Calard d'Garamont

"The Lady's light burns strong within you."

- A Damsel looks upon Calard.

Calard of Garamont was a famous and mighty Grail Knight, Lord of Garamont, Castellan of Bastonne and one of the Companions of Quenelles. He became a renowned hero of Bretonnia after saving the kingdom from an army of Undead.

History
Born along with his sister Anara into the noble family of Garamont, Calard's mother died when he was very young - he was always told it was the result of a miscarriage - whilst his sister was taken away by the Fay Enchantress at a young age. His father eventually remarried and had another son, Bertelis, who would become his favourite. Growing up, Calard always found his father to be cold and distant, and his stepmother bitter that he would inherent Garamont over her own child.

The young Calard and his brother would often roam their father’s land from one end to the other. It took almost a full day to ride from Castle Garamont to the eastern border and back, and as youngsters these lands had seemed impossibly vast and filled with adventure. They would often purposefully lose their chaperones, much to the distress of those bidden to see them safe, and embark on quests and crusades against imaginary foes. The boys rescued many fair damsels from the maws of monstrous beasts, and bested many evil knights in those childhood years.

By the time Calard and his brother had entered manhood, they were already skilled Knights Errant, having been personally trained by one of Bastonne's, and possibly even Bretonnia's, greatest swordsmen. Calard himself was a notably strong and powerfully built warrior, his body honed through constant, near obsessive levels of training. Calard and his brother, along with many other young knights, would be called out to fight a massive Beastmen invasion, experiencing war for the first time. In the years that followed, Calard would be forged through these trials of war and battle, often fighting alongside Reolus, a renowned and mighty Grail Knight.

Knight Errant
"I am Calard of Garamont, First born son and heir of Lutheure of Garamont, Castellan of Bastonne... and you peasants are trespassing on Garamont land."

- Calard introduces himself to a group of poachers.

Calard and his brother's first adventure came when they were called to ride against a Greenskin horde rampaging across the countryside of Bordeleaux. Alongside many other young Knights Errant, this would be Calard's first true battle, a battle in which his long years of training were put to great use. The young noble galloped into the fray, slaughtering musclebound Orcs with lance and sword, whilst both knights and greenskins died all around him.

His whole existence seemed to become centred on the tip of his lance, and he levelled it at the barrelling chest of a greenskin brute that roared its defiance as he bore down upon it. The creature leapt forward to meet the knights head-on, and Calard followed its every move with the tip of his lance. He took in every detail of the barbarous creature: its foul hide, which was the colour of rotting vegetation; the assortment of rusted armour plates that covered its broad shoulders; its malicious red eyes filled with bloodlust and bestial hatred. Gore dripped from the heavy bladed cleavers clasped in its massive fists, and thick tusks extended from its lower jaw. Its heavily scarred arms were immense, easily as thick as his thighs.

The lance tip smashed into the orc’s chest with a shuddering impact, and Calard tensed his muscles as he drove the lance through the creature’s ribcage, as he had been taught on the practice fields of Garamont. The power of the blow shuddered up Calard’s arm and into his body, as the vamplate of his lance was driven back into his breastplate, and his body rocked backwards in the saddle. The lance drove clear through the creature’s body, impaling it, and the weapon was ripped from Calard’s hands. The fallen orc was trampled beneath Gringolet’s hooves, its bones crushed as it was kicked and stamped by the knights close behind. Then Calard was past the orc, his sword hissing from his scabbard in a flash of silver. In what seemed like a fraction of a second, he had been blooded in battle, and had made his first kill with the lance. Calard’s blade flashed out, glancing off the skull of an orc as he surged past, and other greenskins were lifted into the air as they were impaled on the lances of the other knights.

Calard’s earlier nervousness was replaced by an empowering surge of adrenaline, and he whooped savagely, voicing his enthusiasm and excitement as the formation of knights thundered through the village, running down and slaughtering the greenskins. Nothing could stand against them, and the feeling of power and speed was intoxicating.

Calard and the other Knights took a brief moment of respite before pushing on once more. He accepted a new lance offered to him by a soldier, bearing the colours of his father, and at the sound of a horn blown by one of the knights, the nobles of Bastonne rode from the devastated village and onto more slaughter, where the main bulk of the Greenskin army were fighting.

Calard’s jaw dropped as he drew to a halt atop the rise and looked down upon the seething battle underway below. Clarion horns sounded, and thousands of knights churned up the earth as they thundered across the field, lances lowering as they smashed into the massed ranks of the enemy. The greenskins surged like an overwhelming tide, their numbers inconceivable.

Kicking his steed onwards, Calard and the knights of Bastonne powered down the grassy hill to meet a horde of brutal Boar Riders, who came pouring out of the Orc’s infantry ranks. Calard, his face flushed with anger, shouted a wordless cry, which was lost amongst the cacophony of war, as he urged Gringolet on, willing the stallion to gallop faster.

Too late, the boar riders realised this new danger, and tried to haul their bulky steeds around to face the knights’ charge. The creatures were stubborn, obstinate beasts, and they snarled and slavered as their riders pulled brutally at them. Several of them threw their riders, bucking and spinning, and the massive tuskers gored each other in the confusion. The scent of blood drove them to madness, and they ripped at each other, as their riders tried frantically to control the wild beasts. Then Calard and the knights of Bastonne slammed into them.

Calard’s lance glanced off the armoured shoulder of an orc, throwing it off balance, and Gringolet’s armoured bulk smashed the creature aside. It lost its precarious balance upon the ridged back of its mount, and fell beneath the flashing hooves of the warhorses, even as the boar was impaled upon the lance of another knight, spitting and snarling as it fell. A knight alongside Calard was thrown from the saddle as a spear struck his breastplate, and he saw his brother’s lance break as it sank deep into the body of another boar. Tucking his own lance tightly under his arm, he drove its point into the face of a savagely painted greenskin, feeling the satisfying impact as the long weapon drove through its eye socket and brain, before punching through the back of its skull. Then the knights were free, having smashed through the flank of the boar riders, splitting them.

Then, in perfect unison, the knights of Bastonne pulled their steeds around to the right in a wide arc, wheeling to face the remnants of the boar riders, before charging into the green horde. Calard screamed in savage fury as he killed. His lance was wrenched from his hand, so he drew his glittering sword and split the helmet and head of another greenskin...

