Blood Dragons

The Army of Morteleaux , Duke of Mercal – New Dukedom separated from Brionne 

The heathen Arabyans, led by the thrice accursed Sultan Jaffar, conquered Estalia and threatened the freedom of the rest of the world. Filled with righteous anger, the knights of the Empire gathered to oust the invaders. Amongst these knights were two captains of the Reiksguard, brothers Karl and Benedict Mannan. Both well respected knights renowned for their courage, honour and martial skill. When the noblest sons of the Empire raised their swords against the Sultan, the two brothers were first among them, ever ready to protect the honour of the Empire.

During the war that eventually freed the kingdom of Estalia and saw the corrupt reign of Jaffar end, the brothers won great fame. That was until disaster struck. During the siege of Lashiek, soon after the walls were breached. Benedict, the younger and more impetuous brother, disappeared and was thought lost. For days rumours circled camp that he was seen fighting a titanic duel within one of the temples, but his fate was unknown. Days later he was found, grievously wounded and delirious, but alive. Karl, and his loyal comrades cared for him, and even when he slipped into a coma they would not abandon him. Instead they made their back to the Empire, through Orc and Beastmen ambushes. All the time they bore their fallen companion with them on a shaded litter.

Eventually they reached their home town Delbetz and there they laid Benedict down to die. A gloom fell over the castle as the fallen warrior finally succumbed to his fever. His family mourned for him and several of his loyal knights vowed to serve him loyally beyond death, words that would be their downfall in the troubled times to come. They buried him beneath the castle as was the custom in those far off times, and prayed for his soul long into the night.

Three days he rested in his tomb and then, in the midst of a dark and stormy night, he rose. No longer Captain of the Reiksguard, instead he had become a Lord of the night, A foul Vampire. How this had happened, no one knew, but they had other, more immediate worries. In a few terrible hours he slew all of the inhabitants of the castle. His entire family, save for Karl who was on duty with the Reiksguard. Soon he had a teeming army of the undead, and so began his reign of terror.

Soon the commoners began to shun his very name, and began to call him the Bloodlord. Hundreds of refugees fled northwards to seek the aid and protection of the neighbouring town of Schoppendorf and Karl, thought to be the only one able to strike him down. Karl gathered his knights and with prayers to Sigmar and Morr on his lips rode against his former brother.

The cataclysmic battle was fought amongst the Howling Hills. Little is remembered of that conflict when the terrible Undead, still clad in the colours of Talabecland fought the nobility of the Empire. Suffice it to say that no undead creature could stand against the righteous fury of Karl and his knights. Finally the two former brothers clashed. The battle raged for hours, and although the Bloodlord's body was pierced by Karl sword, the sneer on the Bloodlord's face left Karl feeling hollow.

Karl was advised to quarter and burn the remains, but he could not bear to see the body of his brother desecrated. In death the Bloodlord seemed his old self again. His features were noble and peaceful once more and he seemed purged of his curse. Karl ordered a great tomb be built for his brother and had it sealed with the mark of the Twin Tailed comet to honour the fallen.

But the Bloodlord was not dead. His body may have been pierced by his brother's sword but he had made plans for such an instance. He had seen to it that part of his essence had been sealed into a crimson jewel, formed from the blood of innocents and pure death magic. The years he took to regenerate his shattered body were long, but finally, two decades after his internment, he rose and prepared to cast aside the stone doors of his tomb. However the Twin Tailed Comet and magic sigils of the priests of Morr held the massive stone doors shut. For a further 5 years he raged inside the tomb that had become his prison. With every failed attempt to open its doors the red fury built up with in him. Then one day, a full 25 years after his defeat at the hands of his brother Karl, he heard chanting from the other side of his tomb wall. The chanting grew and he saw the sigils spring to burning through the stone. At the height of the chanting the sigils dulled and the door exploded inwards. When the dust cleared the Bloodlord stepped forwards into the light of Morrslieb's sickly pall.

"Halt. You will do my bidding" came a thin reedy voice. "I, Renar, master of the Black Arts command you in the name of Nagash Himelf... umm.... Supreme Lord of err." the voice trailed off as the Bloodlord turned his gaze upon the dirty, robed figure. Then the Bloodlord let out a menacing laugh, a laugh that was anything but mirthful. The Bloodlord barely managed to keep the red fury in check, the desire to rip out this morsel's throat and drink his fill almost overcoming his disciplined mind. This dirty, worn out excuse for a man would provide welcome nourishment but he would be of more use alive.

"No wretched mortal, you will do my bidding"

For several weeks the Bloodlord terrorised the local peasants, slowly regaining his strength. However Karl's descendants were not reticent during this time.

