Count Joe Kürbisgärtner - Revision history

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2023-06-20T16:23:30Z

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← Older revision	Revision as of 16:23, 20 June 2023
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2023-06-18T22:11:55Z

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104.220.162.108: /* The Cycle of the Land */

2021-05-19T09:31:16Z

The Cycle of the Land

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104.220.162.108: /* The Legend */

2021-05-19T09:13:42Z

The Legend

← Older revision		Revision as of 09:13, 19 May 2021
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	When he and his crew march into battle, the old haywagon is hitched to a team of skeletal steeds. Whatever remains of Count Joe's crop is loaded into the rickety old oak vehicle and thrown at the enemies of the farm. The ill-will felt by scores of cheated laborers strengthens the frame of the wagon and passes into the plump ammunition causing pumpkin innards to wrap around men and strangle them, corn cobs to burn flesh and steel, and rhubarb to strike men with the force of a fully loosed broadhead arrow.		When he and his crew march into battle, the old haywagon is hitched to a team of skeletal steeds. Whatever remains of Count Joe's crop is loaded into the rickety old oak vehicle and thrown at the enemies of the farm. The ill-will felt by scores of cheated laborers strengthens the frame of the wagon and passes into the plump ammunition causing pumpkin innards to wrap around men and strangle them, corn cobs to burn flesh and steel, and rhubarb to strike men with the force of a fully loosed broadhead arrow.

	Count Kürbisgärtner has a special rule when it comes to stragglers and weary travelers: all can resupply and rest in the solitude that is the amber acres of his rule, but you must be courteous, polite, and provide stories to entertain the old man. Those expecting him to feed an army must prove themselves worthy of his boons. There have been many times that Dwarven and Empire soldiers have stopped by while en route to the middle lands of the Empire, their ~~waterskeins~~ dry and cheese as hard as their bread. As travelers approach the fields, their presence has already been reported by the many scarecrows that dot the landscape, each shifting slightly as if buffeted by an unseen breeze in sequence until the sound reaches the Master wherever he may be. If need be these scarecrows are capable of taking care of the more rowdy visitors by shifting on their poles to bring their poisoned talons to bear, tearing into flesh and cutting loose the bone.		Count Kürbisgärtner has a special rule when it comes to stragglers and weary travelers: all can resupply and rest in the solitude that is the amber acres of his rule, but you must be courteous, polite, and provide stories to entertain the old man. Those expecting him to feed an army must prove themselves worthy of his boons. There have been many times that Dwarven and Empire soldiers have stopped by while en route to the middle lands of the Empire, their waterskins dry and their cheese as hard as their bread. As travelers approach the fields, their presence has already been reported by the many scarecrows that dot the landscape, each shifting slightly as if buffeted by an unseen breeze in sequence until the sound reaches the Master wherever he may be. If need be these scarecrows are capable of taking care of the more rowdy visitors by shifting on their poles to bring their poisoned talons to bear, tearing into flesh and cutting loose the bone.

	When visitors arrive to the Count's humble mailbox he appears, walking through the golden stalks of wheat. Small groups of travelers are greeted by an old man in stitched trousers waving them inside the house to refill provisions and rest their weary bones. But when bands of mercenaries or armies come to his lands, they are greeted by a far different sight. Out of the tall hay he strides into the light from the starry sky above, clad in full armor and with a countenance more fiercely noble than any who had seen his former adornments could have thought possible. His ancient Blood Dragon armor is more simple in design than that of his former brothers, being made up of overlapping chestplates bordered by smoothed spaulders. A heavy skirt of leather with studs of brilliant copper covers his legs like a long kilt. While most Blood Dragons wield mighty swords of daemonic power, Joe bears an extremely heavy pitchfork on his shoulder which appears simple and elegant in design as if made by Elven crafstmen on Ulthuan. There have been times that the pitchfork has pierced through the armor of Chaos-tainted marauders and embedded into the flesh below, the unfortunate screeching in horror as their legs hardened into wood. Within moments the assailant transforms into a tree, their soul stored deep within the heartwood.		When visitors arrive to the Count's humble mailbox he appears, walking through the golden stalks of wheat. Small groups of travelers are greeted by an old man in stitched trousers waving them inside the house to refill provisions and rest their weary bones. But when bands of mercenaries or armies come to his lands, they are greeted by a far different sight. Out of the tall hay he strides into the light from the starry sky above, clad in full armor and with a countenance more fiercely noble than any who had seen his former adornments could have thought possible. His ancient Blood Dragon armor is more simple in design than that of his former brothers, being made up of overlapping chestplates bordered by smoothed spaulders. A heavy skirt of leather with studs of brilliant copper covers his legs like a long kilt. While most Blood Dragons wield mighty swords of daemonic power, Joe bears an extremely heavy pitchfork on his shoulder which appears simple and elegant in design as if made by Elven crafstmen on Ulthuan. There have been times that the pitchfork has pierced through the armor of Chaos-tainted marauders and embedded into the flesh below, the unfortunate screeching in horror as their legs hardened into wood. Within moments the assailant transforms into a tree, their soul stored deep within the heartwood.