Within the hour, the field had been won, and the remnants of the greenskin army were fleeing back into the trees, pursued by small regiments of knights and mounted yeomen. Calard reined his steed in, breathing heavily. His immaculate blue and red tabard was splattered with blood and ripped where a cowardly arrow, fired by the enemy, had glanced across his chest. His shield, bearing his white dragon rampant upon a blue and red field, was battered and scratched.

This battle had proven to be both brutal and bloody, but in the end Calard had succeeded in his first duty as a defender of Bretonnia. There was no time to revel in this victory however. The Bretonnians soon realised that the Orcs and Goblins had not been rampaging across the countryside as a mere act of aggression, but had been fleeing from another army... an entire Warherd of Beastmen.

The Beastmen
This army was far larger and more organised than the greenskin horde they had defeated earlier, with dukedoms from across Bretonnia pledging their knights in Bretonnia's defence. The mighty Paladin Reolus even arrived to lend his holy wrath in the battle to come, an arrival which renewed the knight's spirits. Calard soon discovered that his long lost sister, Anara, had become both a powerful Damsel of the Lady and Reolus' paramour, and she too lent her power to the Bretonnian host. Even with a Grail knight and a Damsel leading them, the assembled Bretonnians still faced a fierce and bloody battle, against an enemy that far outnumbered them...

When the initial assault was launched, Calard stared in horror as dozens of Men-at-Arms were hauled away from the front lines. They were being dragged kicking and screaming back towards the distant tree line, where the Beastmen's monstrous leader, the Gave, stood pacinng back and forth like a caged animal, surrounded by its armoured guard. He had no time to consider the grim fate of these men however, as trumpets blared, and the order to charge was declared.

Calard slammed down the visor of his simple, unadorned helmet and kicked Gringolet into a gallop. All around the battlefield, knights charged. The ranks of the men-at-arms opened up before Calard and the Knights Errant, and they charged through the gap. They covered fifty yards in seconds, and Calard felt the thrill of battle wash over him. Beastmen streamed into the gap created by the parting ranks of the Bretonnian infantry, and lances were lowered. Tensing for the impact, Calard picked his target, a hulking brute with horns spiralling from its forehead, wielding a pair of rusted cleavers.

The knights ploughed into the enemy, and Calard's lance took his foe squarely in the chest, punching through the ribcage. It fell to the ground, blood pumping from the wound, tearing the lance from Calard's hands, and his sword flashed into his hand in an instant. Swinging the blade in a low arc, Calard carved a bloody slash across the neck of another Beastman, and it fell with a scream, even as another lance tore into its shoulder, smashing it to the ground. On Calard and the knights charged, driving through the enemy ranks and smashing them aside. Spears and blades glanced off shields and armour, and dozens of Beastmen were crushed to the ground, trampled into pulp beneath the hooves of the warhorses. The ground trembled beneath the charge of the knights. Nothing could stand in their path.

Surging through the press, Calard's formation swung to the north, riding hard in front of a line of angled, peasant stakes, tearing through the enemy pushing forwards there. Faced with enemies on two sides, the Beastmen fought desperately. Hundreds of Beastmen surged forwards at the knights, screaming as they ran, covering the ground with swift leaps and bounds. They came on in an endless tide, and the air was filled with their braying roars. Calard shattered the horns and skull of another beast with a downward strike, and reeled backwards in the saddle as a blade slammed into his shield, almost knocking him from the saddle. He fought for balance, his arm tingling from the impact, but remained in tight formation with the other young knights. The Knights Errant swung around in a wide arc, cutting and killing, struggling to maintain their impetus against the sheer number of Beastmen.

A monstrous form burst through the tide of enemies, tossing Beastmen aside in its eagerness to kill. Its immense, mutated form was covered in spines of bone and snapping jaws, and rents in its flesh gaped open, exposing countless mouths and tongues that writhed like serpents. It trailed lengths of Chain behind it, and rampaged forwards. A myriad of blood-shot eyes on stalks swung towards the young knights, and it screamed in pain and bloodlust, the sound coming from half a dozen throats. With a shout, Calard the knights angled towards the monstrosity, cutting down the savage Beastmen in their path. A thick neck of glistening, exposed muscle burst from within the hulking mass, and snapping jaws closed around the neck of a horse, even as five lances drove home into the beast. Arms ending in bony spurs punched forward, skewering knights and tearing them from their saddles, and lashing tentacles wrapped around steeds, burrowing through flesh and eye-sockets, dragging them down.

Calard slashed with his sword, severing half a dozen eyestalks that spurted black, hissing blood as they were cut, and the remaining eyes retracted within the monstrous creature's body. More lances and swords met Calard's, plunging into its malformed bulk, and its lifeblood gushed forth in a torrent, spurting from a dozen wounds. It flopped to the ground, thrashing madly in its death spasms, killing another pair of knights as it died. A spear smashed into the side of Calard's helmet, and he reeled, his ears ringing, and he saw scores of Beastmen closing in around them. He kicked Gringolet forward with a shout, and the knights were then galloping clear, leaving the dying monstrosity behind them.

Galloping back towards the Bretonnian lines, the massed forces of the enemy scattering before them, the Knights Errant urged their steeds on. the men-at-arms again parted before them, and they thundered through the gap. The ranks closed behind them, and it was only then that Calard saw how many of his comrades had fallen. Suddenly fearful, he glanced around to see his brother. Bertelis was still there, at his side. Bloodied, Calard and his fellow knights cantered up the hillside, and wheeled around to face the battlefield once more. Peasants ran forwards, handing fresh lances to them and passing flagons of water. Hundreds of Beastmen were still streaming from the trees in a relentless, never ending swarm, and Calard felt a stab of panic. He had barely survived the first charge, but it had made virtually no impact on the enemy ranks. Breathing heavily, he took a sip of water, before passing the skin back to a peasant and making ready for another charge. It was going to be a long night...

This final battle proved to be far more devastating than the Bretonnians had realised, but nevertheless, thanks to the knights bravery, they were victorious. After the defeat of the Beastmen, Calard and Bertelis learned that the entire invasion had been a diversion, whilst the tribe's leader, the Gave, travelled across Bretonnia to invade Castle Garamont. Transported by mystical means provided by Anara, the brothers would confront the Gave, only for the beast to remove it's mask of skin and sinew to reveal its disfigured, but undeniably human face. Anara revealed that the Gave was their brother, who they all believed had died at birth. Instead he was discarded, and their mother killed herself in shame at having borne such a monster. Calard would defeat and kill the Gave, but not before it took it's revenge by inflicting a mortal wound on his father, Lord Garamont.

