Chapter 3: The Battle of Vizcaya

No pasaran. They will not pass. This was the rallying cry of the remaining Estalian defenders in Vizcaya. They had seen the suffering brought about at the hands of the greenskin victory at Irrana Pass. Resolute in their determination to hold back the invaders, they resolved to not allow the enemy horde one more inch of Estalian soil. So it was that their oath would be tested, and the price of its fulfillment to be paid in hard-fighting and blood. Beyond this gruesome cost, however, the Estalian nation stood to lose not only more of its fair sons in battle, but also its fortune and lands. The survival of the newly unified kingdom stood in the balance as the sun rose on the fields south of Vizcaya. One thought pervaded all armies preparing for battle: what would the price of victory be?

Dust gathers on the horizon, as the greenskin horde storm up along the Ranapierna River on their way to the outskirts of Vizcaya. The defenders watch on, emboldened by the presence of an Estalian mage and the promise of Bretonnian reinforcements coming from the east.

The greenskins had the simplest objective: smash the defenses around Vizcaya and keep the war going. The war-bosses knew that victory at the town would mean the beginnings of a mighty Waaagh!, an amalgamation of every orc, goblin, and beast for hundreds of miles. Eager and blood-thirsty warriors would flock to the banner of the Bad Moonz if the tribe could prove their worth at Vizcaya. Failure meant an end to weeks of pillaging and raiding, something the greenskins loathed to think of. No raiding meant no killing, and no killing meant no blood. Blood-sport and "teef collectin'" were at the cornerstone of greenskin "economics" -- they needed to keep fighting and, more importantly, winning.

Meanwhile, the human forces had a much more difficult task ahead of them. The town had to be held with only a paltry force, composed almost entirely of survivors from the battle at Irrana Pass and levies conscripted from the neighboring regional capital of Bilbali. The defenders' only hope was the promise of Bretonnian reinforcements that were on their way from the east in Brionne. The sole reinforcement provided by the Estalian army was a bright wizard, well versed in the lore of fire, named Ignacio Brillante. Upon his arrival, Brillante was immediately entrusted with commanding the remaining troops and Tilean mercenaries that defended Vizcaya. His response was measured, for he didn't want to disappoint his comrades -- they were depending on him after all. Still, he knew he wasn't an army commander. Brillante was sent to Vizcaya to reinforce the town's defense, not lead the soldiers there. Still, no other commanders remained. It was up to him to keep the barricades intact and hold back the bestial invader.

The greenskin horde had grown once more since Irrana Pass. Many local orc and goblin tribes saw the advantages of forming a great Waaagh! to conquer the Estalian nation -- the wealth from such a conquest would be immeasurable. 

Yet, just as the greenskin horde formed up and began their preparations to march forward, equally large clouds of dirt and dust were kicked up from the east. The Bretonnians, under the leadership of Sir Robert, had arrived. With him, he brought a large contingent of knights of the realm, bolstered by a motley crew of men-at-arms and peasant bowmen. It was clear that the Bretonnian lords on horseback would have the honor of taking the field, sweeping along the open country and smashing into the greenskin flank. At least, this was the plan. The reality was that the Bretonnians still had a way to go, riding along some hilly terrain before they could finally arrive at the outskirts of Vizcaya. In the meantime, it would be up to Brillante's garrison to hold out until the knights arrived. Thus, the wizard ordered for his rangers to hold the sides of the entryway into town, with this contingent composed of some hand-gunners and a company of mercenary crossbowmen known as Petrocelli's Valiants. The Valiants had survived the battle at Irrana Pass, and they were eager once more to face the savage enemy again in battle. To the front, Tilean cannon and pikemen, led by one Captain Fredo, were to hold the main road into town alongside Brillante himself. The stage was set and the battle for Vizcaya began in earnest.

The Bretonnian reinforcements, led by Sir Robert and his retinue, charged up the hilly terrain overlooking Vizcaya in the west. Although the Estalian and Tilean defenders could see their allies in the distance, the Bretonnians still had a long way to go before they could close the distance with the greenskin invaders.

Seeing the situation unfolding in favor of the greenskins, Sir Robert shouted for his cavalry to move in quickly. They had to charge in as soon as possible if they had any hope of supporting the Estalian defenders. Yet, they delayed. Some of the peasants in the Bretonnian contingent had gorged themselves during foraging runs, while others were struck by the sight of the greenskin host. With fear, confusion, and mild hesitation running wild among the ranks, Sir Robert found that moving his peasant levies was going to be a hard task. His knights were also reluctant not out of fear, but rather out of so-called "chivalry" and "rules of war" -- they weren't going to act like savages, charging in wildly into the fray. No. They elected to wait, holding their position near the hill until it was the right moment to strike. In every possible way, Sir Robert found that his troops were simply going to take a while to get to Vizcaya. It seemed the defenders were going to be on their own for most of the day.

It was a stroke of good fortune that the local count of Bilbali, Señor Rivera, sent a contingent of his guard to assist the besieged troops at Vizcaya. They weren't expected to arrive for at least another day, but good roads and speedy mounts allowed them get to the battlefield much earlier than anticipated.

As the Estalian and Tilean troops in town hunkered down, though, a group of mounted guardsmen arrived on the field from the north. Swiftly, they took up positions along the eastern end of town, identifying themselves to the garrison as royal guardsmen in service to the local count of Bilbali, one Señor Juan Rivera. The sight of Rivera's guard was one to behold, especially considering the delays the Bretonnians were experiencing on their side of the field. Even though they were still outnumbered, the odds of survival seemed to increase just ever so slightly. Once the greenskins were in range, Brillante, emboldened by new reinforcements and a fiery vigor in his heart, ordered for the Tilean cannons and crossbowmen to open fire on the enemy to the south. Volley of shot and bolt rained down upon the foe, harassing their advance all the way up to the edge of town. The cannon focused on the mighty giant stomping along the main path, while the crossbows elected to aim at the enemy skirmishers and infantry instead. The initial waves of missile fire did not do much to the greenskins, but slowly the rangers zeroed in on their targets.