Karl's great great great grandson, also named Karl VI in honour of his ancestor, had been warned of the escape of the Bloodlord by the High Priest who had felt the destruction of the sigils on the tomb. Now lieutenant to the Reiksmarshal of the Empire, Karl VI quickly assembled a force to defeat the Bloodlord once and for all.

The Bloodlord was ambused and his small army of the undead was utterly destroyed by the fearless knights. However, this time The Bloodlord would not meet his family in combat. The Bloodlord knew he was not nearly strong enough to face the righteous fury of the young Karl Mannan and so fled the field of battle. With his quarry on the run, Karl Mannan forsook his post in the Reiksguard, and with his loyal knights by his side swore an oath never to rest until his brother and his Undead kin were destroyed. In doing so Karl formed the Order of Morr's Judgement.

...

For Centuries, those of Karl's bloodline swore the same oath as their ancestor, and the Order of Morr's Judgement have struck down many bloodsucking vampires, however none of them were the legendary Bloodlord. It is believed that the Bloodlord rules a small patch of land in Bretonnia under the guise of Duke Morteleaux , noble Knight of King Louen Leonceur. Here he bides his time, building his strength, ready to destroy his pursuers once and for all.

this is where the real story begins

In recent time Duke Morteleaux joins Mallobaude's Rebellion against King Louen. Serving as one of his Lieutenants he led many of the battles against the southern parts of Bretonnia. With the death of Mallobaude, Duke Morteleaux was left leaderless. He was not used to deciding his own fate, but preferred to be the blade a greater Vampire wielded. 

Doubles Comp

Our local GW store held a doubles comp in 2015, during the End Times, and my Blood Dragons joined with Neferata. We placed middle of the field, but were rewarded for our theme with a set of art prints.

The story we wrote for it was brief but showed how my noble knights joined the forces of the Queen of Blood.

The re-work of magic rules in End Times: Khaine was the low light. With Neferata killed in one battle after being subjected to a huge amount of fireballs in a single turn.

The Red Duke had always striven to uphold his twin duties, even in undeath. He was duty bound to honour and protect the nation of Bretonnia and her peoples, yet he was even more so duty bound to follow his liege lord, Duke Mallobaude of Mousillon. When Mallobaude rose in rebellion, the Red Duke was always at the forefront of the advance. Riding upon the back of Malgrimahst he had crushed many lances of proud Bretonnia.  The death of his liege lord at the hands of the Uniter filled the Red Duke with both despair and relief. It freed him from his ties to Mallobaude, yet made him a hunted enemy of his nation. It was with a heavy, yet unbeating heart that the Red Duke fled Bretonnia. 

The Red Duke had never felt content whilst an un-landed wanderer both before and after his rebirth into undeath. His ambition had never been to rule, but to find glory in battle. He was one of the few of Aborash's remaining brood, and his father-in-undeath's martial code still held sway over his soul. He was a warrior, not a ruler. A protector of the weak, and seeker of glory in combat.  It wasn't until he had pledged himself to Mallobaude, to be wielded as a lance, that he had felt satisfied. But with Mallobaude's destruction he was lost again, he needed a firm hand to follow.

A voice had been growing at the back of his head over the last few months, one he had thought gone from this world. It grew from an unquiet buzz into a pressing weight, threatening to crush his will. The Red Duke was wary not to oppose Nagash's will, for that path led to oblivion, yet he couldn't bow down to it yet. A world of undeath and order provided no challenge to his skill, no glory to be had, no blood to slake his thirst. 

He could see the liche, Arkhan's, hand had guided Mallobaude's rise, and fall. The Liche had always been Nagash's first lieutenant. He would not wed himself so close to the Nagash.

The master of Sylvania, Manfred Von Carsteon was not a lord he could follow either. He was petty and arrogant, nowhere near the mighty lord Vlad had been. That left but one other great vampire to follow. His father-in-undeath had been her first captain eons ago, and the Red Duke was determined to honour that allegiance and prove himself worthy of his old master's title.

Neferata's web of spies had been keeping very close tabs on Manfred and the black toothed Liche for decades. Manfred's plots had always been easy to discern, he was so predictable, for he never thought beyond his immediate quest for power. Arkhan however was more difficult, he had always been Nagash's pet, yet his machinations in Bretonnia seemed to have no other goal than to cause chaos and anarchy in that realm. Chaos and anarchy were anathema to him and his master.

With Arkhan's pawn, Mallobaude seemingly having failed in his rebellion, Neferata sent her agents in to sweep up any of the survivors and win them to her cause. Some were more willing than others. In the Red Duke she had found a thrall to lead her armies. Her beguiling enchantments seldom worked on this creature, yet she knew his heart and gave him what he desired. A chance to prove his worth, win her glory and meet the might of the rest of the world on the field of battle. While she did not trust his loyalty to her, she knew that his honour drove him, and his skill with a blade was better at her side than opposed to her.