104.220.162.108: /* The Surly Highborn */

2021-05-19T09:13:07Z

The Surly Highborn

← Older revision		Revision as of 09:13, 19 May 2021
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	==The Surly Highborn==		==The Surly Highborn==
	The High Elf sniffed in disdain at the little creaky mailbox before him, giving the stout wooden post a kick. He had heard of the Count who lived and tilled these lands, as many said he would give provisions to those worthy enough. ~~The Prince~~ looked back at his men, sucking at ~~draw water skins~~ and picking at ~~the~~ rocks with their spears in boredom. ~~The Prince, in~~ his haste to find a magical item across the lands in Bretonnia,he had not bothered with trivial things such as ''packing adequate supplies '', but his men would never know that, nor would he take the blame for their laziness and lack of will. They sat there until dusk, and then the count himself strode forth from the hushing stalks of wheat. His blood red armor ~~shown~~, almost glowing, in the night, his ~~pitch folk~~ a gleaming barb of silver resting on his shoulder. With little ceremony the ~~High Elf Prince~~ drew his sword and pointed it at the Count, putting on an air and tone of nobility.		The High Elf prince sniffed in disdain at the little creaky mailbox before him, giving the stout wooden post a kick. He had heard of the Count who lived and tilled these lands, as many said he would give provisions to those worthy enough. He looked back at his men, sucking at near-empty waterskins and picking at rocks with their spears in boredom. In his haste to find a magical item across the lands in Bretonnia, he had not bothered with trivial things such as "packing adequate supplies", but his men would never know that nor would he take the blame for their laziness and lack of will. They sat there until dusk, and then the count himself strode forth from the hushing stalks of wheat. His blood-red armor shone, almost glowing, in the night, and his pitchfork was a gleaming barb of silver resting on his shoulder. With little ceremony the prince drew his sword and pointed it at the Count, putting on an air and tone of nobility.

	~~'''~~Listen here, you abomination,~~''',~~ he began ~~'''~~My men and i need provisions and we know you have them, as well as having more than enough coin to pay our way. I will not partake in your barbaric system of dueling and demand that you let us ~~forth,~~ at ''once!'' ~~'''~~		"Listen here, you abomination," he began. "My men and I need provisions and we know you have them, as well as having more than enough coin to pay our way. I will not partake in your barbaric system of dueling and demand that you let us in your lodgings at ''once!''"

	Joe just laughed ~~at the driveling court snot before him~~, planting the butt of his ~~pitch fork~~ into the dirt.		Joe just laughed, planting the butt of his pitchfork into the dirt.

	'~~''Whats~~ the matter, little elf? Afraid that 'ole Joe will show you up in front of your men, and your titles of nobility be called in question?~~'''~~ Joe laughed heartily. ~~'''~~No one enters my lands without proving themselves worthy, and I have no use for your damned gold coins.~~'''~~		"What's the matter, little elf? Afraid that 'ole Joe will show you up in front of your men, and your titles of nobility will be called into question?" Joe laughed heartily. "No one enters my lands without proving themselves worthy, and I have no use for your damned gold coins."

	~~'''~~Oh ''please''~~.''' Said~~ the prince, waving his sword at the Count nonchalantly. ~~'''~~I would have no trouble ~~for~~ some uppity farmer who parades around as a warrior.~~'''~~		"Oh ''please''," said the prince, waving his sword at the Count nonchalantly. "I would have no trouble from some uppity farmer who parades around as a warrior."

	Joe's lips curled into a smile, his fangs gleaming pearl in the dying sun. ~~'''~~Care to make a wager, my little elf?~~'''~~		Joe's lips curled into a smile, his fangs gleaming pearl in the dying sun. "Care to make a wager, my little elf?"

	~~'''HAH~~!~~''' The Prince~~ barked. ~~'''~~ I would sooner shovel your shit field for eternity than lose to ~~your ilk~~!~~'''~~		"Hah!" the prince barked. "I would sooner shovel your shit field for eternity than lose to one like you!"

