in the reflection of the candlelight, his red eyes like two floating bale-fires in the darkness. One after the other his fingers tapped rapidly on the oaken table of his study, one of many of his personal chambers within Drakenhof Castle, lips retracting to reveal perfectly white teeth and the flicker of a carmine tongue between them.

“Send a courier to Filep, tell him to gather what human forces we possess,” began the Count patiently and thoughtfully, “he is to lead them to Nachtdorf and lay siege to the pitiful excuse for a city.” Thinking for a few moments more Mannfred turned to look out the arrow-slit that was his window through which a ray of moonlight shone “and inform Istvan that he is to take a look first.”

Mannfred Istvan III was our chief spy, master of intelligence and stealth, he was the Counts eyes and ears outside Drakenhof and even outside Sylvania. If anyone could gather a report on enemy numbers, open a gate to allow our victorious armies inside, or just generally spy, it was this former Witch-Hunter of the Empire.

[McScottish]

Konistag, 23rd Pflugzeit IC, Year 2523 AS

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Sylvania is in a state of change, one of flux both within and without, even the lowest born peasants are beginning to notice a change whilst getting on with their short and pitiful lives in the blasted wilderness, forests and moors of this accursed province.

It would appear that Mannfred has learnt from his former mistakes, taking those lessons learnt by his predecessor Vlad. In this month, the Plough Month, my lord and master has began the clearance and cultivation of what farmland can be found as well as the construction of rudimentary roads between the more major settlements. Like his sire he has began to treat these mortals like a farmer treats cattle instead of slaughtering them as mad Franz Von Carstein was want to do.

In spite of these improvements the entire province has become bankrupt, our coffers empty and even the fear of their rulers not being enough to form up the regiments of the Sylvanian army. What a blessing it is that this land was forsaken and has been for centuries, tax collectors from Stirland and foreigners avoiding it as best they can, otherwise I have no doubt that we would soon have a small provincial army knocking at the very gates of Drakenhof Castle itself. Hopefully what crops we can gather and the extortionate taxes we place upon the peasantry will be enough to see our chests filled at least half-way by next winter.


Elsewhere Elec the Bretonnian had been made the newest immortal governor of Waldenhof, oddly after the Baron Reginald Einheart met with an unfortunate accident as he travelled back from a meeting at Drakenhof. It appears that his coach was assailed by wolves and, apparently, men that acted like wolves. Only bits and pieces of his bloodied corpse were found, torn apart and spread over leagues of forest. Elec is, as far as I know, a capable figure and it would certainly not be too far to say that some of the peasantry are even rather taken with him.


The immortals of Sylvania recline for now and nurture their flocks but, eventually, they will revert back to wolves in one way or another.


More importantly it would appear that, at the behest of our chief spy Istvan III, Filep has laid siege to Nachtdorf with our mortal conscripts, the city apparently full of nothing more than warmongering Greenskins. The spy has promised to open the gates of the city somehow but I doubt it will come to that...if anything the Orcs will come to our brave soldiers instead. They cannot stand peace.

Hhhhmmm...ah yes, celebrations!

Our dear Prince Marcos was offered a suitable wife of noble lineage, from the well-respected Hyummel merchantile family, a stunning blonde beauty with almost vampiric good looks and a body that would make any twig-like Empire noblewoman jealous. Could it be Vlad and Isabella incarnate? Only time can tell whether he loves her so much that he could bestow the Blood Kiss upon her. Who can say if she would even want it? Not I!

As for the celebration, a lavish affair, that took place in the vast banquet hall of Drakenhof, both undying nobles and still-warm pawns were invited and given a choice of meal. Those of the undead drank blood from golden goblets and those who were not, in the larger percentage, drank a wine that had been in the cellars of Drakenhof since the time of Von Drak. I partook of some myself and can state that it was exquisite, the whirling energies of Chaos bound to the underbelly of this hilltop citadel giving it a somewhat electrical flavour.

These festivities could not last long however, Marcos being taken aside by his “father” and ordered to assemble a host of the dead. For Marcos was going to retake the cursed city of Ostermark, Marcos would retake Mordheim.

A day ago, along with the company of Edmond Guatier, our esteemed Prince began rituals of summoning to gather a host of the dead to him on the borders of our nation. Even as I watched long dead warriors rise and head towards my masters location I could not help but reflect upon the past. Sylvania had lain dormant for nearly three centuries, everyone believing Mannfred to no longer exist, the provinces of the Empire fighting one another and never knowing that an evil still lurked within. Now the peasants once more bolted their doors, praying to whatever Gods they believed in to spare them, Empire spies executed upon discovery by the dead or the corrupt inbreeds alike.


