"The Lady's Chosen" By David Densley

This really good story was written by my brother, David Densley, I am Ian Densley.

The Lady’s Chosen

Written by David Densley

Lightning tore through the clouds. Thunder rumbled like an angry Dwarf, and torrential rain fell in heavy sheets. The green, rolling hills had been pleasant not long ago, but now, the rain, lightning and howling wind made the whole scene look very unwelcome indeed.

Gilles de’Montfaux, mounted on a brilliant white charger, waited. He was dressed in the finest armour Bretonnia could fashion, with a grand helm that glistened majestically in the rain. Upon the top of the helm was the symbol of the Grail, an awesome golden cup ornately decorated, fluted and crafted by the hand of a loving master. On his back he wore a grand white cape, stiched with gleaming gold, which was so long it spilled down the side of the horse and trailed along the sodden ground. Forming battelines alongside their Duke did a Bretonnian army stand, silent as the rain fell. Hundreds of spearmen and halberdiers waited, the steel of their deadly weapons glinting coldly in the dull light of the twin moons.
In front of them were the legendary horsemen who had made Bretonnia both respected and feared.
The Knights of The Realm.
Each and every single Knight wore his own heraldic colours, some breathtakingly elaborate and inspiring. They wore heavy, steel armour that covered their entire bodies. With their unwavering faith in the mystical Lady of the Lake, they knew no fear.
At least two hundred knights had come to the field, each carrying sword, lance and shield. For Bretonnia they had come to fight, and for Bretonnia they would battle to the last of their strength.
Even greater than the Knights were the Grail Knights. Their armour, so beautifully crafted it was a wonder all in it’s own, was a clear reflection of their honour and courage. They had fought for years, battled in the name of the Lady, and completed their Grail quest. In Bretonnia, there was nothing greater nor nobler. They were The Lady’s Chosen, and fifteen of these honoured heroes had come, ready for whatever may be. They were small in number, but great in courage and skill.

The Bretonnians knew what was coming. Several ships out on the rolling seas had spotted visions of death, visions of evil. In dozens of black, twisted ships the Dark Elves were coming. They were coming to kill, pillage, enslave and torture. With courage and valour the Bretonnians had gathered their forces under the leadership of the Duke Montfuax. They did not know what horrors the Druchii would bring, but they were ready nonetheless.

Suddenly, as the resplendent army quietly waited, dreadful thoughts brewing in their minds, they heard something on the edge of hearing. “What is that, milord?” asked Jiles Bordeloit, squire to the Duke. The Duke listened hard, then he heard it. It was a repetetive boom, one after another in a deliberate, intimidating fashion. “Drums of war.” replied Gilles, drawing his sword. The blade shined with inner light, clearly possessing magical enchantment.

The Men-at-Arms held their weapons tightly, and uttered prayers to their sacred Lady. Would it not have been for their faith they would have fled, for they did not know what to expect when the enemy came into view. Visions of terrible, nightmarish horrors came to mind. The Dark Elves were feared for their cruelty and evil, and rightly so. The Knights readied their lances, heraldic cloaks and banners blowing in the cold wind. With wrath they would spit the fools that dared stand before them. The Duke himself sat silently, waiting for their foes to emerge from the thick haze that had formed on the hills. He knew the Dark Elves would not be able to resist fighting them. The evil Elves loved to shed blood, and they loved to make Men suffer. They would come, there was no doubt.

Looking to his right, The Duke saw his grand banner fluttering in the rainy wind, held aloft by the stalwart Sir Breton. Truly it filled his noble heart with pride. A glittering, embroided red dragon was posed over a stunning white and blue checkered pattern, the coat of arms of his family. All fear he may have felt left him at that divine moment. Resolve hardened and sword ready, the Duke watched as the Dark Elves emerged from the mist.

As the sound of war drums intensified, at least five hundred forms emerged from the gloomy haze. Indeed they were the torturous Dark Elves, in all their cruel, twisted glory.

Rank after rank of spearmen had come, dressed in sharp, wickedly barbed armour. They wore purple, blood-stained robes, and in one hand they held tall, black-shafted spears, the other held a spiked, large shield. Along with the spearmen were dozens of crossbowmen, carrying their terrible contraptions. They could fire twice as many bolts as a normal missle weapon, and with hate they would pour their projectiles into the Bretonnians. Riding ahead of these cruel torturers were armour-clad Elves mounted on croaking, snarling Cold Ones. These reptilian beasts, with segmented hides strong as chainmail, and large heads with snapping jaws that could cut a man in half, were terrors on the field of war. Their riders, the feared Cold One Knights, carried long, piercing lances to gouge the hearts from their foes.