"Sparare il cannone!" The Tilean cannon crews let fly their volleys of shot, as they explode all around the horde's mighty giant.

Even under withering cannon fire, the orcs cared little for the consequences of human volley fire. As the giant lagged behind, the mainline infantry charged across the open fields and made a beeline path for the town's defenses. All that stood between the greenskin horde and the human defenders were some meters of flatland and a hastily-erected barricade made of crates, wagon wheels, sandbags, and ruined furniture from nearby houses. There was no way that the few defenders in Vizcaya could hope to meet the orcs in melee, thus they resolved to do all they could to weaken them as they approached. As the greenskins sprinted forward, their skirmishers, composed mostly of goblin archers and javelins, let fly volley after volley of arrow fire into the defenders. A few poison-tipped missiles found their mark, injuring Brillante and his compatriots. Still, even under this sporadic barrage, Brillante procured his tome and prepared to cast a mighty, fiery tempest at his enemies. "Infernis tempestus!" he shouted, as a gout of flame exploded from his hands and towards the advancing orc warband.

"That dere humie is blastin' us apart!" Although wounded, Ignacio Brillante, a bright wizard in service to the Estalian Magus Conclave, fights on during the defense of Vizcaya. He unleashes a spout of fire towards his foes, disordering the already-battered orc warriors.

However, Brillante's spell-cast and Tilean cannon fire were still not enough. The orcs pressed on, equal parts bravery and savagery driving them forth. Local town militia commanders ran from one end of town to the other, informing the defending garrison of how the battle was proceeding. With the Bretonnians still held up on the flanks, they called upon the Valiants to re-position and begin firing their crossbows once again into the greenskin skirmishers. Yet, just as the orders were dispatched, an orc shaman ran up to the front, casting all sorts of hexes on the Valiants. Petrocelli's "orphans," as they were known, were stunned, as bright lights and haunting roars disordered them and left them in disarray. They did their best to get back in good order, but the shaman's spell-cast was just too strong. The Valiants, now distracted and virtually useless, had to be reinforced. Brillante ordered for the count's guard, that mighty royal cavalry, to charge into the fray and disrupt the enemy's advance. The guardsmen knew what this meant: they would die in the process. Still, accepting their fate, they boldly advanced towards the greenskin line and smashed into the skirmishers and infantry that formed the first wave charging into Vizcaya.

"A la carga! Viva Estalia!" The royal guard cavalry charge into the middle of the greenskin line, seeking to disrupt their advance into Vizcaya. Goblin arrow fire and orc infantry slowly cut their way through the human cavalry, scattering the remains of the Estalian charge within the hour.

Within the hour, the royal guardsmen tore a large gap through the greenskin line. However, the goblins regrouped behind the orc infantry, firing upon the Estalian cavalry and slowly whittling away at their numbers. Immediately after these volleys, orc infantry, brandishing axes and maces, charged in and cut a bloody swathe through the remaining guardsmen. Those that survived fled the field, while the remainder put up a last stand before being cut down. Once more, the path to Vizcaya lay open. The Bretonnians had by now engaged the greenskin flank, but their main forces were still some time away from the center of the fighting. With the way clear, orc warbands charged into the palisades and barricades, tearing them apart and rushing towards the town center. If the main plaza could be taken, then the defenders would surely fall. Brillante knew this could not happen. Even if it cost him his life, the sight of orcs pillaging and burning the town's outskirts would cause a chain reaction all throughout the line. So, with this in mind, he ordered for the remaining gunners and Tilean pikemen to establish a new defense inside of the town, commanding them to hold the enemy back at the breach.

"Disparen!" The Estalian gunners line up, although disordered, and attempt to fire another volley into the breach, trying to slow down the advancing orc warriors. Unfettered by the paltry defenses put up by the town defenders, the greenskins charge in and slaughter all those in their path.

The gunners on the far side of the town could not hold. Even though they had an excellent killing field, as the breach narrowed between the base of a rocky hill and the town itself, a small detachment of greenskins pushed through and threatened to storm the plaza. Quickly, Captain Fredo was ordered to plug the gap with his pikemen. He marched them into position, formed up the famed phalanx, and held his ground best he could. Yet, something overcame the seasoned Tilean mercenary. As Fredo witnessed the onslaught of the orc foe, he realized that the battle was lost: the enemy had breached their defenses, the Bretonnians were still a ways away, and the center was also in jeopardy. He and his men were surrounded. The final nail in the coffin was a ghastly sight he saw occur at the end of town. In the distance, he saw Brillante himself, the brave mage commander of the town's defense, be overwhelmed by a troop of orc infantry. As the orcs were repelled by savage cannon fire and some of Brillante's own sword-work, the mage stumbled back, bleeding heavily from his lips and side. A few soldiers ran to aid him, setting him down at the foot of a nearby tavern. There, Brillante gave his final orders -- that same rallying cry that had kept them going thus far: "No los dejen pasar." Do not let them pass. And then, at once, all hell broke loose.

Captain Fredo's Fighters hold the line, establishing a pike phalanx and attempting to hold back the greenskin advance on the far side of town. Yet, as the battle carried on, Fredo felt a great uncertainty in his heart. Could the defenders truly hold out until the Bretonnians arrived?

Severely wounded during the battle, Ignacio Brillante, mage-commander of the defense garrison, utters his last words before passing out from his wounds. Defeated and worn out, the tired mage is carted off to the rear lines. With no commander, what could the Estalians and Tileans hope to do now?