I must go now, my master awaits, we march to Mordheim on the morrow and I am the one who must wake him from his slumber.

Sylvania is changing.


Signed,

Igor

[McScottish]

Angestag, 32nd Pflugzeit, Year 2523 AS

The Battle of Nachtdorf

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

A week and a few days have passed since my last entry and I have ridden halfway across Sylvania to reach Filep, having gathered all the human levies of the province, before he began his march over the wasted and scarred landscape to reach the Orc-infested settlement of Nachtdorf, just outside the current borders of our county. Istvan III made sure that we bought a human army, so close to the borders of others provinces, to arouse suspicion or fear from our neighbours would not be such a good idea for a weakened and bankrupt region at the moment.


It was with the army that I rode, alongside the only regulars we had in the ranks, those of the city of Tempelhof. Their own leader, a burly Baron, led three regiments and two more of Free Company soldiers as if he went to war every other day. Of course, he did not. In the ranks, striking in their dark uniforms, were a regiment of swordsmen, halberds and archers all made up of well-fed and armed warriors whilst the Free Company were a different matter. They were a raggedy looking bunch of hardened men, brawlers, drunks and scum the lot of them but still stout-hearted and loyal nonetheless.


We rested and marched, rested and marched and eventually came within site of Nachtdorf itself or what we believed was Nachtdorf. Outside the walls were stuck rotting human heads on stakes, the carrion birds having pecked away flesh and dug out eyes form sockets, a sight that may have disturbed any other sort of army but one which could not even shake the men of Sylvania. These soldiers had grown up knowing death, breathing it in the air and even fighting it off at times. A few piked heads would not be enough to disturb their morale.

**********

“Look to your front and stand your ground, stand your ground and they will crumble, these Greenskins are no match for men of Sylvania!”

I still remember Filep, his retinue of Blood Dragon knights sitting nearby, as he rode in front of the army and addressed the battle line in a voice that seemed to carry itself across the entire field. Resplendent in a suit of armour polished to a blinding gleam and made from a crimson metal which seemed itself to bleed with the blood of fallen foes and victims. The mount he rode on was no less unnerving, a black steed dragged from the gates of Morr's underworld itself, nostrils flaring and hoofs the size of a mans head digging up dirt and turf from the ground below its feet.


“These beasts will die and we will carry our banner into the square where we shall plant it atop a pile of our enemies corpses.”

Finished with words, and with the enemy streaming out the already open city gates, Filep gestured for his mounted vampire bodyguards to accompany him and glared at the mammoth sized figures coming forth like green pus from an infected wound.

Although I know little about my undead overlords, despite spending years around Count Mannfred and his lackeys, I knew that having chosen to fight the battle in bright sunlight would surely make both Filep and his entourage more sluggish. In my mind I did wonder whether sunlight needed to be directly on the skin of a vampire, as it was obstructed mostly by glinting winged helmets, or if just the hour of the day would do. As I was swiftly to learn my musings did not seem to matter either way in the end.

**********

It was a tense moments as the Greenskins formed up their battle-lines only a couple of dozen feet away from us, so close that we could see their malevolent eyes and the yellowed tusks protruding from their fanged maws, each enemy warrior across from us a mass of packed muscle and insatiable apatite for combat. Compared to the proud ranks of Sylvanian combatants, their pale warrior-nobles sitting to the right of the line and waiting patiently, these beasts were no more than animals and each jack-man of them knew this. Animals, yes, but animals dangerous without a doubt.

Atop a small hillock I watched the field and jotted down everything, the Sylvanian line arrayed with the Free Company archers and swordsmen to the front while the first, second and third regiments from Tempelhof formed up behind them as the second and more regular line. Directly before them stood a mass of green and dark green horrors, one looking more-or-less the same as another, those sturdiest and known as “Black Orcs” waiting behind the others, no doubt for an opening. As far as I could estimate we outnumbered them by at least two hundreds, a great deal you would think, but every one of their warriors was worth at least three of ours in combat, the undead nobles excluded of course.

Battle was joined by a volley of arrow-fire from our Free Company archers, white feathered shafts tipped with death plunging upwards and arching down to turn Orcs into living pincushions. Volley after volley tore into them and yet they did not move until, finally, a loud bellow was heard and the green multitude stomped forth towards our lines. Never did the bow fire let up or end but, with the Greenskins so close now, they were forced to back away behind our close-quarter fighters.