During this confrontation, Calard's life came crashing down, Anara revealed that Lord Garamont was already dying, having received doses of poison from Calard's fiancé, Elisabet. The young noblewoman feared that Calard's father, who had long favoured his second wife and their son Bertelis, would disown him, leaving him poor and destitute - and by extension her if she married him. Confronted, Elisabet confessed, but pleaded that she had only done it for the sake of their love. Calard turned his back on her as she fled from the castle.

The grieving Calard would become the new Lord of Garamont, though he was daunted by his new responsibilities and was frequently absent from Garamont for hunts, tournaments, and social visits to neighbouring lords. The young Castellan would mask his pain on these visits by both drinking and womanising, much to the ire of the noblewomen's fathers. Meanwhile, unknown to him, his family's faithful Chamberlain Folcard, was convinced that because of the Gave, Calard was cursed. For the good of the Garamont bloodline, he had to be killed.

Knight of the Realm
"This one had dark hair, and wore a tabard of blue and red over his armour. A silver dragon was emblazoned on his chest. A good symbol that, he thought. To the Norse it represented power, martial strength and passion. That warrior was young, he saw, and bristled with hatred. That was an emotion Styrbjorn understood, and he knew that had this angry young knight been born of a Skaeling woman he would of been blessed by great Kharnath and become a mighty warrior indeed."

- Jarl Egil Styrbjorn sees Calard for the first time.

It was during a tournament that Calard heard of a Norscan war party attacking the coastlines of Lyonesse. The famed knight Laudethaire spoke of a woman held hostage within their camp, and along with Calard, Bertelis and the Grail Knight Reolus, led a rescue mission. The brave knights stormed the camp and discovered the woman was none other than Elisabet, Calard's former lover. Rescuing her from a ritual performed by the Chaos Lord Egil Styrbjorn, they hacked their way out of the camp, as the enraged Styrbjorn looked on. He would claim back his only son at any cost

Now pregnant with a daemon child, Elisabet was cared for by her former fiancé and his sister. Meanwhile, Styrbjorn had sent forth the full power of his armies, seeking to reclaim his son.

Landing on the shores beyond Castle Lyonesse, the fortress city was subject to a siege of epic proportions, with combatants from both sides dying in the thousands. Calard and his fellow knights found themselves fighting in cramped, brutal conditions as droves of Norscan warriors assaulted the castle’s outer walls. The young Castellan of Garamont slew barbarous warriors as they breached the walls, and plunged his sword into their throats as they attempted to climb over them. Meanwhile Calard’s retinue, made up of his trusted cousins, fought alongside their lord.

Riding Forth
As the Siege of Lyonesse continued, the belligured defenders were confronted with yet another challenge. A mighty Daemon Engine of the Chaos Dwarfs had been brought forth by the Norscans, capable of toppeling entire fortresses with its infernal firepower. It was virtually unassailable, having been transported by the Norscan’s longships to a small island along the coast. From here it could launch destruction upon the Knights of Bretonnia. Deciding that this new threat had to be dealt with, the Grail Knight Reolus met with Calard, and ordered the young Lord to ride forth alongside him. Calard and dozens of other Knights rode forth to destroy the infernal machine. He did not know how the Grail Knight intended to reach the island, only that they had to ride through the rampaging Norscans and towards the very sea itself...

It was then that Anara enacted her part of the plan. Standing atop Lyonesse’s great lighthouse, the Damsel called forth the power of the Lady, blanketing the surrounding warzone in a blanket of thick, unnatural fog. Then she focused her attention upon the roiling sea.

The mighty, thirty-foot high doors of the gatehouse groaned open. The wall of fog beyond the gate rolled through the portal as it opened, creeping across the cobblestones like a living, amorphous beast. As the knights prepared to charge, Calard lifted a devotional pendant carved in the likeness of the Lady to his lips, invoking her protection. Reolus signalled the charge, his voice infused with the power of the divine, filling the fifty knights gathered behind Reolus with fiery passion. The knights echoed Reolus’ cry, and Calard’s chest swelled with pride to be part of such an august company, to be riding behind such a holy knight. As one they kicked their steeds forward, galloping out through the gates and into the fog beyond.

Calard could not see more than ten feet in front of him, but he felt no sense of fear or doubt as they thundered out of the castle, galloping directly towards the sea across the sand-swept cobbles on the ancient roadway. The Lady was with them, and they were led by one of her greatest champions – nothing in the world could stand against them.

They came upon the Norscans suddenly, and judging by the expressions on the barbarians’ surprised faces, they must have appeared like ghostly apparitions, galloping out of the fog and led by a faintly glowing demigod of war. Still, the Norscans were a warlike people not given to fear, and they responded with admirable courage, dropping ladders and leaping forward with axes raised, war cries on their lips. Yet for all their bravery they were smashed aside by the tight wedge of knights, crushed and broken beneath the hooves of the mighty destriers.

None of the charging knights behind him faltered. A voice in Calard’s mind was urging him to pull his steed up, telling him it was utter foolishness to continue this mad ride through the fog and into the sea, but he grinned fiercely, rejoicing in the feeling of freedom that riding a warhorse at full gallop allowed. A dragon-prowed longship appeared out the mist, driving a furrow through the sand off to the right of the causeway as it slammed into the beach. Calard saw Norscans leaping over the gunwales gaping in astonishment at the formation of knights riding at full gallop along the causeway towards the ocean, but then they were past them and Calard turned his attention back to the fore. Impossibly, he heard Anara’s voice in the fog all around him. Other voices joined hers, and Calard felt an aching pang in his heart at the beauty of the half-heard song.

There was a great sucking sound from up ahead, and Calard saw the icy waters of the ocean surge away from the tip of the knightly formation. Calard and his allies rode through the parting sea, even as Norse longships fell from the water and into the ground around them. The Norscans protecting the Daemon Engine were completely unprepared for an assault on the island, and many Norscans looked on at the charging knights with expressions of shock and awe. Smashing into the barbarians, Calard’s lance took a surprised Norscan in the face, the tip of his weapon punching through the man’s eye-socket and smashing out the back of his skull. Releasing his hold on the weapon, he drew the blade of Garamont in a smooth motion and hacked down another enemy warrior, cleaving deep into flesh.

Calard knew that they were surrounded by thousands of Norscans now, and upon sighting smoke rising from the Daemon Engine, he and his allies moved to claim their prize. More Norscans ran into their path, screaming in fury, but the Bretonnians carved through them like a scythe through wheat. At a curt gesture from Reolus, half the knights riding behind Calard peeled off to the east. If the Norse overwhelmed them from the rear before they had a chance to destroy the enemy artillery then this whole gamble would be for nought, and so those knights that wheeled off from the main formation would hold them off as best they could.

