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  1. T H E C O V E N A N T ' S S C O U T (you) You’re a loyal soldier of the Kingdom of Haense, an Armsman within the Brotherhood of Saint Karl; yet in recent years, you serve primarily the vanguard of the Covenant cavalry forces. Skilled atop a horse, you are; you’ve bested your comrades in nearly every joust the recent years have had to offer, and even in the most recent battle of Hippo’s Gorge you could’ve sworn you nipped the Captain-General of Veletz’s ass with your lance. The King (of haense) of Haense, as noble and honorable as he is, seems to favor you, and so he sets you upon a quest: “Brother! Scout the Marcherlands which we shall siege in the coming days. Inform us of any changes to the Stassionite-palace and defenses they have possibly prepared.” “My Lord! My King! My Liege! I shall do as vy beckon me to, I am your loyal soldier! Right away m’lord!” You reply, eager. A King (of haense) as royal as He has set you on this legendary quest, your renown has finally begun to pay off. You set upon your childhood-steed, Bruciefella, he has been with you since you were a youth, and other than a handful of arrow wounds from foolish Orcs with large hands and human sized bows; he has survived just as well as you. You leave the Kingdom’s walls, an adventure ahead… You embark towards the Marcherlands of Stassion . . . Down the winding King’s road . . . Passing the torrenting winds of the River Petra . . . A final rest taken at the von Theonus’ castle . . . “This is where we shall fight then.” You presume by the general location, taking these few moments to note the surroundings. Regardless, you mount Bruciefella once more, and finally arrive in the Stassionite lands. (Your view of the Stassion Palace.) “They are as much of fools as my King says them to be! A lord who presides over lands as vast as these and his residence is a mere palace? Where is his castle? Where are his parapets? No cannons or ballistas hang from his walls?” You erupt into a fit of laughter, alas, this siege shall be as easy as you predict! A foolish Lord, the Lord of Stassion is, for he is the Prince of a Petty Palace. With your duty complete, your quest quested, and your heart thirsty for the Siege that shall come, you return atop your steed and begin back toward the Kingdom of Haense . . . “My Lord! My King! My Liege! I bring vy great news! News of fortune which shall please yours and the Covenant leader’s ears!” You call to your King (of haense), hastily sending Bruciefella off and approaching the King (of haense) in the square. “Back so soon?” Aleksandr II (king of haense btw), jests. Of course, you think, a soldier as keen and swift as you would’ve wasted not a second. “Aye my King! The Stassion’s are as foolish as vy thought! The lands are simple – a palace without defenses, without a wall to encapsulate his stead – only a single tower for their petty archers to shoot arrows from!” You feel overjoyed. “Just as I had thought.” The King (of haense) nodded. Of course they would not be ready for a siege. The Realms of Man had been massaged by the lack of cruelty the ages had to offer. Where King’s (of haense) feared declaring war, and so Lord’s need not prepare their homesteads for the worst. “Vy did well – well, vy did as I had expected.” With a pleased smile, the King (of haense) handed you a few Brotherhood of Saint Karl tokens; you almost thought for a second that a comment he made a fine promotion was to be your way. T H E D A Y O F T H E S I E G E A R R I V E S. You awake in your home within Waltonburg. The day was a mild cold, less bitter than those of previous sieges – perhaps good fortune truly was upon you. Your wife had already gotten up for the morning and allowed you to sleep longer, she knew the toll and risk each siege brought. If this was to be your last day – you would at least be well rested. You gather your belongings, drawing yourself out of bed as the sun breaks over the horizon. A golden glow casts itself through the window as you reach to your left and grab the hilt of your trusty Daemonsteel longsword. It was another day of killing Veletzers in the name of your King (of haense). Simply another year, another battle. Your mind swells giddy as you think of the peasant-like palace you witnessed a few days past- and you get up, bid farewell to your beautiful wife and child and exit the door, armour clad and sword in hand. You march beyond the walls, towards the Marchlands of Stassion… You march down the winding King’s road . . . You march past the torrenting winds of the River Petra . . . You stop marching, a final rest taken at the von Theonus’ castle . . . Y O U M A R C H O V E R T H E H I L L . . . “W H A T T H E F U C K .”
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