The crunch and sound of muffled screams as Orc impacted with Free Company soldier, their line at last meeting ours, was something to hear, I can tell you. Grunts and bawls of pain came from pierced Orcs whilst cut-short screams left the throats of humans being torn apart by powerful limbs or cleaved in twain by sharpened cleavers or equally sharpened tusk. From one side to the other it flowed, neither side seeming able to gain the upper hand, more Greenskins pouring into the fray from within Nachtdorf until, I believe, their entire army was grappling with our hard-boiled company.

This was the point when things began to change and the battle turned our way...

It started as a small muttering and was followed by the raising of a voice, the voice of Filep, his arms raised into the air and archaic words spilling from his lips. Making gestures about himself his eyes seemed to glow a ghastly shade of purple, invisible entrails departing from his fingertips, until at last he sunk back into his saddle.


At first this made me anticipate that nothing had happened, that all his efforts had been in vain, although this was until I heard the trampling of skeletal hooves over the ground and turned to see a number of figures making their way to his side. Figures every bit as skeletal as their mounts, tarnished and grime-covered armour strapped about their fleshless frames, helmets of all shapes and size atop their featureless heads. Rubbing my eyes once and then twice, making sure I was not seeing things, it appeared that these ghoulish horsemen were neither entirely solid nor ethereal beings but a mix of both. Clearly the Black Knights had arrived.

A punch of his fist into the air, a pre-arranged signal, sent the men of Filep's army charging headlong into the embattled ranks. Even the vulnerable archers joined their more hand-to-hand orientated comrades against the green menace. Joined by the fresh men of Tempelhof they began to push the Greenskins back, halberds cutting them down from a distance and swordsmen skilfully hacking them apart, everything going as planned.

As a finale Filep led his own Blood Knights and his newest arrivals into the fray against the Black Orcs who fought at the rear of the Orc line. Spearing headlong into their flank and massacring all in their path. Filep himself was knocked from his steed, rolling to absorb the impact and on his feet almost instantaneously, sword in hand and flashing red in the setting sun. At one point it seemed as if the Orcish war-leader might gain the upper hand but was no match for Filep, the vampire lord gutting him like a fish and using stamping over his sickly black entrails.

Needless to say with their leader dead and vampires causing hell amongst their ranks the Greenskins began to flee, only to be cut down by mounted blood-drinkers and their cadaverous allies. Each body seemingly rising back to its feet and helping in the pursuit, men and Orc joined in death as they could never be in life.

**********

Nachtdorf is silent now, any human inhabitants worked to death, eaten or having fled long ago once the Orcs took control. Now we scourged the streets of any remainders of their forces, using their own reanimated comrades against them, it was a fun sport. Alongside this we set alight each and every one of their structures we could find and, above all, Filep had his own new city to govern.

It took weeks to populate Nachtdorf again, with a substantial amount of the human population coming from dissidents, lawless folk and our own land of Sylvania. Nonetheless Filep was an able governor and took to his duties with a vigour and watchfulness that no human would ever be able to maintain for long without some sort of scandal or corruption. Taxes were raised shortly after (a great many of those who muttered meeting with unfortunate accidents in the night) and the regiments of Tempelhof, ordered back to their own borders, were sent home with their paunchy Baron to protect the homeland from outside threats.

A week later I received news that our dear Prince Marcos has began the siege of Mordheim with his army of undeath, having raised quite a substantial force. Those within, Chaos worshippers, Greenskins and some fiend called Johann are surely quaking down to their very souls. If not then they are either very brave or extremely stupid.

Your servant, as ever,

Igor

[Mikail Mengsk]

Good AAR, i like your style.

[McScottish]

Many thanks Mikail, there's still plenty more to write before I continue my campaign. So much narrative and so little time. Battle of Mordheim next methinks.

[The Despondent Mind]

Obviosly the aar is dead but starting a new one wouldn't hurt....

[The Holy Pilgrim]

Obviosly the aar is dead but starting a new one wouldn't hurt....

Tell me, oh wise Mental Mastermind, Ruler of the Psyche, Conqueror of the Cerebellum, was this pun intended or was it just another conjuration of your subconcience?

[The Despondent Mind]

Tell me, oh wise Mental Mastermind, Ruler of the Psyche, Conqueror of the Cerebellum, was this pun intended or was it just another conjuration of your subconcience?

If it's something bad then it's my subconcienceIt doe's a lot of strange things.

[McScottish]

Like the veritable Necromander, I shall once more be bringing you 'tales from the crypt' with a new and updated (1.5.1 version) of a Vampire Count AAR!

So, if anyone remains interested, then hold onto your skeleton steeds and prepare thyselves for a trip into the world of vampires, zombies and ghouls once more... mu-ah-ha-ha-ha-ha!