Think after nearly a year and a half it's fair to say I gave up completely on the Elder Scolls/ASoIaF crossover quite some time ago. Can't really offer any excuses beyond me simply not wanting to continue with it anymore. But! That's a bit off topic for this one I think.
Welcome to Knight of the Grail, a crossover between Games Workshop's Warhammer Fantasy Battles (NOT Age of Sigmar, may it be cursed for eternity for not having Bretonnia or the Tomb Kings in it!) and GRRM's A Song of Ice and Fire. Specifically this is a crossover between Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay, since it's based after the dreaded Thousand Thrones campaign, which me and a few others are playing through right now as it happens, with the main char of this fic being my char... I'm fairly certain I have doomed him to being shanked in the game now since I've jinxed him by making him important here.
Oh well, I still have 2 fate points left... I should stop talking.
**I do not own either Warhammer Fantasy Battles/Roleplay and nor do I own A Song of Ice and Fire. I make no profit from this at all. Happy now GRRM?**
Guillaume de Lusignan
I pledge my service and my loyalty, body and soul, to my Lord.
Ragged, pained breaths. That was all Guillaume could hear.
When the clarion call is sounded, I will ride out and fight in the name of liege and Lady.
Move forward. That was all Guillaume could do.
Whilst I draw breath, the lands bequeathed unto me will remain untainted by evil.
The light at the end of it all. That was all Guillaume could see.
Honour is all.
The loss, their deaths. That was all Guillaume could think of.
Chivalry is all.
The horror he had witnessed below. That was all Guillaume's mind could take.
This I swear on my blood and my breath.
The pain of every step. That was all that Guillaume's body would tell him.
At last, the light engulfed what vision remained unto him. The ground softened. Harsh stone gave way to sweet and supple snow. Still, he staggered on, willing his legs to carry him forth, to anywhere but here, to anywhere but the thrice-damned womb that lay beneath him, where the corpses of so many rotted. He did not get far, his body was too weak, his spirit too spent, his mind too shattered. Blackness overtook him. He tried to cry out in vain, wishing to see no more darkness. But nothing came, and he fell.
The dreams, those cursed dreams. The boy, the poor boy born of a gift too strong for him to control. The witch, that foul creature who had brought all of this upon the world. Of the wizard and the hunter, those steadfast friends who had been with him since... since... he could not remember, only that they now lay deathly still beneath the surface of the world. But in his dreams they were not, they were living, smiling and happy. He thought for a moment that the lady had been merciful and he had perished, that he was to be allowed to join them in the afterlife, to rest. But it was not to be, for the blinding light was returning, would he ever be offered such sanctity as death?
Eyes creaking open, all Guillaume saw at first was white, pure and ethereal. It was day, and the snows had stopped for now. Above him, a glorious sky of pure blue with elegant wisps of cloud lorded above him. The evil that had once stained the land was fading, if only fleetingly, for the taint ever remained or returned in time. But for now, it brought Guillaume some measure of comfort, if only a preciously small amount.
He tried to stand, but he could not, his legs were in open revolt and stubbornly remained where they lay. All he could do was use his arming sword, that which he had bared from his homeland, from dear Bordeleuax to this cold wracked edge of the world, to push his body up. The tip dug into the snow and into the firm ground beneath and stuck fast. But it did not matter, all Guillaume cared about was using it to push himself up. Eventually, after many agonising minutes of struggle, he was set against a rock that he had collapsed near, the snow upon it providing a pillow for his weary back. He did not move after that, his body would forbid it even if his mind had wished it, but it did not. So there he remained, hand resting upon the hilt of a sword of Bretonnia. He slipped in and out of the blackness so many times he could not count, it was a dreamless blackness this time, for which he thanked the Lady.
When he woke for the last time, as the sun passed beneath the mountains, sounds of another's footsteps, piercing through the sheer silence of the empty frozen wasteland, at last roused Guillaume's mind. Turning his head back towards the cave from whence he had come, he saw a red figure stagger out, in much the same way Guillaume himself had. As the figure stepped out into the shadows of twilight, illuminated by the light that snow brought, Guillaume recognised him quickly. Wilhelm Von Hollenbach.
A Blood Dragon vampire, Guillaume had first encountered Wilhelm in a small village within the Empire, the name of the village Guillaume could not recall, only that it was there that Wilhelm had been. They had fought there, briefly, when Guillaume was just a Knight Errant of Bretonnia eager to prove himself. Now, near on a year later, met once again, only neither was in a fit state to fight. For Hollenbach was limping as he left the cave, his armour held deep gashes, his face a torn mess of deep rends in the flesh. "Bretonnian." Hollenbach sneered with a voice dripping with pain and exhaustion if even his fell kin felt anything of the sort. The beast made a show of looking around, shrugging his shoulders theatrically whilst a blood-dripping sword hung from his hand. "Where are your fellows, Bretonnian?"
"Dead." Guillaume struggled to say, both from the pain, exhaustion and rage at seeing this monster again. "And yours?"
Hollenbach tried to laugh, but the strain of it as he walked made him stumble forward. "RAGH!" The monster roared in protest at his failing body, and pushed himself back up to his feet, now leaning on the sword he carried for support. "Dead by my blade."
It was Guillaume's turn to stand. And unlike the vampire, he could feel the pain his weakened state gave him, so he spoke through gritted teeth. "Theodora? Carstien? The Necrarch and the Strigoi?" Guillaume had known little of vampire lore, but that was before the whirlwind that was his life for the past year had been. Each of the five bloodlines had been here, and each were led by foes Guillaume had faced.
"The Strigoi was the first." Hollenbach spat. "De Trois the next. The Nurglist had taken Carstein, I could only savour her screams as he did his unholy things to her." He said as he waited for Guillaume to stand, to be worthy of being his foe. "Theodora, Neferata's whore, was the last. It is the blood of her followers that grace my blade, but none were worthy of being drained by myself, for they were all willing slaves of the whore of Lahmia."
"And so now it is just me?" Guillaume asked, finally erect upon his feet, his greatsword unsheathed and readied. His strength may be failing, but he would not back down from such a fight, nor would he give in without one.
Hollenbach gave a nod, and the two warriors began would should have been the elgant dance of combat, but in their state it was more of a shuffle. "I would have worthy blood." He said, desperation for sustenance lining his voice, and he advanced, swinging his sword with all the might his curse could grant him.
Guillaume made to parry, but before the clash of steel could sound in that coldest reach of Kislev, at the very end of a long road of suffering and death, both man and Vampire were drowned in light. For Guillaume, it was a bright and warm light, welcoming and comforting. For Hollenbach, it was the deep crimson of blood, dark and forboding.
Neither could say what happened, it is likely not even the greatest of scholar's or even Nagash himself could comprehend what had befallen Guillaume de Luisignan, Questing Knight of Bretonnia, and Wilhelm von Hollenbach, Blood Dragon of Abhorrash.
All that was certain, was that neither would ever see their birthplace ever again.
Cheers for reading. Feel free to leave a review. All criticism is appreciated.