	~~'''~~Accepted~~.'''~~ said Joe quietly, and began to advance on the ~~Prince~~. The prince lunged forward with a snarl, whipping his sword about him with ~~only~~ the speed and precision of his race. What he ~~didnt~~ expect, however, was ~~the~~ vicious right hook from the Count, his iron ~~knuckle duster-esq gloves~~ cracking the Prince across his cheek. The prince fell to the ground with a cry, dropping his sword and clutching his face like a wounded child. The count slowly drew a ~~gleaming~~ dagger from his belt, ~~crusted in~~ dried blood, black ~~and dark~~ on the blade. The ~~Princes~~ men were quickly corralled by policing ~~scare crows~~, forcing them to bunch together and watch as the Count advanced on the sobbing ~~Prince~~. With little ceremony, Joe plunged the knife deep into the chest of the ~~Prince~~, the sudden howls and screams of the ~~Prince~~ filling the darkening sky. His men looked on in horror as the flesh melted from his face, still ~~screaming~~ as blood and tissue ran from his face like water. The ~~horrid~~ stench of rotting meat invaded their noses as the ~~Princes~~ exposed ~~eye balls popped~~ and ~~danced~~ on his face, until they too rotted ~~from their orbs~~ and fell to the ground. The cries cut off abruptly, and the skeleton lay there silently. The ~~Scarecrows~~ silently slid back to their posts, leaving the stunned and horrified High Elves standing alone. Not quietly, however, as the Count's attention was caught by one of them voiding their stomach. '''The town is 10 miles down the road, make it there and you can use your coins to buy food. Then go home.''' The Count told them quietly, smiling his gentle smile at them. The men quickly ran down the road, not even stopping to grab their packs, only grabbing their bows and spears. The Count looked down at the skeleton, then willed him to stand. The Skeleton responded obediently, the trapped Elven soul glowing in its empty sockets. '''Welcome to the Fields, Prince. Now start shoveling shit.'''		"Accepted," said Joe quietly, and began to advance on the prince. The prince lunged forward with a snarl, whipping his sword about him with the speed and precision of his race. What he didn't expect, however, was z vicious right hook from the Count, his iron knuckleduster glove cracking the Prince across his cheek. The prince fell to the ground with a cry, dropping his sword and clutching his face like a wounded child. The count slowly drew a dagger from his belt, dried blood crusted black on the blade. The prince's men were quickly corralled by policing scarecrows, forcing them to bunch together and watch as the Count advanced on the sobbing prince. With little ceremony, Joe plunged the knife deep into the chest of the prince, the sudden howls and screams of the elf filling the darkening sky. His men looked on in horror as the flesh melted from his face; he still screamed as blood and tissue ran from his face like water. The stench of rotting meat invaded their noses as the Prince's exposed eyeballs came free of the sockets and dangled on his face, until they too rotted and fell to the ground. The cries cut off abruptly, and the skeleton lay there silently. The scarecrows silently slid back to their posts leaving the stunned and horrified High Elves standing alone. Not quietly, however, as the Count's attention was caught by one of them voiding their stomach.

			"The town is 10 miles down the road, make it there and you can use your coins to buy food. Then go home," the Count told them quietly, smiling his gentle smile at them. The men quickly ran down the road, not even stopping to grab their packs, only grabbing their bows and spears. The Count looked down at the skeleton, then willed him to stand. The Skeleton responded obediently, the trapped Elven soul glowing in its empty sockets. "Welcome to the Fields, prince. Now start shoveling shit."

	==The Cycle of the Land==		==The Cycle of the Land==

104.220.162.108: /* The Legend */

2021-05-19T09:03:53Z

The Legend

← Older revision		Revision as of 09:03, 19 May 2021
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	The sight of the Count alone, emerging from the wheat, has caused travelers to flee in panic. Those who stay are often desperately weary and hungry, and ask the Count for food, water, and a place to sleep away their exhaustion. That is when the Count challenges the leader of the group to one-on-one combat and the travelers can earn their vittles and fresh hay to sleep on. If they fail to impress the Count, they are given directions to the town and are promptly stalked by the scarecrows to make sure they do not attempt revenge upon the fields.		The sight of the Count alone, emerging from the wheat, has caused travelers to flee in panic. Those who stay are often desperately weary and hungry, and ask the Count for food, water, and a place to sleep away their exhaustion. That is when the Count challenges the leader of the group to one-on-one combat and the travelers can earn their vittles and fresh hay to sleep on. If they fail to impress the Count, they are given directions to the town and are promptly stalked by the scarecrows to make sure they do not attempt revenge upon the fields.