Calard felt a pang of sadness and pride as the formation split. Those knights peeling away were forming a long line to protect their rear, and every last one of them must have known that he would likely not survive, yet not one of them baulked in the face of their duty. Part of Calard wished that he was riding at their side, for their names would surely be remembered in the pages of history, their noble sacrifice honoured for all time...

Daemon Engine
Calard focused his gaze upon their target, squinting towards the infernal war machine that was smashing apart Castle Lyonesse with its relentless barrage. Hulking, ape-like creatures attached to each other by chain could be seen hard at work around the machine, being whipped by squat, barrel-chested figures, but he paid them little thought, his eyes widening as he looked upon the hulking metal construction. The corpses and body parts of slain Bretonnian peasants were being shoved into the Daemon Engine’s burning maw, and Calard felt nothing but disgust.

Calard realised that the slave-creatures were orcs, though they were larger and darker-skinned than the ones he had fought as a Knight Errant in Bordeleaux. None of them registered the Bretonnians’ presence until they were almost upon them, so intent were they on their work. A hulking orc worker looked up at the knights bearing down on them as it dragged a frozen corpse up from one of the pits, and it blinked at them dumbly with beady red eyes. Then the creature bellowed, its massive tusked jaw opening wide, and its comrades lifted their heavy heads towards the Calard and the knights.

The Black Orcs were hampered by the chains welded around their necks, but they attacked the knights without fear. Perhaps they longed for death, Calard thought. Each of the beasts was huge, with densely muscled arms twice as thick as a man’s thigh. Calard slammed the blade of Garamont down onto the head of another of the dark-hued greenskins. It was like striking rock, sending a jarring shudder up his arm, but his blow shattered its skull and hacked deep into its miniscule brain, blood spurting. The creature didn’t register it was dead right away, and it snarled and swung a wild blow, forcing him to sway to the side to avoid it.

As Calard and the Bretonnians fought on, one of the Orc’s stunted masters entered the fray. Calard saw the Chaos Dwarf slavemaster heft his heavy weapon to its shoulder, and he gave a shout of warning to his fellow knights. There was a tremendous boom, and fire billowed from the widely flared barrel of the blunderbuss. A swath of death ripped through the Bretonnians and four knights were killed instantly, flesh and armour shredded.

Then there was a sound like some infernal giant beast sucking in a great intake of breath, making the air reverberate, the Daemon Engine had fired again, sending a roaring fireball skyward. At this range, the heat was nigh on unbearable, and Calard’s vision wavered before him. A Black Orc made a grab at him but he severed the creature’s arm at the wrist, leaving its immense hand locked around the reins. Another knight was thrown from the saddle as one of the greenskins wrapped its ape-like arms around the forelegs of his steed, getting trampled in the process but managing to drag the destrier down to the ground. Calard struck another Orc, his sword rebounding off its thick skull, making it reel. It stumbled and disappeared under the flashing hooves of another knight, and then they were through...

Calard and the other knights began bearing down on the Dwarf slavemaster. The heavily armoured creature had discarded its blunderbuss in favour of a heavy axe, its blade gleaming black obsidian. Its companions had joined it now, hefting heavy spiked tools in their thick, gloved hands. Each of the Dwarfs was no more than four foot high, but they were built like oxen. Each had a thick beard that fell down over their leather and iron aprons, and their arms were almost as thick as their bodies. Behind them the immense enemy war machine lurched, seemingly moving under its own impetus, and Calard recoiled in the saddle as he saw clawed legs of living bronze at the front of the war machine’s carriage ripping up the ground as they dragged its weight around to face the knights.

Being so close to the Daemon Engine caused Calard’s eyes water and his armour heat up unbearably. The barrel snapped shut as the living war machine lunged forward, straining like a wild bull at its restraints. Hellish runes glowed white-hot as it pulled against the chains. The steeds of the knights, as well trained as they were, refused to continue the charge towards the infernal daemon engine, baulking and fighting against their riders. The knightly formation fractured, some horses rearing and bucking while others came to a dead halt. Others swung to the side, flattening their ears and galloping at full speed, while some tried to throw their riders. Calard’s steed reared, pulling against him, and he fought to regain control. Only Reolus managed to ride forth.

As the Grail Knight fought the Deamon Engine, Calard was thrown from the saddle by his terrified warhorse. When Calard rose, The Chaos Dwarf slavemaster was before him, snarling hatefully as it swung its black-bladed axe in a murderous arc. Calard managed to get his shield in the path of the blow, but the axe sheared through it, knocking Calard to the side but saving him from harm. He slashed with his own blade, but the dwarf turned it aside easily. This was a foe of considerable skill, Calard realised.

As Calard continued to dual against the Dwarf’s leader, Reolus was already defeating their Deamon Engine. Calard risked a glance towards the Grail Knight, only to be met by another strike from the Chaos Dwarf. Dodging the blow, the Dwarf’s dark axe sheared through Calard’s armour, but not the flesh. Reolus eventually proved victorious, striking the Engine down with his holy blade. The runes binding the daemon hissed and disappeared, and the entire engine began to melt beneath the heat contained within it. Its metal-cogged wheels began to sag, and its brazen forelimbs dripped like syrup. Calard saw the surge of rage in the dwarf slavemaster’s eyes, and he smiled...

A blast of superheated air exploded outwards, knocking everyone within fifty yards to the ground, and Calard closed his eyes against the furious light that surged into the heavens as the daemons were banished. It was perhaps thirty seconds later when Calard’s senses returned to him and he registered the shape of Reolus, once again in the saddle, looming over him and asking him to take his hand. In awe, Calard accepted the proffered hand, and he swung up behind the grail knight. Then, together with the last of the knights that had accompanied them, they turned back towards Castle Lyonesse.

The Breach
Calard had no time to celebrate this victory however. Upon his return to Castle Lyonesse, he had regrouped with his retinue, and once more prepared to defend the walls from a fresh wave of Norscan marauders.