First, Captain Fredo called for a retreat of his fighters, believing the battle lost. Local militiamen tried to encourage him to stay, even offering up their own personal fortunes in recompense, but still he would not listen. The defenses had fallen.

"Cobarde -- coward! Get back in there and fight! It's in your contract, damn it!" Militiamen try to force Fredo's Fighters to head back to the front but, alas, to no success. Captain Fredo routs from the field!

With Fredo's retreat and the loss of Brillante, a lone soldier, whose name is lost to history, approached a nearby royal guardsman. Quickly, the soldier picked up a nearby Estalian banner, holding it aloft as the guardsmen ordered for the man to report in on the status of Vizcaya's defense. "Vizcaya is in danger of falling -- run to the Bretonnians, and urge them to send troops now! We cannot hope to hold them back any longer!" The guardsman nodded, and then replied swiftly, "Then godspeed, soldier, and pray to Myrmidia the day can still be won!" With that, the guardsman rode off to the east, seeking to inform their Bretonnian allies of the dire state Vizcaya was in. On his way to the flank, he saw that the town was worse off than he initially believed. From his horse, he observed that Petrocelli's crossbows were now routing as well, having seen Captain Fredo do the same. "Damn Tileans," murmured the guardsman, "They only ever think of coin!"

A lone soldier, now bearing the banner of Estalia and his regiment, informs an inquiring guardsmen of the town's status. Calling for the Bretonnians to rush to the town's aid, the guardsmen gallops off to the east in search of reinforcements.

Some time later, the guardsman arrived at the Bretonnian flank. He was summoned to appear before Sir Robert, who commanded his contingent from the top of a nearby hill. "M'lord," shouted the Estalian guardsman, "The town of Vizcaya is in grave danger! They ask that you send troops to help secure the plaza at once!" Sir Robert cackled, replying, "My good man, this battle shall be won, I assure you. Why, the greenskin savages have fallen right into my trap!" The guardsmen cocked his head to the side, confused. Sir Robert then proceeded, explaining, "You see, I have tricked the greenskins into thinking they have secured victory. Now, I shall order my troops in and crush the foe as they celebrate their premature victory!"

"M'lord, with all due respect, your troops have been slow in the advance -- and you only wait to attack until after the defenders have fallen? How could you throw precious lives away like this!?"

"Estalian," replied the brash Sir Robert, "Be grateful our soldiers are here at all. Now, stand aside, and let us Bretonnians show you the true meaning of gallantry!" Sir Robert then strode off, overseeing the deployment of his troops. The guardsman, struck by Sir Robert's nature, rode west to send word to Bilbali. Meanwhile, back in the town itself, the remaining defenders rallied around the last troops still standing: a small contingent of cannon crew, still manning their Tilean organ gun. They moved it into position quickly, having swung it about and aimed it at the charging greenskins. "Hold, hold . . ." ordered the chief gunner, lining up the shot just right, "Fire!" The cannon let loose a fiery plume of shot and shrapnel, enveloping the orc warband and causing them to fall into disorder. Yet, even these brave gunners stood little chance, for goblin skirmishers ran up from the south and began to pelt them with arrow fire. Eventually, they too fell back, wounded or dying as a result of the endless missile volleys. For all intents and purposes, Vizcaya was undefended. Yet, in the distance, a miraculous sight -- almost as if mighty Myrmidia herself had ridden down from the heavens to aid her people.

"Let them have it!" Tilean cannon crews open fire with their organ gun, ripping into the flesh and bones of the charging greenskins.

"For the Lady of the Lake!" The Bretonnians charge from the hills and make their way into the heart of Vizcaya's outskirts.

The Bretonnians charged. A mighty war-horn called for the attack, as the knightly orders lowered their lances and prepared to clash into the greenskin flank. The ensuing melee was a bloody one, suffice it to say. The second wave of greenskins, composed mostly of heavy infantry and skirmishers, held on for dear life in the face of the cavalry assault. Although the Bretonnians had been slow on the draw, when their attack finally came it did so with the ferocity of a mighty tempest of flesh and steel. Yet, not all fronts of the charge were met with success. For instance, as one of the contingents arrived to try and aid the fleeing Tilean crossbowmen, the same shaman that had disordered them turned instead to face the oncoming Bretonnian knights. With another hex cast, the image of a magical chicken was conjured up. For some reason, one of the knights was allured by this rooster, electing to break formation to go chase after it. Elsewhere, other mounted knights were slain by heavy axes or poisoned arrows, their armored bodies tumbling off their horses and crashing down to the rocky earth below. But, for the most part, the charge was successful in weakening the remaining greenskins. However, there was still the problem of securing the town.

"Let me at 'em boss! Dese humies don't know what's comin'!" Once more, the cunning night goblin "Shifty" prepares his bow to fire upon his next victim: a trio of Bretonnian knights.

"Sacré bleu! A holy chicken! Men, we must capture!" As the Bretonnian knights charge into the fray, an orc shaman casts a hex on one of the mounted contingents. A bewitched knight, now believing the magical chicken is holy, charges after it. He was swiftly demoted after the battle for his poor conduct.

Swiftly, a group of Bretonnian men-at-arms ran towards the town, able to see that the greenskins had managed to penetrate the outer defenses. An Estalian militiaman, along with the lone banner-man, sprinted towards and quickly directed them to take up defensive positions inside the plaza. Once there, goblin archers once more pelted the soldiers. However, these reinforcing Bretonnian footmen were fresh and rested. Although they did take some casualties, their spirits were high and their armor and weapons still clean and ready for battle. The remaining orcs in the town sought to engage the Bretonnian footmen, but many lost heart and quickly retreated in the face of enemy reinforcements. Meanwhile, the greenskins on the outskirts of the town were too caught up fighting with the Bretonnian knights, as the greenskin reserves were compromised by the charge. Although a good number of the greenskin forces were still eager to have at it, the war-bosses saw what way the wind was blowing: the Bretonnians had successfully reinforced the town, and they didn't have the warriors necessary to take it. Within the hour, the remaining goblins and orcs began a fighting withdrawal, as the Bretonnians chased them back to the Irrana Mountains.