	Those who are worthy enough to venture forth into the fields are lead down a dirt path. As they walk they are greeted by the sight of skeletons silently farming and tilling soil, plucking vegetables gingerly, and stacking arms upon each other to grab the ripest fruit. The skeletons are not the usual gritty specimens summoned forth by von Carsteins or Lahmians, but polished so their very bones shimmer and shine in the sunlight giving them an almost silvery appearance. Soon the Count shows his guests to the grand barn, made not of hay and wood but of of formed stone and marble, three levels high and just as long. Inside it is clean and tidy, with skeletal horses stomping and tossing false manes while in stalls. The horses show fluidity and personality, as if the '''spirit''' of the horse still finds joy in undeath. Past the stalls are the guest quarters; immaculate yet spartan racks line the walls with cloth covered hay beds in every bunk. On the opposite wall are kegs of wine, beer, water, and stacks of raw veg and fruit as high as an elf. This is where the worthy sleep and recharge to go about their journeys. Everyone from Bretonnian Knights and Dwarven Dragon Slayers to wary Witch Hunters touting droves of pilgrims have slept and gotten drunk in those halls, and all show their thanks to Joe when they leave. As they leave they always see Joe clapping a skeleton on the back and retiring to his room with the rising morning sun barely kissing the horizon		Those who are worthy enough to venture forth into the fields are lead down a dirt path. As they walk they are greeted by the sight of skeletons silently farming and tilling soil, plucking vegetables gingerly, and stacking arms upon each other to grab the ripest fruit. The skeletons are not the usual gritty specimens summoned forth by von Carsteins or Lahmians, but polished so their very bones shimmer and shine in the sunlight giving them an almost silvery appearance. Soon the Count shows his guests to the grand barn, made not of hay and wood but of of formed stone and marble, three levels high and just as long. Inside it is clean and tidy, with skeletal horses stomping and tossing false manes while in stalls. The horses show fluidity and personality, as if the '''spirit''' of the horse still finds joy in undeath. Past the stalls are the guest quarters; immaculate yet spartan racks line the walls with cloth covered hay beds in every bunk. On the opposite wall are kegs of wine, beer, water, and stacks of raw veg and fruit as high as an elf. This is where the worthy sleep and recharge to go about their journeys. Everyone from Bretonnian Knights and Dwarven Dragon Slayers to wary Witch Hunters touting droves of pilgrims have slept and gotten drunk in those halls, and all show their thanks to Joe when they leave. As they leave they always see Joe clapping a skeleton on the back and retiring to his room with the rising morning sun barely kissing the horizon.

	==The Dark Elf Incursion==		==The Dark Elf Incursion==

104.220.162.108: /* The Legend */

2021-05-19T09:03:40Z

The Legend

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104.220.162.108: /* The Dark Elf Incursion */

2021-05-19T08:54:32Z

The Dark Elf Incursion

← Older revision		Revision as of 08:54, 19 May 2021
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	The bordering town that rubs shoulders with the Many Acres has flourished from the Count's kindness. However... No other race loves healthy Empire citizens more than Dark Elves.		The bordering town that rubs shoulders with the Many Acres has flourished from the Count's kindness. However... No other race loves healthy Empire citizens more than Dark Elves.

	One fell night the Dark Elves moved into the city, dispatching the lightly armed guards with sinister efficiency. Thankfully a quick minded Patrolman threw a torch in a high arc, the flaming bundle landing within the wheat of the field that lay just within reach. The Patrolman was cut down like a ~~child~~, but his death was not in vain: A ~~scare crow~~, sensing an attack on his plot, had stalked up to the torch, wary of its burning embers. ~~The scare crow~~ cocked its head when it heard a blade being shoved through flesh, and saw the town under attack. With a startled skip, it took off down the fields to warn the count.		One fell night the Dark Elves moved into the city, dispatching the lightly armed guards with sinister efficiency. Thankfully a quick-minded Patrolman threw a torch in a high arc, the flaming bundle landing within the wheat of the field that lay just within reach. The Patrolman was cut down like a dog, but his death was not in vain: A scarecrow, sensing an attack on his plot, had stalked up to the torch, wary of its burning embers. It cocked its head when it heard a blade being shoved through flesh, and saw the town under attack. With a startled skip, it took off down the fields to warn the count.