At the height of this attack, Calard found himself face to face with one of the enemy leaders, a mighty Norscan warrior, glutted with the power of Nurgle. Pale eyes burned with cold intensity within the shadowy depths of the Norscan’s helmet. Almost as an afterthought he lashed out with one of his swords, and one of Calard’s cousins fell with a gasp of pain as the tainted weapon carved through the plate armour encasing his forearm. He dropped to his knees, grasping his wounded arm, and Calard saw his vambrace blacken and corrode. The Chaos warrior’s broad shoulders were hung with wolf pelts, and he towered over Calard and his companions. Black smoke rose from the deadly, jagged blades of his weapons, and Calard knew that this must have been one of the enemy Chieftains. More enemy warriors leapt over the walls behind him, but Calard’s gaze was fixed on the giant warrior closing towards him. This was a worthy foe, he knew, and he relished the opportunity to prove himself before the Lady and his comrades – and to himself.

Calard gripped the hilt of the Sword of Garamont tightly, and whispered a swift prayer to the Lady of the Lake as he stepped forward to meet this enemy champion. A shadow fell over him and he ducked involuntarily as a winged shape swooped low over his head. The enemy champion took a step back, raising his swords up before him, but before he could ward off the blow, a lance was driven into his chest, punching though his armour and impaling him on its length. The lance tip burst out through the back of his body, transfixing him, and then the pegasus mounted knight was past, banking sharply off to the right. A cheer rose up from the defenders as Laudethaire flew over their heads, drawing his sword and brandishing it in salute. Calard realised that scores of men had seen the Parravonian strike down the enemy chieftain, and he had no doubt that all those who had not would know of it before the day was out. Calard cursed the knight as a bastard. It seemed that Laudethaire had claimed the glory...

The Norse champion, impaled upon the length of Laudethaire’s lance, was still alive, though he was greatly wounded. The blood that dripped from his wound was black and hissed as it struck the stonework, melting shallow pits in the rock where it fell. He stared up hatefully at Calard as he stepped forward to finish the warrior. Calard’s blow shattered the Norscan’s helmet and took half his head away, but still he did not die. The shattered pieces of the warrior’s helmet fell away from his face, exposing a mass of skinless flesh. Maggots writhed through the fibrous muscles of the champion’s face, and his lipless mouth was studded with rotting fangs. A single large horn protruded from the Norscan’s forehead. Calard had thought that horn was part of the brutal ornamentation of the Norscan’s helmet, but he saw now that it was part of the champion’s own flesh and bone. The chieftain spat a gobbet of phlegm up at Calard, which splattered against his helmet, just below his eye-slit. He could hear the foul acidic sputum eating through metal, and he ripped his helmet off his head, dropping it at his feet. The enemy chieftain chuckled, his ice-white eyes filled with dark humour, and Calard struck him again, this time hacking his putrid head from his shoulders. A rancid stink rose from the corpse, and Calard gagged. Several men-at-arms were with Calard’s cousin, helping remove the armour from his arm, and Calard saw that the wound was already festering with poison. Calard barked an order, demanding that the champion’s fell, black-bladed swords be wrapped in blankets and hurled from the walls. He ordered the rancid corpse of the Norscan thrown over the battlements, and half a dozen men lost the contents of their stomach at the repulsive stink of the rapidly decomposing body.

Exhausted, Calard leant against the wall, his back to the battlements and closed his eyes, breathing hard. It seemed like only moments passed before he heard ladders slam up against the walls as the next enemy assault struck. Weary beyond words, he opened his eyes and pushed away from the battlements, turning to wait for the enemy to appear once more.

Retreat
Whilst Calard and the Knights of Bretonnia continued to fight the Norscan hordes, they were completely unaware of what was about to be unleashed upon them.

The destruction of the Daemon Engine had been a massive blow to the Norscans at first, but the Jarl soon realised that the Bretonnians had shown him something that could yet see Lyonesse fall. The parting of the sea, whilst destroying many if his longships and allowing for the Daemon Engine’s destruction, had also shown its depth. The sea was just shallow enough in that area to allow the Jarl to deploy his mighty War Mammoths to assail their walls. This was just a part of the Jarl’s new plan however, as he had captured a particularly craven Bretonnian peasant, one who could accompany a small group of his men and open the Castle’s harbour gates to his longships...

At the arrival of this new threat, brought on by betrayal, Adalhard, the Duke of Lyonesse had left his command post and stood alongside his men on the walls. Calard saw the Duke gesturing towards the arched gatehouse that spanned the entrance to the harbour, and saw a trio of white winged shapes begin hurtling towards it; Laudethaire and the last of his companions. Swearing, Calard chopped his sword into the neck of a Norscan as he scrambled over the ramparts, and he kicked the man’s body off the walls as he slumped forward. He then gave the order to his brother Bertelis, he and his cousins were to leave the wall. It was only then that Calard saw the War Mammoths.

In desperation, Calard ordered for the Mammoths to be assailed by arrowfire, seeing that the peasant bowmen all around were frozen, staring in gormless horror at three mammoths that were now charging towards the castle walls. With those monstrous beasts outside the walls, and the enemy inside the walls, Calard knew that the resolve of the peasants was about to snap. All it would take was for one of them to turn and run and the whole stinking rabble would throw down their weapons and stampede from the walls.

The rising panic and desperation was palpable as the courage of the defenders faltered, and he knew that the next few moments were critical to forestall a complete rout. His old weapon master had taught him that in moments of indecision it was the nature of men, particularly peasant inbreds, to want someone to step to the fore and give them direction. If no one did so, then they would become a mindless rabble. Calard roared, in his loudest and most authoritative voice, for tbe peasants to hold in the name of the King. He registered that men, even knights, were turning towards him, looking to him for direction and perhaps reassurance.

Countless shafts rained down upon the titanic creatures. Many ricocheted off the thick armour plating of the beasts, but hundreds more embedded themselves in flesh and muscle, until the lead creature’s forelegs resembled pin cushions. The Norscans upon the back of the beasts ducked behind their wooden battlements and held their shields high, and hundreds of arrows sank into the woodwork, but some were struck, screaming in pain as arrows thudded home into their flesh.

Alas, only one of the three Mammoths was stopped. The two other beasts, one bearing Egil Styrbjorn, soon bore down on the walls. The first struck with the elemental power of an avalanche and the metal lattice-work of the first portcullis buckled inwards with a sickening shriek. The heavy reinforced gates beyond were smashed apart, and the sound of wood splintering echoed sharply as the dozen immense bars that sealed the gate, each as thick as a tree trunk and bound in iron loops, were sundered. The other beast struck the wall like a living battering ram, and hundreds of men staggered as the whole wall section shook. Large hooks of black iron attached to chains were hurled over the battlements, and then the first of the enemy were over, leaping onto the walls.