Vizcaya was safe.

"Vamos -- let's go! Get in there, men!" Bretonnian footmen arrive on the scene, as Estalian militiamen encourage them to charge into the plaza. Swiftly, the reinforcing men-at-arms rush to secure the town center, thus discouraging the remaining greenskin invaders.

Victory at Vizcaya came at a great cost however, especially for the Estalians and Tileans. All the remaining defenders from the battle at Irrana Pass were slaughtered or retreated, leaving only the Bretonnians to come reinforce the town's defenses. The knights felt content with their duty, believing that they had once again saved their fellow neighbors to the south. The levy infantry, although happy that they had survived the battle, found that the Estalian town provided an excellent opportunity for personal gain. After all, there were barely any defenders left to oppose a few instances of looting or, as they called it, 'foraging' and 'recompense' for a job well done. The knights were too busy chasing the greenskins from the field to care, and the remaining Estalian militia were too weak to do anything. Thus, the Bretonnian soldiers took whatever worthwhile trinket they could find to bring back to their villages in Brionne, elated that their involvement in the battle was over.

"By Myrmidia . . ." An Estalian guardsmen watches the Bretonnians chase off the remaining greenskins, while footmen loot the homes and churches around the outskirts of Vizcaya. Unable to put up any resistance, the Estalians can only stand by and see their already embattled town suffer at the hands of impoverished levies seeking to bring back some fortune to their squalid villages in Brionne.

Still, even as looting went on into the night, the greenskins were defeated. Although defeat for the orcs and goblins meant that the promise of a Waaagh! would not come to be, this did not mean that the greenskins were no longer a threat. It only meant they were weakened, relegated to raiding the mountains once more and unable to storm the lowlands as they had done some weeks ago. With the threat of a greenskin invasion dealt with, news of the victory at Vizcaya was spread throughout the peninsula. Upon arriving at Magritta, messengers were received at King Esteban's court, informing the Estalian king of the battle's conclusion. The king was both ecstatic and concerned. On one hand, the greenskins were driven back -- they'd be relegated to banditry and minor raids, as they had been in the past. This, he thought, he could easily handle. On the other hand, there was the problem of dealing with the aftermath of the invasion in terms of diplomacy and economy. The good king had spent much in ensuring the survival of his people. There were the Tileans to pay and the Bretonnians to offer favorable treaties to, not to mention his own lords and ladies who were still bitter at the cost of the whole affair in terms of lives, land, and coin.

Esteban needed a solution, lest he find himself facing the end of an assassin's dagger, sent there by a disgruntled nobleman or an angry Tilean prince. As he pondered his options, Myrmidia seemed to smile upon him again that day with a blessing -- or, at least, what seemed like one initially. His would-be salvation came at the hands of a man who arrived at court a few days after the conclusion of the battle of Vizcaya. He was dressed in wonderfully flamboyant clothing, adorned in fine silks and leathers from head to toe. Bearing a satchel full of books and a globe of the world in his hand, he sought to meet with King Esteban as soon as possible, bringing news he thought the king of Estalia would enjoy hearing given his present circumstances. It was no secret that King Esteban was struggling to finance the war against the greenskins, and this fellow reckoned he had the perfect solution.

The solution to King Esteban's woes, it seems, would lie on the other side of the globe . . .

His name was Marco Colombo, and he was about to lead the way in discovering the New World.

Chapter 2: A Complex Alliance

It was not so much that Bretonnia and Estalia had any sort of bad blood between them, for the two nations arguably had a generally stable relationship overall throughout their shared histories, but that the timing of a call to arms by Estalia could not have been more poorly timed. In recent decades, the knightly orders of Bretonnia had ridden alongside similar orders and brotherhoods hailing from the Empire in the east during a crusade that sought to oust Sultan Jaffar and his Arabic armies from Estalia. Bretonnia and the Empire helped liberate Estalia from Jaffar's control, leading to the successful completion of the Reconquista and the beginnings of Estalian reunification under the Kingdom of Astarios. In short, the Estalians had much to be grateful for, and King Esteban worried that he was about to push his luck by seeking out his Bretonnian neighbors for a second time.

A Bretonnian army, charging into battle against their foes. Supported by Pegasus knights and armored riders, princely hosts like these are a sight to behold on any field.

Following the conclusion of the Reconquista, the Bretonnians were granted several privileges as a result of their aid during the crusades: the realms of Bretonnia, particularly the provinces of Carcassone, Quenelles, and Brionne, all enjoyed favorable trade with Estalia and some payment by way of goods and coin to the knightly orders -- these, of course, were marked as 'donations' by the Bretonnian orders. However, these treaties did not include clauses regarding defensive alliances, thus the Bretonnian lords and ladies were not compelled to aid Estalia a second time. Instead, it would be entirely up to King Esteban and his company of envoys to convince many of the same knightly orders to ride out again in defense of the south. Still, while calling on the Bretonnian orders was turning out to be a difficult endeavor, the alternatives seemed much worse in comparison. Estalia either ran itself further into debt with its primary rival in Tilea by hiring more expensive mercenary companies or the Crown risked angering the already upset nobles that governed the many provinces of the newfound kingdom. In short, calling on Bretonnia would be tricky, but it was the only real option available. With the greenskin hordes preparing to assault Vizcaya, time was of the essence too.