	In the town things were looking grim~~: The~~ Dark Elves had rounded up the villagers, stripping them naked and tying them to poles for transport. Corsairs tossed babies in the air, catching them on swords while ~~foot soldiers~~ broke open kegs~~, drowning~~ the weaker men in the frothy beer. Cries and sobs echoed in he night, filling the starry air with sorrow and pain. There was however, a noise, a noise that caused the Dark Elves to stop their gleeful slaughter and look up into the quickly cooling air. Fog moved in over the walls, crawling along the ground, the ~~finger tips~~ of the Count's rage that echoed into the sky.		In the town things were looking grim; the Dark Elves had rounded up the villagers, stripping them naked and tying them to poles for transport. Corsairs tossed babies in the air, catching them on swords while footsoldiers broke open kegs and drowned the weaker men in the frothy beer. Cries and sobs echoed in he night, filling the starry air with sorrow and pain. There was however, a noise; a noise that caused the Dark Elves to stop their gleeful slaughter and look up into the quickly cooling air. Fog moved in over the walls, crawling along the ground, the fingertips of the Count's rage that echoed into the sky.

	It was abrupt~~, the first attack~~. As soon as the echo of the Count's challenge stopped, the ~~scare crows lept~~ the walls under the cover of the fog. Sentries posted on the walls cried out, but were cut abruptly short as taloned hands sliced through necks and ~~bowls~~, spraying viscera on the clean parapets ~~on the town walls~~. The veteran soldiers and common ground troops rallied to the center of the town, dropping ~~the enslaved citizenry~~ and leaving them to their doom. ~~With the scare crows bounding~~ over the walls and ~~roof tops~~, ~~they~~ quickly ~~dispatched~~ the archers in their little roosts. With this completed, the Skeletons began their advance, quietly coming out from the fog in ~~their~~ iron willed silence. The Dark Elves panicked as the Skeletons marched past the ~~tied towns folk~~, their gilded armor and mail clean and perfect, but silent, not even the softest "chink" to be heard. Then with a terrible screech the Skeletons tore into the Dark Elves, ~~their~~ scythes and swords cutting them down as if it were just another day in the field. ~~Then~~ with a challenging roar Joe came cutting in through the Skeleton's ranks, ~~smashing~~ the fork of his great weapon into the ~~spoiled Dark~~ Elves. The ~~squals~~ of ~~them~~ changing into trees over ~~matched~~ the ~~screech~~ of the Skeletons, their skin ~~gnarling~~ into wood and ~~twisting~~ painfully.		The first attack was abrupt. As soon as the echo of the Count's challenge stopped, the scarecrows leapt the walls under the cover of the fog. Sentries posted on the walls cried out, but were cut abruptly short as taloned hands sliced through necks and bowels, spraying viscera on the clean parapets. The veteran soldiers and common ground troops rallied to the center of the town, dropping their prisoners and leaving them to their doom. Scarecrows bounded over the walls and rooftops, quickly dispatching the archers in their little roosts. With this completed, the Skeletons began their advance, quietly coming out from the fog in iron-willed silence. The Dark Elves panicked as the Skeletons marched past the helpless townsfolk, their gilded armor and mail clean and perfect, but silent-- not even the softest "chink" to be heard. Then with a terrible screech the Skeletons tore into the Dark Elves, scythes and swords cutting them down as if it were just another day in the field. Finally, with a challenging roar Joe came cutting in through the Skeleton ranks, thrusting the fork of his great weapon into the Elves still standing. The squalls of Elves changing into trees could be heard over the screeching of the Skeletons as their skin gnarled into wood and limbs twisted painfully.
	~~It was then~~ the ~~Leader~~ of the Dark Elves grabbed Joe's son, placing ~~the~~ barbed sword to the young ~~boys~~ neck. Joe stared at the Elf holding his boy hostage, his ~~pitch fork~~ glowing a sharp green in the night. Then Joe smiled, flicking the ~~Pitch fork~~ into a spear position and chucking it into the throat of the Elf. His boy slipped away, running back to his mother as the Elf began to silently scream into the night.		Then the leader of the Dark Elves grabbed Joe's son, placing his barbed sword to the young boy's neck. Joe stared at the Elf holding his boy hostage, his pitchfork glowing a sharp green in the night. Then Joe smiled, flicking the pitchfork into a spear position and chucking it into the throat of the Elf. His boy slipped away, running back to his mother as the Elf began to silently scream into the night.