Heralding the arrival of their Jarl, these warriors were Styrbjorn’s elite bodyguards, each of them a mighty champion in their own right, massive warriors clad in black plate festooned with unholy fetishes and icons. Calard and his retinue tried to fight their way towards the enemy warlord, but it was like trying to battle against a raging flood. For each step they took towards the brutal giant of a man, they were forced back three paces by the sheer weight of the enemy. Norscans were streaming over the now undermanned walls, hacking down men-at-arms and knights left and right, and Calard roared in fury as he and his kin were driven back.

Eventually Calard and Lyonesse’s defenders were forced to retreat towards the Castle’s main keep. Despite inflicting massive casualties against the invaders, the Norscan host still outnumbered the Bretonnians and Jarl Styrbjorn had no qualms about sacrificing his warriors if it meant reclaiming his child. The surprise assault from within their harbour and the arrival of the War Mammoths only sealed the decision. Calard’s rival, Laudethaire, was one of the last Bretonnians to fall before the retreat was sounded, having failed in his attempt to slay a particularly massive Chaos Spawn.

Hollow Victory
Despite victory seeming certain, albeit costly, Styrbjorn feared for his son’s life. If he breached the castle’s main keep, there was nothing stopping the Bretonnians from slaying his daemon-child in one last attempt of retaliation. He decided to stand before his army and make an offer: he would face his enemies greatest warrior - Reolus - in mortal combat; if he defeated his opponent, the Bretonnians were honour-bound to hand over his son and the Norscan army would depart.

Reolus accepted the challenge, despite Anara's pleas. A titanic duel would ensue, with Reolus seeming to have the advantage, skewering the Jarl’s face and amputating his arm. The Chaos Lord was the favoured of Khorne however, and a disembowelling wound that should have killed him, regenerated before everyone’s eyes. Reolus was eventually defeated, his head cleaved from his shoulders by the enemy that could finally best him. Calard looked on from the battlements in shock. He had fought alongside Reolus, and could not believe that the mighty warrior had fallen.

Honour bound, Calard and Bertelis made their way to the castle and pleaded with Elisabet to hand over her child. The girl was hysterical, the half-demon child torturing her mind. When Calard was eventually given the child, his former lover ran after him crying. Bertelis grabbed Elisabet and in his anger, struck her. Calard heard a scream as Elisabet hurtled down the stairs of the keep, running to her body even as his sister announced she was dead. Calard turned to Bertelis in rage and despair, declaring that they were no longer brothers. With anger in his heart, Calard left the castle to deliver the baby to its Norscan father, who then left Bretonnia with a single message, that he would return one day alongside his fell son, ready to destroy the kingdom. Calard angrily replied that he would be waiting, and Styrbjorn instantly knew that the young Lord spoke the truth.

The loss of his beloved and the dispossession of his brother were not the only disasters to have struck Calard. He had also survived an assassination attempt by three of his cousins. Dying from a plague-stained wound he had suffered at the hands of a Norscan Chieftain, one of them feverishly confessed that Folcard had ordered Calard’s death, convincing many of his own family that his blood was tainted. Immediately upon Calard's return to Garamont, Folcard was hanged, along with the Witch, Haegtesse, who had helped Stybjorn birth his daemon child. Deciding that his path was clear, Calard passed the lordship of Garamont to his youngest cousin, Orlando, with his friend and mentor Baron Montcadas acting as regent.

That night, Calard strode through Castle Garamont, the home that he was about to leave behind for the Lady knew how long. It was highly likely that he would never live to see its halls again, but even that thought did not dampen his spirit. Quickening his pace, Calard hurried to the small shrine to the Lady on the ground floor of his castle. Outside its entrance was his lance, and he took it in his hands, bearing it before him as he entered his family’s humble chapel, where countless Garamont lords before him had prayed. Once inside, he placed the lance reverently upon the altar. Hundreds of candles lit the chapel, lending the space a serene glow. Kneeling, Calard bowed his head.

He began to recite the ritualistic vow of the Grail Quest, He felt the spirit of the Lady infuse him, warming him from within, and he knew that he had made the right decision. This was the only way that he was ever going to prove his purity, to his knights and to himself. It was time for him to face his fear, to stand and defy it.

It was time for Calard to take up the quest, never to rest until he was visited by a vision of the Lady of the Lake herself and offered a draught of her sacred Grail. For many knights such a journey took decades, though most were slain long before their goal was fulfilled. Many of those knights who succeeded in their search and drank from the Holy Grail died as a result, found unworthy; only those pure of heart, with not a hint of taint within them, survived imbibing that divine nectar.

Calard smiled. He was now embarked on the Long Journey; he was now a Questing Knight of Bretonnia...

Questing Knight
"Six long and difficult years had passed since he had left Castle Garamont. It felt like a lifetime. Six years ago, had he taken up the Grail Quest, setting aside his lance and handing over the running of his castle. Calard had travelled the Old World and beyond seeking the Lady of the Lake, patron goddess of Bretonnia. Never in all that time had he spent more than one night in one place, as per the decree of his oath, lest the Lady find him wanting."

- Calard reflects on his Grail Quest.

Now several years into his journey as a Questing Knight, Calard had become a figure of renown. Seeking the Lady’s divine favour, he had bested creatures foul and murderous in the forests of the Empire, championed the oppressed in the burning lands of Araby far to the south, and battled alongside dwarf thanes against screaming hordes of greenskins far beneath the Worlds Edge Mountains. He had fought and won a dozen duels of honour, one against a monstrous Ogre Tyrant. He had battled Trolls upon the frozen oblast of Kislev, rescued a nobleman’s daughter from sacrifice at the hands of a band of cultists beneath Altdorf, and emerged victorious from the famed  Dance of Blades  in the cutthroat city of Sartosa. He had slain hulking monsters in the blizzards of the northlands, and tracked and killed the dread Jabberslythe of Ostwald. He had been hunted by pallid, blind ogre-kin through the labyrinths beneath the Mountains of Mourn and emerged triumphant.

Most recently Calard had slain – several times – a monstrous, immortal Wyvern that refused to stay dead. He had even fought beneath the burning heavens in the Realm of Chaos and survived its countless horrors – there were few things in the world that could truly unnerve him. The Quest had hardened his body, soul and mind, forging him anew and honing his killer's instincts to a razor's edge.

Always, he chased the elusive presence of the goddess, yet always she led him further on. For months, Calard’s dreams had been haunted by a recurring vision. Though he could not discern its full meaning, one thing was certain beyond any doubt; the goddess wished for him to return to Castle Garamont.