With the fall of Azuara in the north, the Bad Moonz horde advances further along the river Ranapierna and up to the coast. Estalian forces rush from Bilbali to aid in the defense of Vizcaya and the Feroz Hills. Tilean mercenaries are dispatched as well to reinforce the defense of the northern regions, with hopes of further support from the Bretonnian knightly orders in Brionne.

Messengers were dispatched just days after the fall of Azuara to the major keeps and cities in Bretonnia, principally Brionne for it was the closest to the front lines. Upon arrival, the Estalian envoys were met great revelry -- surely, many thought, Bretonnia's friends in the south were coming to negotiate new trade treaties or mercenary contracts. However, upon hearing of Estalia's newest plight and their request for aid, many lords and ladies in the court of Brionne immediately turned dour and angry. Again, they thought. Here they are again with the same troubles as only a few decades ago. Yet, as the Estalians grew saddened at the response, a few young knights and champions stepped forward, emboldened by the thought of adventure. "We shall bring salvation to the war-stricken peninsula," shouted one of them, sporting flowing auburn hair and piercing green eyes, "And with it, glory to our orders!" This knight, Sir Robert of House Cousland, declared that the Order of the White Pegasus, a local knightly chapter of Brionne, would sponsor a campaign to the southlands. Although still in his younger years, many knights and paladins saw Sir Robert as a man of great moral virtue and strength. Immediately, three other orders banded underneath him, increasing his host into the Hundreds. Furthermore, these knights could depend on the drafting of levies from their local lands. From hundreds came thousands.

Sir Robert's army mirrored the standard deployment of most Bretonnian hosts: a small core of well-trained heavy cavalry and a large contingent of levy infantry, mainly spearmen and archers, in support. War machines, like trebuchets, were only summoned during sieges or larger field battles.

Sir Robert wasted no time in supplying his army and marching them south with all due haste. He was not alone in this endeavor, as a local lady heard of his intent to march south and decided it prudent to serve as his patron. This lady, Sabina d'Roussel, sponsored Sir Robert's campaign, expecting great prestige and fortune should the young Bretonnian knight be successful in his quest. Meanwhile, the greenskin warbands also sharpened their axes and readied themselves for battle. The war-bosses had spent the week looting and pillaging the surrounding countryside, but the call to battle sounded out from the Irrana Mountains once more. The orcs, goblins, and beasts were all brought into line and rounded up for another major offensive, this time on the town of Vizcaya. It was here that the remaining Estalian and Tilean troops had fled to and, furthermore, where all the reinforcements from neighboring Bilbali and Brionne were assembling. Vizcaya was by no means a well-fortified town, featuring only a make-shift palisade and some freshly dug trenches. Still, the town was now the impromptu rallying point for the human armies. They would hold here or risk letting the greenskins run rampant throughout the northern counties.

Estalia, Tilea, and now Bretonnia all marshaled their forces in preparation of the confrontation. The greenskins wasted no time either, assembling on the rocky fields to the south of the fortified town. The objective was clear as the morning rose on that fateful midsummer's day. The town of Vizcaya would hold the key to victory for either side -- it was the line in the sand.

At the base of Irrana Mountains, the greenskin horde assembled their war camps. Orc, goblin, and beastman alike all assembled there in preparation for the campaign in northern Estalia. The fires of neighboring Estalian villages joined those of the scattered camps, lighting up the night sky. Those very same fires could be seen from Vizcaya in the north, striking fear and worry into the hearts of the Estalian and Tilean defenders.

Chapter 1: Battle of Irrana Pass

Standing Against the Barbarians, a painting of the Battle of Irrana Pass by Tilean artist Giovanni de Luccini.

Irrana Pass should have been the decisive moment for the reunification of Estalia. Unfortunately, as luck would have it, the greenskin armies that assembled in the northern part of the country managed to fight the combined army of Estalian soldiers and Tilean mercenaries to a bloody defeat. Both sides took great casualties during the battle, but the writing on the wall was clear: orc, goblin, and beast alike had now blasted open the gates into Estalia. The stability of the newly unified country stood in jeopardy, and with it the authority of Estalia's monarchy, economy, and armies.

A map of Estalia, outlining the movement of the armies on campaign. The green arrow stands for the Tilean mercenary force that docked at Tobaro and marched inland to Magritta. Upon arrival there, the Estalian army, indicated by the red arrow, headed north to be reinforced by regiments from Bilbali and Alquézaro. The greenskin horde, led by the Bad Moonz clan, indicated by the yellow arrow, marched through the Irrana Mountains and fielded their force near the town of Azuara.

It was early in midsummer when the Tilean mercenaries arrived from the city-state of Miragliano, docking at the Estalian town of Tobaro off the eastern cost. The Tileans, led by Captain General Frangazzini, hosted a full regiment of multiple mercenary lances, each with their own unique character. Frangazzini had appointed Lord Barzini, a close friend and capable mercenary commander, to lead his host to battle in the northlands. Under Barzini's host, he commanded forces such as Petrocelli's Valiants, a company of street urchins recruited by the wealthy Madame Petrocelli de Verezzo, and Tessio's Firebrands, a lance of bastard sons seeking to do away with their rotten reputation back in their home cities. Lord Barzini grouped up with Señor Rogelio, Marshal of the recently formed Estalian royal army. Rogelio and Barzini butted heads almost immediately, for the feud between the Estalian kingdoms and the Tilean city-states did not end with this joint venture. Still, they were both capable commanders, even if their pride got in the way of some matters.