But the greatest terrors were what two dozen Beastmasters prodded onto the field. At least seven Hydras had been taken to battle, their snake-like, multiple heads surveying the petty Men that had arrayed before them. Clearly they were eager for blood, for a Hydra snapped up and killed a Beastmaster in one of its head’s jaws, and gulped him down the next moment. This sent a shiver down the spines of the Bretonnians, but they held firm. Evil and intimidating as these Dark Elves were, the Druchii would know death and pain when the Knights of The Realm brought their awesome charge down upon them like rolling thunder.

The Dark Elves formed up into a disciplined line of soldiers, ready to take the fight to the Bretonnians. Duke Montfaux, shining sword in hand, raised it high to the heavens. As one the Bretonnians kneeled to the rain-sodden ground, hands clasped and heads lowered in prayer. The Knights raised their swords to the skies, rearing up on their warhorses with equestrian mastery. Then, a huge wave of inspiring light swept over the assembled Bretonnians. Those who had seen the divine display for the first time wept, for such was it’s purity and beauty. The Dark Elves cringed, for they abhorred the light. The dark was their domain, the light was their eternal enemy.

The Blessing of The Lady had been completed, and, The Duke raised his sword once more. Some soldiers, cheeks still wet from beauty inspired tears, looked up to their valorous leader. They knew what he was about to signal. Bringing down his sword with an awesome roar he signalled for the charge. The Knights lowering their lances and saying a final prayer to the Lady, charged forward in a splendid, colourful line. The hooves of their mounts churned the sodden earth, and the wind and rain buffeted their heraldic coats. Behind them came the Men-At-Arms, and with a furious cry they charged, joined by their glorious leader The Duke Gilles de’Montfaux.

Like rolling, unstoppable thunder the Knights came. The Druchii braced themselves, spears lowererd and crossbows cocked to fire. They tired to fire their twisted contraptions, but they froze, unable to do so. The glorious Blessing of The Lady had cursed them, and they stood dumbfounded by the charge of the Knights. Then, the rider’s lances hit the foe.

With a thunderous crack and a torrent of screams the lances hit the Dark Elf line. An entire row of Dark Elves went down, bodies pierced by the lances and bursting out their backs. The lances themselves snapped with the impact, but their work was done. Drawing glinting swords the Knights hacked, slashed and gutted the Dark Elves. Wicked spears stabbed back, and Knights were slain on their barbed tips.

The Cold One Knights charged forth on their lumbering mounts to meet the incoming Duke and his foot soldiers. Duke Montfaux, an inspiring presence on the field, led his soldiers into combat. With a crash the sides collided, and instantly Men-At-Arms were skewered on the lances of the dark ones. Cold One’s lashed out with their jaws, killing men with every bite. But the Bretonnians struck back with spear and halberd, and a an evil Dark Elf knight was pulled from his mount. A kick from a spearmen knocked his helmet off, then, with a cry a halberdier brought his heavy weapon down. The head was severed from the neck of the Druchii, and the mount roared in fury at it’s master’s death. A halberdier, who’s brother had been ripped in half by the beast, let out a vengeance fueled roar, and hacked at it with rage. The beast was felled by the terrible blow, it’s side caved in with the awesome attack.

The conflict continued on, screams tearing through the air and metal clashing on metal. The Duke, long white cloak flowing in the wind, lept over the heads of his men, his faithful horse showing great strength and agility in doing so. He landed amongst the Cold One Knights, and his divine blade reaped death, cutting a Dark Elf from his saddle and felling his reptilian mount the next instant. A wicked sword curved for his helmeted head, but he parried, and smashed the Dark Elf off his mount with a swing of his shield. The Men-At-Arms made a second charge against the Dark Elf Knights, and forced them back with sheer numbers. The Duke led a pursuing charge after the Cold One Knights, who broke and ran and many were cut down as they fled from the glorious Bretonnian charge. Then, a large contingent of Dark Elf spearmen broke off from the battle against the Knights, and charged into the Men-At-Arms. A grisly, bloody battle insued. Dark Elf and Man fell alike, gruesome wounds scarring their bodies and ending their lives for all time.

Duke Montfaux joined his men in battle against the spearmen, then, he realised a terrible fact. They had been distracted so that the Hydra’s could make a rear charge. The seven snarling, slithering beasts slammed into the Bretonnian warriors, and many were ripped to pieces without even knowing they who hit them. Duke Montfaux slashed his sword, catching a Dark Elf along the throat, issuing forth a spray of warm blood. The fiend was dead, so Duke Gilles turned around on his white warhorse, and galloped off to bolster the courage of the warriors who battled the mutli-headed beasts.