The Questing Knight would return to his birthplace, only fo find it in ruins, destroyed by a powerful enemy. The anger at the destruction of his home would spur Calard on, grief and the lust for vengeance making him more determined than ever. Travelling to the nearby lands of Sangasse, he learned from one of his old rivals, Maloric, that it was a pair of vampiric knights who had slaughtered his family and set his castle to the torch.

The Questing Knight took the treacherous journey to the cursed city of Mousillon, where he discovered that Duke Merovech, once a famed and mighty warrior, turned traitor and kingslayer, had returned from centuries of death. Revealed to be a powerful Vampire, the evil Duke had been amassing an undead army powerful enough to destroy all of Bretonnia. Calard infiltrated the ancient keep of Mousillon to discover his brother, now a mighty Blood Knight and champion of Merovech himself. Bertelis revealed to Calard's horror that it was he who led the attack on Garamont, killing all who stood before him alongside his vile Duke. Corrupted by guilt and the transition to undeath, Bertelis had attacked his own homeland hoping to find and kill his brother. A fierce battle soon ensued, with the Duke of Mousillon watching as his favoured get fought against his mortal brother. Bertelis was deadly, faster and stronger than any mortal could ever hope to be, Vampirism had added to his already impressive skill in combat, rivaling even the late Reolus in skill. Calard could only hope to block his brother's mighty blows with his shield.

Meanwhile, in a weak attempt of rebellion, the vile denizens of Mousillon had burst into the castle. They were led by a massive Varghulf known as the Old One, long imprisoned by Merovech and hungry for revenge. This distraction allowed Calard to seize his opportunity, striking his brother down and reducing him to ash and bone. Calard managed to escape just after Merovech had torn the mighty Varghulf's throat out, swearing to save Bretonnia from the man who had corrupted his brother and threatened his kingdom.

Calard's travels eventually brought him to the woodland realm of Athel Loren. It was here that he helped save the Wood Elves from destruction, fighting through the magics of the fey forest and battling the false visions that it gave him. Taking part in a great battle between the Wood Elves and the Dryads, Calard's journey ended with him dueling the ancient Drycha, plunging the Sword of Garamont into her chest and banishing her from the realm.

Quest's End
"Calard was able to match the fury and power of his foe, and for a time it seemed that the battle might rage on forever, a never-ending duel within the mists. Time lost all meaning. All that existed was the contest. Neither warrior was able to overcome the other, and their blades were a blur as they cut and thrust."

- Calard the Questing Knight, fighting Gilles le Breton.

The Grail Quest would finally end when Calard battled Gilles le Breton in his form as the immortal Green Knight, avatar of The Lady herself.

Calard fought against the Green Knight with all his might, for in his youth he had been trained by one of Bretonnia's greatest swordsmen, and years of battling the mightiest of monsters and foes had enhanced his skill greatly. Whilst initially managing to hold his own against the great being, Calard was still only a mortal, he began to feel himself weaken and tire with every advancing second, whilst his foe fought on relentlessly. Calard was still greatly favoured by the Lady however, calling out in prayer he received renewed vigour, his battered greatsword glowing with holy flame. With this newfound favour, Calard fought on undaunted, landing a mighty blow upon the Green Knight and even matching him in skill... but Calard soon realised that simply defeating his foe was not the true purpose of his trial. He quickly lowered his sword and bent a knee, offering his life for the Lady. The Green Knight brought his sword down upon the kneeling knights's head, but stopped just as the cold steel of the Dolorous Blade touched Calard's skin... the test was over.

Grail Knight
"You have drunk from the Grail.” “I have,” said Calard, nodding. “We are both eternal servants of the Lady now. Our lives are no longer our own.” “Father would have been proud.” “He would,” agreed Calard, a hint of a smile touching his lips."

- Calard and Anara, upon the completion of his quest.

Daring to breathe, Calard rose to his feet and stepped forward into the Sacred Lake to meet his goddess. Light spilled from every pore of her being, warming his face, and with faltering hands, he reached out and took the chalice. It was heavy, and he felt a strange tingle run up his arms. Looking down into the magical grail’s fathomless depths he saw silent images of his past and future mirrored there, playing out before him. He drew the chalice up towards his lips, but he hesitated for a moment before drinking. It was said that only those pure of heart and devoid of any hint of taint upon their soul could drink from the Lady’s grail and live. Drawing in a deep and shuddering breath, Calard lifted the golden chalice to his lips and drank.

Supping from the Grail, Calard joined the ranks of the mighty Grail Knights. His eyes flickered with holy witchfire, and he was surrounded by a vague halo of light, as if the early morning sunlight was drawn to him. He stood taller than he had before, and the faint lines around his eyes had been smoothed away. The effect did not look young so much as ageless, and his eyes spoke of things unknown to mortal men. He was now more than mortal and capable of exacting his revenge on Merovech. The God-King Orion, owing Calard a debt for saving Athel Loren, chose the Grail Knight to help him lead the Wild Hunt, straight into the very heart of Bretonnia.

Hero of Bretonnia
"The vampire tore the lance from its throat and rose to meet him. Merovech had lost one of his swords; the other one he gripped in both hands. He hissed, and hurled himself at Calard. The Sword of Garamont came up, smashing Merovech’s sword aside. Calard allowed his momentum to carry him around, so that he had his back turned to his enemy. With a movement so fast it was little more than a blur, he spun his sword around..."

- Calard during his duel with Merovech.

Merovech led an army of undeath into the heart of Bretonnia, slaughtering the army amassed before him. King Louen Leoncoeur himself, would enter the battle mounted atop a mighty hippogryph. The young king defeated all who stood before him, but eventually a lucky blow would send his mount crashing down, pinning him beneath its bulk. Merovech, seeing the king trapped, approached his foe wielding two mighty swords, and readied the killing blow.

A light flashed as the Wild Hunt arrived, Calard stormed down the hill alongside the living god Orion, white fire flickering up the length of his blessed lance. His heart filled with rage as he saw the vast undead army besieging Couronne and his eyes blazed with holy fire. He kicked his noble steed on to match the god of the woods, lowering his lance as he neared the enemy battle line. Calard galloped ahead, the enemy falling in droves beneath the thrust of his lance and the cut of his sword. Calard fought like the living saint that he was, holy flames coruscating from his sword, his eyes flaring with fey light. He alone remained unaffected by the fury infusing the others that rode with Orion. His every blow brought ruin on the enemies of Bretonnia. He could feel the power of the Grail pounding through his veins. The enemy fell before him like wheat beneath a scythe. He forsaw the strike of every spear and rusted sword moments before it happened, and he turned them aside effortlessly, countering with devastating blows that splintered bones and shattered blades.