Nevertheless, both forces arrived intact to the field of battle. While there is no single Irrana Pass, the Irrana Mountains contained only two major passages in the north and the south. The greenskin horde decided to march north, thinking that the northern territories would be easier pickings than the well-fortified homelands in the south near the capital at Magritta. Thus, on the rocky fields just north of the small village of Azuara, the forces of man and beast met to fight out the first major confrontation of the greenskin invasion.

The armies arrayed for battle on the fields just beyond the Irrana Pass. To the north, the Estalian and Tilean armies assemble. Just south of them, the greenskin horde marches north to meet them.

Rogelio, standing in as the field commander for the human armies, instructed Barzini to form up to the army's left, while a small contingent of infantry helped the Estalian forces hold the center and right. Barzini protested this decision mildly, but was later counseled by his mercenary captains to surrender the point. After all, the Tileans wanted to still be alive so that they may enjoy their payment. Barzini may have been prideful, but he knew that his men would enjoy the prospect of holding the flank as opposed to being in the thick of the fighting. Besides, Rogelio's hubris was his honor-bound duty to the Estalian nation; he wanted to be in the middle, fighting off the greenskins at sword point.

Waaagh! The greenskin horde, featuring orcs, giants, and goblins all assembled at the end of Irrana Pass. Before them lay the combined forces of Estalia and Tilea. Rocky and hilly terrain stood in their path.

Meanwhile, the greenskins took very little care in assembling their forces. Whatever strategy there was, it only went as far as considering where the break in the human line would occur. They worried not on what specific portion of the defense fell, so long as one did. To this end, the war-bosses and chiefs spread out their bands evenly. On the greenskin right, a giant and a force of elite riders prepared to break the human left; opposite of them on the left, a group of skirmishers and heavy riders also prepared to crush the human right. The center was a mass of infantry, ranging from orcs armed with axes and maces to goblins brandishing daggers and bows. While it was not much to look at in terms of tactical prowess, the horde instilled fear in the hearts of even the most seasoned campaigners.

The human and greenskin armies assembled, facing one another. In the center, a large hill blocked the field. To the side of it, a small temple to Myrmidia blocked the right flank. To the left, a road leading to a set of ruins, held by the greenskins. Rocky ground filled the left side of the battlefield, with the Tilean mercenaries using this to their advantage.

The human armies take the first move, with the Estalians pressing the center and right, while the Tileans slowly advance on the left. The Estalians sought to hold the central hill, while the Tileans aimed to block the road leading north. The greenskins sent their scouts in response, as goblin archers let loose a devastating volley near the hill.

With the armies laid out in full array, Rogelio commanded the human force to march forward at quick speed. The Estalian regiments ran towards the hill in the center quickly, moving to fortify it and use it as a vantage point. Meanwhile, the Tileans were slow on the move. Barzini became comfortable with his position, with his captains choosing to re-position here and there as opposed to committing to the advance order in earnest. Still, the humans were on the move, and the greenskins chose to wait before charging down to the lowlands below. The war-bosses elected instead to order their skirmishes forward. A band of goblin archers streamed through the lines, shouting all sort of curses and taunts as they went. The archers took up positions, aimed, and let loose a volley of arrows at the Estalian positions on the hill. The result was not pretty.

The demoralized rodeleros, fleeing behind the cover of the hill in a desperate effort to find cover from the goblin arrows.

Immediately, goblin arrows began to hit a contingent of rodeleros, or Estalian swordsmen bearing round shields, and forced them to fall back in disorder to the bottom of the hill. The sergeant of this company had great trouble in getting his men back in fighting condition, for many began to suffer from great pains even after the removal of the arrows from their bodies by field physicians. As men turned blue and blood trickled from their lips, the troops discovered the goblins had poisoned their missiles! Immediately, the gap had to be filled by another company, diverting precious resources from other sections of the line.

"Fuego!" Estalian gunners, aiming towards the goblin skirmishers to their front, open fire in the hopes of scaring them off.

On the right, things weren't looking any better. Estalian hand-gunners marched forward alongside a contingent of tercio pikemen, skilled soldiers wearing heavy plate and carrying long pikes in phalanx formation. The gunners quickly took aim at the skirmishing goblin archers, firing off a few volleys with limited success. Principally, however, the Estalians sent forward their most powerful weapon towards the center to drive off the goblin skirmishers: a steam tank. The Empire was not the only nation capable of fielding these beasts of metal and smoke, for Tilean engineers had sold the designs to inquisitive and equally wealthy Estalian lords in the east. Soon, the Estalians had created a small corps of these machines, although nowhere near as large as their Imperial counterparts in the north. Regardless, the steam tank charged through and began to push back the skirmishers, relieving some pressure off the defenders on the hill. Unfortunately, in the midst of it all, a stray volley of goblin arrows managed to land near the cannon emplacements atop the hill. The Estalian powder stores caught alight, resulting in a catastrophic explosion that destroyed the gun battery.

"Santa Myrmidia!" An explosion rocks the top of the hill, as the Estalian gun battery is blasted apart by goblin arrow fire.

However, this marked only the first great loss the Estalians would suffer to their precious war machines. Back towards the center, the steam tank prepared to charge once more towards a weakened contingent of goblin archers. As fate would have it, only one sole goblin remained. The beast trembled in fear, deciding it was best to go out fighting. Steeling his nerves, the goblin drew his bow, aimed a fire arrow at the tank, and let loose. The missile shrieked through the air, landed near the rear boilers, and set the entire contraption alight. A terrifying display of fire and smoke belched from the land ship, as its crew leaped from the iron carcass and ran for cover. The goblin cackled aloud, taunting the troops on the far side of the field. Two machines had fallen, and the battle had barely begun!

"I hope dis workz!" A lone goblin archer lets loose a fire arrow, precisely striking the exposed boilers towards the back of the mechanical contraption. With that, the mighty behemoth explodes into a fiery display of flame and smoke.

