Gilles de Gillesville - Mordheim Questing Knight

Ciao!

This is my entry for #SeptemBret2021 contest on Mordheim Italia Facebook Group.

I managed to get 2nd place for best background story and 2nd place for best painting - "Newcomers" category. 1st place in the category was awarded to Armand de Chamillon, herald of Cups, another entry from an author of this blog 👍.

The winners in the "Champions" category were just another league, I strongly recommend to check all entries out on the Facebook group and on Instagram! 

 

 

As every year for seventy years now, the castle of Beaumont was animated by the celebrations for the birthday of the noble knight, lord of the castle. This year the event was even merrier because it also celebrated the departure of the knight's nephew who was going to take up service as a squire with the lord of Gillesville.The grandson ran to the chair where the elderly knight sat. He was fatigued and still holding the wooden sword and shield he had just trained with.

“Grandpa Jean, Sir, can I sit next to you? Is there still water in this jug? I'm thirsty!".

"Of course my nephew, sit here and catch your breath."

They were silent for a few moments, the little boy lost in his games and the old man lost in the mirror of his youth.

"Grandpa Jean, Sir, do you know the Lord of Gillesville?"

“I know him well, even though I knew his father better than him. If you want I can tell you a story about him. "

"Oh yes, please!"

Jean took a sip of wine, cleared his throat and began:

"The story takes place in a place and time very far from here, in the Empire of Sigmar. A young questing knight and his squire arrived one day at the gates of the cursed city of Mordheim, more precisely in that heap of squalid barracks known as Cutthroat's Den. They have been traveling for days through hostile and abandoned lands, plagued by famine, pestilence and moral and material misery.
They entered the inn to refresh themselves and were immediately targeted and mocked by a band of men from the Nuln Artillery Academy."

The child, tired from training and stunned by the barrage of new and exotic notions, followed the story with difficulty but with passion.

"You must know that many, or should I say most, of the men of the Empire are scoundrels who shamelessly use firearms in the fight. And in the city of Nuln they take great pride in being the most expert in the manufacture and use of these robber aids, which some say can bridge the gap that exists between the noble knight and the swindler.
Well, a company of students from the artillery school, also just arrived in Mordheim, stopped in that inn. It was learned later that the morale of their troops was low and the officers wanted to instill confidence and courage in the ranks.
Thus it was that a so-called 'officer' spoke brazenly to the knight saying:
- Welcome to Mordheim noble knight, where your shining armor will only serve to make you an easy target and guarantee rich loot for those who snatch it from your corpse! -
Coarse laughter followed and tosses of leftovers and crumbs.
The squire was a young boy and he struggled to keep a cool head. He nervously shifted his gaze from the knight to the men of Nuln trying to anticipate what would have happened."

The grandson hung from his grandfather's lips, waiting in religious silence for the story to continue.

"The knight answered firmly:
- Sir, you are a lout and a scoundrel. I demand that you and your companions leave this place immediately and relieve my squire and myself from your unpleasant presence. Get out of here or get ready to fight! -
Again there was a beginning of laughter and noises but when the man pulled out his guns, silence fell. Moving slowly he put them on his shoulders, stood up, and took a few steps towards the knight.
- Do you know what happens when a man with a gun meets a knight in armor? -
- I think I know it rascal, but I'm curious to hear your opinion first. -"

Jean's nephew had completely identified himself, his mouth was dry and his hand gripped the hilt of the wooden sword.

“And then something extraordinary happened. The gunslinger aimed his weapons at Gilles de Gillesville and pulled the triggers. Click! Click! Both weapons misfired.
The knight, who hadn't moved an inch, said:
- The man with the gun is a dead man. -
And with a powerful slash of his longsword he tore the head from the man's neck.
- Come on, my brave squire, on these scoundrels! -
And at that point there was no escape, the Lady of the Lake was there that day and favored that knight and his squire for their courage and their righteousness. None of the firearms worked properly in that circumstance. Some exploded in the hands of the warriors who used them, others simply did not fire.
In the melee there was no contest, although outnumbered the two Bretonnians were superior to that rabble.
The time some had spent getting drunk the others had spent practicing the sword.
The time some had spent in the worst brothels the others had spent practicing the sword.
The time some had spent playing dice, the others had spent practicing the sword.
When all was over Gilles turned to the squire and said:
- Jean of Beaumont, on his knees. Today you fought with honor and courage. No bullet has injured you and this testifies to the favor that the Lady of the Lake recognizes in you. Stand up as a knight and live the rest of your life as such.-"

At those last words the jaw of Jean's nephew dropped. The child turned his astonished gaze towards the elderly knight.

"... Grandpa Jean, Sir, but were you that squire then?"

“Yes, it was me. And the knight was Gilles de Gillesvilles, father of the knight you will have the honor of serving. Make me proud of you."

And then it just snowballed into a full blown warband, a mix of kitbash, old and new models.