Hello and welcome to our second campaign here on Tales from the Auld World! While last time we were doing a campaign of our own devising, this time we're revisiting a classic:
Published in the 1990s, the way the Warhammer Campaign Packs work is that there are three smaller battles leading up to a final confrontation. The winner of each of the earlier games gets some kind of bonus in the final battle, but it's only the outcome of that climactic conflict that determines the winner of the campaign as a whole.
Each Campaign Pack pitted two specific armies against each other, in Circle of Blood's case the chivalrous knights of Bretonnia and the dark hosts of the Undead. But each also contained suggestions for adapting the campaign for other armies. We're doing a bit of a mix, with Bretonnia and High Elf allies riding out side by side to face the horror of the Red Duke.
Below is the background to the first scenario in Circle of Blood, Night Battle at Mercal. Click the picture to see a larger version:
But of course, in addition to the narrative in the book, we felt the need to add a few stories of our own...
Before the Battle
My lord Feriath,
By your command I have begun a study of the fate of Elven colonies across the World. In the land now called Bretonnia I found references to our people relating to an incident known as the “Circle of Blood”. As these events occurred beyond living Human memory, to piece together what happened I have had to rely on written Bretonnian accounts, the first of which I attach here. I can only apologise if you find the style verbose. I myself find it endearing, being reminiscent of some of our great writers of old, though without their skill of course. How much is history and how much myth I leave to you to determine. I will continue my investigations and send you any further information I uncover.
Your servant,
Alain Swordsong
In the time of Duke Gilon of the land of Aquitaine, there occurred many wondrous events: the first of which to wit was the coming of a rider from Elfland to the court of the duke. White was his raiment, and lit as from within; and his bridle was dight with silver bells.
Sir, quoth he to the duke, long has it vexed thee my people have a presence in the place you call Mercal, though our claim be the longer. Wit thee well that buried at Mercal are many elven heroes of old, the best knights in the world; and we to watch over their resting place under a right holy elf hight Pardian. This I tell thee because a fiend from your past hath arisen, to wit the blood-drinker called by Men the Red Duke, and even now sendeth a host of the dead to Mercal, by his black art to add the wight prowess of the elves of old to his banner. Had we but more strength of Elves we should fear naught, but we are few. I prithee therefore send thy knights to Mercal straightway, for our succour and yours: for I deemest not but that should he destroy us the Red Duke would turn his wrath against thee.
Sore adread was the duke upon hearing this, for the more part of his knights were gone to a foreign country to fight the paynim; and all that remained in the court were untried knights errant. But the doughtiest of these, that hight Ywain of Aladore, said, By the faith of our bodies, we shall take the adventure! and mayhap we shall triumph and mayhap perish, as the Lady will it, but meseemeth it be better to die with honour than to live without it.
Nowise could the duke say against this, and so he assented thereto. Forthwith Ywain and his fellows rode from the court with the messenger from Elfland. Hearken now to the tale of their deeds!
***
Renar of Mercal
A black beetle scrabbled out from his oily black beard and perched on his shoulder, but Renar did not notice. He rarely took heed of any living creature these days, troubled as he was. He had done it now! Put himself right in trouble. After months of searching he had found the tomb of the Red Duke and broken the wards, a feat Master was too short-sighted, and short lived, to achieve. Renar had been beside himself with joy for the first time since his dour childhood at the sight of such a powerful being. It had been a hollow achievement however, the ancient vampire merely laughed. Laughed! At he, a fell necromancer, feared in every village and town this side of the river. The humiliation had been almost as bad as the fear the ancient creature would simply kill him. The Duke was not best pleased to find himself drained of power and in an Aquitaine still free and independent of his undeathly rule. Renar had left the tomb at the Duke's command, to return with reinforcements to rectify this error.
So he headed to Mercal, his birthplace, for the first time in many a year. He'd grown up there and he knew its secrets. Hidden beneath it were the crypts of the elvish warriors. A secret he had learned in one of Master's old books, and probably the only thing that made him useful to the dreaded Red Duke. He knew the village to be lightly defended but raised a following of undead anyway, Renar was cautious after a life on the run. Night was falling. With a grumble he extinguished his fire and ate the last of the hard bread. Plenty to eat in the village he thought – especially after they're all dead. He allowed himself a chuckle, a thin reedy thing compared to the ferocious bellow of the Red Duke but no less sinister. Yes, plenty of warm homes and warm bodies in Mercal, Renar thought, he just needed to see to his task first. As he began reciting the enchantments and felt the thinning barrier between the realms of life and death around him Renar couldn't help but think about Master's withered old hand, still in his robe. Maybe the old man had it right, and secrecy was the best approach, but Renar didn't think so. This was his time, and he was sure he would be remembered in the years to come, as the man who had brought the Red Duke back to Bretonnia.
The Battle
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| In the pale light of the moon the defenders of Mercal sally forth to stop Renar from raising the long dead of the village crypts. High elf silver helms join Bretonnians against a horde of ghouls, ghosts and zombies. |
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| Silver helms clash with Black knights on the undead left and destroy the skeletal warriors before riding on to run down the zombies behind. A cairn wraith attempts to slow the Bretonnian Knights down and allow Renar to raise the dead but to no avail. |
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| Renar makes it inside the crypt! Guarded by aptly named crypt horrors who hold elven spearmen at bay. Behind the elf lines an albino Varghulf devours all but one of the shadow warriors, and pursues the offending warrior for miles without catching him! |
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| Renar attempts to cast 'raise dead' as the sun is about to rise, but the canny elves undo his magic with a dispel attempt. He is promptly butchered by the remaining Silver helms and is never heard from again, having failed his roll on the character injury chart. |
After the Battle
I have since travelled to Mercal, but I could find only two pieces of evidence relating to the battle there. The first is this fragment of a letter, seemingly from one of the knights errant:
I don’t care if Ywain says we should be grateful to them for winning us the day, I won’t forgive those elven peasants for not dying when they should’ve and so denying me a chance at that beast. I’ll quest after it to the end of my days if I have to, I swear it! Signed, Sir Palomides
The second piece of evidence was a curious tombstone bearing the following lines:
On elven lances he was spittéd
But when he riseth from the dead
Everyone both near and far
Shall tremble ‘fore the name -
Unfortunately the stone was so worn I could not discern the name upon it.
Next time: A tale of knightly valour and peasant cowardice - or was it the other way round...
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