The left, thankfully, held strong for the moment. Although the Tileans were generally slow on the draw, their troops did eventually make it up to the battle line, reinforced by local militia levies from nearby Estalian villages and towns. Tilean dragoons, which were mounted marksmen on speedy stallions, rode up to the front and began to pepper the orc riders with accurate crossbow fire. This allotted the gun crews enough time to move forward, setting up their cannon and beginning the bombardment. In tow, Tilean crossbows joined in the missile fire, letting loose volley after volley towards the greenskin right. Finally, although taking his time to arrive, Barzini's host rode to the front and prepared to make a charge against the now-weakened orc flank.

For the most part, the human left, led primarily by Lord Barzini and his Tilean mercenaries, held well against the greenskin advance.

But before the attack could begin, the orc warband summoned forth their mighty giant, supported on either side by savage and bellicose orc infantry. Only a small detachment could be spared to halt this advance, and the responsibility for the completion of this task fell upon Sollozzo's Blades, a brutal but efficient company of Tilean halberdiers and swordsmen. They approached the giant, unwavering and fearless. A brief battle ensued, followed by a volley of Estalian gunfire, leaving both parties badly bloodied. Yet, in the end, the giant succumbed to its wounds suffered at the hands of pike and shot, collapsing to the rocky earth below and leaving a trail of black blood in its wake. The remaining orcs charged ahead, but Sollozo's company held their ground to the bitter end. After sustaining heavy casualties, even these hardened Tilean fighters could stand it no longer. Quickly, they fled, with their positions reinforced by Estalian militiamen.

"Aggredire!" The Tilean mercenary regiment known as Sollozo's Blades charge into the fray, slaying the mighty giant and driving back a few bands of orc infantry before fleeing the field.

All throughout the line, the fate of the battle swung back and forth: first the greenskins had the noticeable advantage, then the humans. Eventually, Rogelio decided it was high time to try and strike a fatal blow to the greenskin horde. He sent one of Barzini's mercenary cavalry, Tessio's Firebrands, to assault the orc left. On that flank, a contingent of orc riders prepared to seize a small rocky pass that could serve as a means of sneaking troops through the human lines and into the countryside beyond. Rogelio and Barzini, even through their shared animosity for one another, knew that letting the pass fall would spell the death knell for the battle. Yet, only Rogelio could make any real effort to protect it. Barzini was caught up in conducting cavalry charges and bombardments on the left, thus restricting any reinforcements he could send to assist in the defense of the human right flank. It was up to the Estalians and a handful of Tileans to hold the main line.

"Let's get 'em, boyz! Attack!" Heavy orc infantry pour down the hill, the mighty banner of the Bad Moonz clan fluttering proudly in the smoke-choked air.

And so it was that it came to one final stand. Two companies of pike and Tessio's cavalry were all that stood between the now-advancing greenskin horde and defeat. Barzini, although late, made his effort to ride to the center. His forces had crushed the greenskins on the flank, and now it was time to make his way over to the rest of the fighting. Barzini's missile troops were slow on the march, tired and content with what had been already done -- they'd get their pay, no matter what. Barzini, equally exhausted, fought through his lethargy and advanced best he could to the hill in the middle. Upon arriving there, however, an orc shaman awaited him. Casting a series of powerful lightning bolts, the shock-wave of the arcane attack fried Barzini and his already wounded host alive. The Tilean commander fell on the field, leaving the left in disarray. The shaman, content with his bloody work, proceeded to befuddle and confuse the Tilean reinforcements attempting to make their way over to the Estalian right. Successful in his hexes, the left remained stagnant and unable to rush to the right's aid.

Lord Barzini learns the price of wearing so much plate armor the hard way.

The final melee occurred near the center, as Rogelio oversaw the action from a hill not too far away. He could see through his spyglass that the hill had fallen, along with a nearby temple to the warrior-goddess Myrmidia. "Heathens," he thought, "Damned heathens!" Two pike squares formed up in tight lines, unyielding in the face of the enemy horde before them. Wave after wave crashed against them, with Tessio desperately attempting to relieve some of the pressure. Yet, even his efforts were in vain, as orc cavalry and goblin archers mowed what remained of his company down, along with Tessio himself. Two mercenary commanders had now fallen on the fields of Irrana Pass, but they would not be the last casualties this battle took. As the Estalian and Tilean pikes held out, the Estalian commander of one of the companies, Hector Navarro, hesitated. He failed to bring his men into good order, deciding instead to flee the field and warn the neighboring town of Azuara that they had to flee or risk being overrun by the greenskins. The Tilean pikes held, disgusted at the behavior of Navarro and his men. Yet, with Navarro's retreat, a gap lay opened. The greenskins wasted no time in pushing through, forcing the remaining human forces to retreat as well.

The breaking point: Navarro's pikemen fail to hold out against the final orc assault. Once they retreated, the greenskin horde flooded through the passes along the right flank. The gates into Estalia were now open.

In less than five hours, the battle of Irrana Pass was over. The greenskin horde, although bloodied and weakened, could proudly plant the banner of the Bad Moonz clan atop the hill. The temple to Myrmidia was ransacked, with all "shiny trinkets" taken from it. The remaining Tilean and Estalian troops retreated to Azuara, establishing a defensive position overnight. Then, the next day, they fled with much of the citizenry in tow. By nightfall, Azuara too had fallen, with the fires from the burning village lighting up the night sky. The survivors of the human force marched north to Vizcaya, the next major town sat along the Ranapierna River. Señor Rogelio received word of Navarro's disgraceful actions on the field, but gave him a chance to defend himself before a military court.