	As soon as it began, it was over. All that was left of the Dark Elves and the Undead warriors were ~~the blood stains~~ on the streets, and the small grove of trees in the middle of the square.		As soon as it began, it was over. All that was left of the Dark Elves and the Undead warriors were bloodstains on the streets and the small grove of trees in the middle of the square.

	==The Surly Highborn==		==The Surly Highborn==

151.49.145.212 at 16:25, 29 October 2018

2018-10-29T16:25:32Z

@@ Line 53: / Line 53: @@
 '''HAH!''' The Prince barked. ''' I would sooner shovel your shit field for eternity than lose to your ilk!'''
-'''Accepted.''' said Joe quietly, and began to advance on the Prince. The prince lunged forward with a snarl, whipping his sword about him with only the speed and precision of his race. What he didnt expect, however, was the vicious right hook from the Count, his iron knuckle duster-esq gloves cracking the Prince across his cheek. The prince fell to the ground with a cry, dropping his sword and clutching his face like a wounded child. The count slowly drew a gleaming dagger from his belt, crusted in dried blood, black and dark on the blade. The Princes men were quickly corralled by policing scare crows, forcing them to bunch together and watch as the Count advanced on the sobbing Prince. With little ceremony, Joe plunged the knife deep into the chest of the Prince, the sudden howls and screams of the Prince filling the darkening sky. His men looked on in horror as the flesh melted from his face, still screaming as blood and tissue ran from his face like water. The horrid stench of rotting meat invaded their noses as the Princes exposed eye balls popped and danced on his face, until they too rotted from their orbs and fell to the ground. The cries cut off abruptly, and the skeleton lay there silently. The Scare crows silently slid back to their posts, leaving the stunned and horrified High Elves standing alone. Not quietly, however, as the Count's attention was caught by one of them voiding their stomach. '''The town is 10 miles down the road, make it there and you can use your coins to buy food. Then go home.''' The Count told them quietly, smiling his gentle smile at them. The men quickly ran down the road, not even stopping to grab their packs, only grabbing their bows and spears. The Count looked down at the skeleton, then willed him to stand. The Skeleton responded obediently, the trapped Elven soul glowing in its empty sockets. '''Welcome to the Fields, Prince. Now start shoveling shit.'''
+'''Accepted.''' said Joe quietly, and began to advance on the Prince. The prince lunged forward with a snarl, whipping his sword about him with only the speed and precision of his race. What he didnt expect, however, was the vicious right hook from the Count, his iron knuckle duster-esq gloves cracking the Prince across his cheek. The prince fell to the ground with a cry, dropping his sword and clutching his face like a wounded child. The count slowly drew a gleaming dagger from his belt, crusted in dried blood, black and dark on the blade. The Princes men were quickly corralled by policing scare crows, forcing them to bunch together and watch as the Count advanced on the sobbing Prince. With little ceremony, Joe plunged the knife deep into the chest of the Prince, the sudden howls and screams of the Prince filling the darkening sky. His men looked on in horror as the flesh melted from his face, still screaming as blood and tissue ran from his face like water. The horrid stench of rotting meat invaded their noses as the Princes exposed eye balls popped and danced on his face, until they too rotted from their orbs and fell to the ground. The cries cut off abruptly, and the skeleton lay there silently. The Scarecrows silently slid back to their posts, leaving the stunned and horrified High Elves standing alone. Not quietly, however, as the Count's attention was caught by one of them voiding their stomach. '''The town is 10 miles down the road, make it there and you can use your coins to buy food. Then go home.''' The Count told them quietly, smiling his gentle smile at them. The men quickly ran down the road, not even stopping to grab their packs, only grabbing their bows and spears. The Count looked down at the skeleton, then willed him to stand. The Skeleton responded obediently, the trapped Elven soul glowing in its empty sockets. '''Welcome to the Fields, Prince. Now start shoveling shit.'''
 [[Category: Warhammer Fantasy]] [[Category: Vampire Counts]] [[Category: Stories]]

1d4chan>Thannak at 20:56, 28 September 2016

2016-09-28T20:56:42Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 20:56, 28 September 2016
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	A /tg/ OC for [[Warhammer Fantasy]] designed to work as a ~~battlescroll~~.		A /tg/ OC for [[Warhammer Fantasy]] designed to work as a [[Battlescroll]].
	==The Legend==		==The Legend==
	Count Joe Kürbisgärtner appears as weathered old farmer dressed in overalls and a hat.		Count Joe Kürbisgärtner appears as weathered old farmer dressed in overalls and a hat.