The battle had turned. The Hydra’s were killing all who stood before them. Men-At-Arms stood no chance against the raging beasts, and all who challenged them were ripped to pieces in showers of blood and gore. Duke Montfaux unstrapped the lance on the the side of his horse, and with a roar he galloped forth, lance lowered. A hideous wail was released as The Duke lanced a Hydra. The long weapon pierced straight through, dealing a fatal blow. This inspired the soldiery, and, with renewed strength they charged. One beast fell under a torrent of halberd strikes, whilst another was killed by a dozen hurled spears. Still the beasts stayed, ripping and tearing valiant soliders to pieces. The Duke stayed in the battle, sword singing a song of death. He hacked and slashed, but the beast had a tough hide indeed, and his attacks were turned aside. Suddenly, he saw a Hydra head lashed out for him. He lifted up his shield in a defensive pose, and the jaws snapped around it. The Duke was lifted from his saddle, still holding the shield, and was shaken from side-to-side like a ragdoll. Callously he was tossed aside, and with a crash he hit the sodden ground. His shield had saved him, and, casting the mangled remains aside he got to his feet with a heave. The armour weighed greatly, but his strength enabled him to clamber to his feet.

The Grail Knights broke off from the combat alongside their other mounted comrades, and circled around the battle in a thunderous line. With swiftness they came down upon the Hydras, gleaming swords drawn and battered shields ready. Like lightning they crashed into the beasts, and the combat became even more frenzied.

Duke Montfaux was now on foot, holding only a blood-stained sword. His horse had galloped off, and all around him battle raged, Elf and Man letting out a final scream before death came. All the time the Duke could not see that the Dark Elves possessed any sort of leader, but he knew that somewhere in the fighting, an awesome foe raged. He was not wrong. As a Bretonnian halberdier was cut down with a spray of blood, a figure emerged from the faceless, brutal battle. He stood head and shoulders over his men, and wore crimson, blood-drenched armour. In one black-gloved hand he carried a serrated, wicked sword. A tall shield protected him in the other hand. Gazing out of a blood-drenched helmet he spied the Bretonnian Duke, and letting out a cry to Khaine he charged.

The Duke saw the awesome Dark Elf Noble come, and prepared himself for battle. He knew this battle would not be easily won. With a hissing, cold voice the Noble said “Foolish humans. When we are done here today, you and your people will beg for death!”. The Duke was not afraid. Assuming a defensive stance he replied in his cultured voice “You must win the battle first, Druchii.” with an angered snarl the Dark Elf lept to the attack, wicked blade thirsting for blood and pain.

Gilles parried the blow, then slashed out with an attack of his own. The spiked shield of the Dark Elf blocked the blow, and again the fiend hacked and slashed. Gilles parried every blow, and magical sparks danced into the air as their two magical blades clashed. Lightning ripped across the sky and rain poured as the two commanders dueled.

Mordain The Dark Elf Noble kept up his relentless attack, swinging, hacking and thrusting. His movements were fluid and quick, so much so the Duke had trouble keeping up with him. A blow slipped past his guard, but thankfully bounced off his Bretonnian armour with a clank. Gilles struck back with a two-handed blow, snapping the Dark Elf’s shield with fury. Mordain cast it away, and, now on equal ground with the Duke, they sparred. Steel flashed and cries ripped the air as they battled, their armies raging around them in a mindless bloodbath. The Hydras had been slain, but they had taken a terrible toll on the Bretonnians. Now it was down to a messy, brutal conflict, Man and Elf battling with wrath and hatred respectively.

Gilles dodged down as the wicked blade came for his neck. The sword met the golden Grail chalice on his helmet, and with that his grand helm was knocked from his head. The Duke’s face was revealed. He was strong-jawed and handsome, with sharp brown eyes and long, raven-black hair. “The coward shows his face!” snarled Mordain, stepping back a pace. Gilles laughed, and said “Hopefully I won’t have to see yours!” and jumped to the attack with a devastating downward hack.
Mordain parried, but the powerful blow forced him down to his knees. With wrath Gilles kneed him in the jaw, sending him down to the rain-soaked, grassy ground. Gilles went to thrust his blade through the Noble’s heart, but Mordain reacted quickly, and with a hiss he slashed the Duke with his curved blade. Gilles reeled, falling back a few steps. The armour on his left side had been slashed open, and warm blood dripped freely from a wound.
“There’s, much, much more where that came from!” snarled Mordain, jumping to his feet. The sight of blood fueled his evil efforts. With a roar he darted forward, blade thrust out to pierce the heart. Gilles was a master swordsman, however, and with a spinning move he dodged aside. Mordain tried to pull his sword up to defend, but it was too late.With a decisive swing of his gleaming sword Gilles took the head from Mordain. As the body fell to the ground, pumping blood like a burst river, Gilles called out his victory.

With stunned faces the Dark Elves saw their slain leader, and their resolve was snapped in half like a dry twig. Like a dark wave they fled, and with wrath the surviving Knights and Men-At-Arms chased them down as they ran. Not a single Druchii escaped, all were cut to pieces as they ran, morale shattered and bodies left broken and mangled on the bloody field of battle. Voices as one the Bretonnians roared in victory. The Lady had prevailed, and the people of Bretonnia were safe from the Dark Elven scourge.

Victory for Bretonnia!!!

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