"It was not out of fear, señor, that I fled," said Navarro at his trial in Vizcaya, "But rather out of love for my men. Had we stood there, our company would have surely fallen. I, like any other man, will seek glory and honor when prudent. But this does not justify the slaughter of good Estalian men." Hector Navarro was found guilty in order to save face with the Tilean mercenaries and sentenced to ten years in the dungeons of Magritta. His company was disheartened at the news, but they carried on all the same. Rogelio knew that King Esteban could not afford a fracas with the Tilean sell-swords or their captains, for he needed the support of every able-bodied man in service to his campaign against the bestial horde.

The gates were now open, and the greenskins now roamed the countryside. Upon hearing the news, King Esteban I simply stated, "They cannot be allowed to march one mile further." But, with his home armies now in tatters and the thought of going further into debt with the Tilean princes haunting his mind, how would the Estalian king manage to stop the greenskins from claiming the northlands? He was damned if he chose to draft more levies from his already disgruntled nobles, who now saw the loss at Irrana Pass as proof of Esteban's inability to hold the Estalian nation together in times of crisis, and damned if he bought more mercenaries from Tilea and thus empty the royal coffers on foreign armies. The answer to his woes was one he dreaded even worse than asking the Tileans for further assistance in the campaign.

He turned to Bretonnia in the north.

Prologue: Rumbles from the East

Plus Ultra

A Narrative Campaign, inspired by Warhammer Fantasy

Summer, 1492 in the Imperial Calendar.

The sleepy farming town of Esperanza, just south of the mighty keep that seated the Duchy of Guaniar, stirred as expected in the early hours of the morning. Peasants, with calloused hands and hardened bodies, once more ventured out towards the farmlands in preparations for the summer harvest. Militia were dispatched to keep an eye on the mountain passes, for reports of bandits were always circulating throughout the eastern regions. Life in the valleys and heights of the Irrana Mountains was hard but rewarding, as mountain rivers served to carry rich silts to the hard-working villagers below. For others, livelihood and employment was found in mining the mountain side, filled with copper, tin, and iron. Esperanza was but one piece of Guaniar's modest wealth as a province of the Estalian realm, answering only to the Kingdom of Astarios and their king, Esteban I, who sat on the throne in Magritta.

A mosaic of the lands of Estalia. Magritta, the southern most city, is the kingdom's current capital and seat to the Kingdom of Astarios.

Unfortunately, the Duchy of Guaniar stood in the path of a mighty tempest that gathered on the horizon. For months, a band of greenskins had been marshaling in the highlands to the east, recruiting goblin, orc, and beast alike. By the beginning of summer, this horde prepared itself to cross the border over the Irrana Mountains and into the lands of Estalia, Tilea, and even the far-flung settlements of the Border Princes. The whole of the southern realms was in jeopardy, but Estalia was to feel the brunt of the invasion. Barely half a century had passed since the lands reunified under the Reconquista in 1452, with the expulsion of Sultan Jaffar and his armies from Araby. Now, the fragile kingdom was in danger of another invasion, and the newly crowned King Esteban I chose to make a stand against the savage invader.

King Esteban I, ruler of the Kingdom of Astarios and high-king of Estalia. In his youth, as pictured in this portrait, the king often fought alongside his soldiers during the Reconquista against Araby and the reunification of Estalia thereafter.

Yet, the good King would need troops. Estalia had yet recovered fully from the war against Araby, and the process of reunification was not a peaceful one either. The Kingdom of Astarios waged a bloody conflict against its rival kingdoms, duchies, and baronies for well over twenty years after the fall of Sultan Jaffar's expedition. It was only after the marriage with the queen of the Kingdom of Tigarre, Queen Christina de Bilbali, that Esteban found allies in the northlands. Still, even with the union of Astarios and Tigarre, the remaining unaligned territories put up a staunch resistance. By 1480, Estalia could finally stand as a unified realm, or as unified as any human land can claim to be if Bretonnia, Tilea, and the Empire are anything to go off of. Even with a shared banner, however, the lords and ladies of Estalia were known for their love of personal honor and stubbornness. Working together was a concept not well received in their minds.

Another mosaic, this time of Tilea. The lands of Tilea are much like those of old Estalia, split into a variety of princedoms and city-states. The strongest cities, namely Miragliano, Trantio, Remas, Verezzo, and Luccini all vie with one another for power over the whole of the peninsula.

With this knowledge in mind, Esteban regrettably turned to the one source of aid he dreaded seeking out. To the south-east, the Tilean city-states enjoyed relative tranquility. They had their fair share of problems, notably with pirates and bandits. However, the threat of an entire army of greenskins and savage beasts turning into a full-scale 'Waaagh!' instilled fear into even the richest of trade princes. That is, if they could be convinced. After some days of wallowing in hesitation, emissaries were dispatched from Magritta to sail for the city-state of Miragliano, arguably one of the strongest in all of Tilea. Upon arrival, the envoys were ushered towards the court of Prince Andre Vinchenzo, the man who sat upon the throne of the state and head-patron of all reputable mercenary companies in the territories.

A brief conversation ensued. Tileans were as pleasant as the situation demanded it, but they had little patience with Estalians to begin with. After a short banquet, Prince Andre demanded to hear the purpose for the envoy's coming to Miragliano. The necessity for mercenaries was revealed, and the reason for this sudden build-up troubled the wealthy trade prince. Still, the act had to go on. Tilean negotiations were like plays, with both sides acting out their roles. Prince Andre nonchalantly directed the envoys to speak with his paymaster general, who then recommended the services of one Captain General Michael Frangazzini. Captain Frangazzini was, however, not cheap. He was experienced, having served in the employ of multiple Empire counts before. Yet, he was arguably one of the best in all of Miragliano.

And, in the face of a greenskin invasion, the best were needed.