He saw Merovech then, looming over the stricken King, he ploughed into the Duke's vampire bodyguard, a shining light spearing through the darkness and the driving rain. Unholy Blood Knights moved to protect their dark lord. Their eyes were filled with hatred, but there was fear there too - the shining light Calard exuded was anathema to those creatures of the night, and it caused them great pain to even look upon him. Known as the  '' Seneschals", and garbed in archaic armour of ancient design, each was a mighty warrior and dark champion in their own right, but even so, they perished under Calard's furious charge, lance and sword skewering blackened hearts and sending dragon-helmed heads into the air.

Calard shouted towards Duke Merovech, drawing the vampire away from the fallen King, he batted aside a vicious swinging broadsword, and his lightning riposte stabbed deep into the flesh of another Seneschal, the white flame flickering up his sword, making the devil's skin blacken and blister. It was then that the fell Duke swung towards him.

Galloping at full speed, Calard saw every detail of his foe in the moment before they clashed. He saw the aristocratic disdain in Merovech’s eyes, eyes that gleamed like a wolf’s, reflecting back at Calard the holy light that surrounded him. He saw the dimly glowing runes along the length of the vampire’s mighty swords, and he saw each individual raindrop coming down, splashing off his enemy’s fluted black armour.

Despite the Duke's superhuman speed and strength, Calard was no longer a mortal warrior. Their brief dual ended with the Blood Knight impaled upon the Sword of Garamont. The vampire’s mouth opened wide in final, soundless scream. His flesh began to wither and blacken, like parchment beneath a candle-flame. Calard wrenched his sword free, and his foe fell to the ground, collapsing to grave-dust. Merovech, vampire Duke of Mousillon, was no more.

Destiny
"Calard could feel the daemon writhing within the warrior’s flesh, but more disturbing still was the fact that he could see the features of Elisabet, the woman he had once loved, reflected in the creatures face. This was the offspring of Styrbjorn and Elisabet, the deamon-child for which so many had died. 'fight well my son,' said Styrbjorn stepping aside. The daemon came towards Calard, unsheathing a massive double-handed cleaver from a scabbard strapped across his back. Dark flames rippled across the length of the blade. Calard drew the Sword of Garamont and stepped out to meet him, his own blade wreathed in a pale fire. 'Lady guide my blade', murmered Calard. Thunder rumbled across the heavens, and under the watchful gaze of the Bretonnian and Norse armies, the two champions of the gods came together."

- Calard facing the Son of Styrbjorn.

Fifty years later, a lone knight knelt in prayer upon a rocky beach as thousands of Norse longships ploughed towards the shore. Calard - now one of Bretonnia's greatest heroes - would stand at the head of an army, his feats and exploits were renowned throughout the land, but there was one more task for him to complete. Facing him was a massive horde of Chaos led by Egil Styrbjorn; his destiny had come. As the two warriors spoke to each other, Styrbjorn would call forth his son, for a duel that would once again decide the outcome of a war... and Bretonnia's survival.

Fate
Calard could only have been victorious in his duel, for he soon rode forth to lend his might in the Cleansing of Mousillon. His heroic charge against the forces of Chaos would later be immortalised in the form of an exquisite painting. By this time he had also attracted a force of Battle Pilgrims, zealous warriors who revered him as a living saint.

By the beginning of the End Times, Lord Calard of Garamont was finally starting to physically age. Despite this he was one of Bretonnia's greatest defenders as one of the Companions of Quenelles, fighting for eight years, up until the Empire's destruction. During the final siege of Averheim, the ageing hero fell alone against innumerable odds, with a sword in his hand and a curse on his lips.

As a Grail Knight, Calard would eventually be resurrected in a new world, inhabited by all who had supped from the grail of Lileath.

Heraldry
Calard's heraldry bore the emblem of a Dragon common to the Knights of Bastonne. It was a fire-breathing, white Dragon Rampant, imposed upon a field of blue and red. The colours represented his parent's own heraldry, the left taken from his father's red shield and the right representing the blue of his lost mother. His helmet was crested with a Lion, holding a winged shield bearing the same Dragon Rampant. This was later changed to incorporate a Grail after he succeeded in his quest.

Weapons & Abilities
Calard was a fearsome warrior. one of the greatest to walk the Old World, renowned by other Knights and feared by even the mightiest Vampires and Chaos Lords. Even as a mortal warrior he was capable of defeating many great foes, having slain Trolls, Wyverns, Ogre Tyrants and even a monstrous Jabberslythe in combat. He had defeated the ancient Drycha and equalled Gilles le Breton himself in their penultimate duel, passing his final test and drinking from the Grail. As a Grail Knight he had bested, within seconds, Merovech the Butcher, a Blood Knight who rivaled beings such as Reolus and Egil Styrbjorn in power.

Like all Grail Knights, Calard was blessed with an abnormally long lifespan and possessed strength, speed and endurance beyond any mortal warrior. He was also protected against fell magic and could predict enemies attacks seconds in advance. These abilities added to his already deadly skill in combat, honed through years of fighting the most powerful of foes.


 * The "Sword of Garamont" was a powerful artefact, blessed by a kiss from the Lady herself. Its scabbard was inlaid with spiralling designs picked out in gold, and the pommel of the sword was shining blue steel forged in the shape of a fleur-de-lys, the symbol of the blessed Lady. Its untarnished blade blazed with a fey light as it struck down its enemies. Blood would trickle off the sword as if it were oil, and it could cut through the greatest of armours with ease. In the hands of Calard it was a weapon of righteous death, his speed and strength allowing it to cut down enemies in their droves.


 * "Elith-Anar - The Dawn Spirit", was a mighty Elven lance, an ancient artefact brought to Athel Loren long ago from distant Ulthuan. It was crafted from pale wood inlaid in silver, and its curving vamplate guard had been carved in the likeness of a dragon’s head. The lance was imbued with potent magics and its blade blazed with a pale fire. Calard wielded this lance as if it was but a sword, skewering his enemies and throwing them to the ground with contemptuous ease.


 * "Galibor", was a powerful Warhorse, Calard had ridden it's sire "Gringolet" in battle as a young Knight Errant, and so knew the horse's great pedigree. With powerful muscles and heavy armour, it was fearless in battle and feisty in nature.