In Warhammer Fantasy as my ERP Character

15

Current population:
910/10.000

I checked our current population as I gave birth to the chaos mammoth baby. It was extremely uncomfortable as my body stretched to its utmost limit. I need to find a female chaos mammoth or someone to exclusively tend to the mammoth. But that is for later. The warherd is almost ready. Just need to wait till the raiding party who delay the enemy army to return. While the number says 910, our effective combat force is 750 at most. We have 100 noncombatant beastwomen, not to mention that our female captives do not contribute to the number. So I assigned 60 beastmen to guard the noncombatant. The howdah on the mammoth has also been repaired. Granted it is a crude and hasty repair by the beastmen but it will work for now.

Before midday the raiding party returned. They deposited their loot, which is mostly just farming tools, to the clearly overworked beastmen weaponsmiths even though their number had been doubled. Their crude forge stayed lit for the last two days. Then Lak approached me. Carrying a halfling, judging by their large and hairy feet.
“Mother, can I keep this human child?” I raised my eyebrow on the question. “Me and Kal are curious about how long a human child takes till big. We don’t see the enemy army breed and add their number like we do.”

Now that’s fascinating. It is also good that my children are curious and not just filled with wild instinct like all beastmen do. I will tell her that most beastmen are killed as fast as they breed but first,

“That is not a human child.”

“I am a human child!” The halfling screamed while Lak looked confused. Then I realized that while I can speak and understand languages, this does not extend to my beastmen children. Makes sense since most languages descend from the daemon’s dark tongue.

“That is a halfling”

“What’s a halfling?” “No! I am a baby!” both said at the same time.

“Some kind of small human.” I oversimplified to Lak who nodded in acknowledgement.

“No-no! Don’t chop me like the others.” Then he went and hugged my leg. “Please you are a kind lady right? I can be the camp cook. My cooking is great. Even ogres praises my cooking. Please let me cook here and don’t kill me.” He begged and cried on my leg. Beastmen raids are traumatic. I am grateful my new daemon nature made me desensitized.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes-yes, I’m certain.”

“Very well then, Lak, this halfling wants to be our cook. Lead him there then call Kal and Druig. We have to prepare”

Lak then left and led him away. Then I realized that I forgot to ask the halfling's name. Well, it can wait.

___

Robadel’s pov (the halfling)

Robadel’s entire life flashed into his eyes as the beastmen raided the village of Stedum. When he was a child he is enraptured by the story of his fifth removed cousin’s uncle from the mother side of the family. He listened to all the details as the uncle recounts his story as a cook to a company of a Tilean mercenary. How he cooks to the ogres, cooks feast for the border princes petty rulers, and his numerous adventures that made him a renowned chef. He found his calling there. Leaving Moot after he trained to cook various dishes and from all available ingredients from across the empire. He is on his way to Marienburg as they regularly employ Tilean mercenaries. His brief detour north to acquire some exotic ingredient from Laurelorn forest now leads him to this predicament. 

But he guessed he would get his first goal as a chef. But to a beastmen herd. The shock witnessing the beastmen chopping the human bodies starts to subside. But now he realizes that this beastmen herd does not wear clothes. He can see all the beastwomen’s boob around him. Unfortunately thick fur covers their legs. But he can see the horned lady very clearly. He thinks he can get used to this situation as long as no beastmen try to eat him. But this thought dashed as he arrived at his station. Seeing the piled chopped up bodies as the ingredient. He really has his work cut out for him this time.

___

back to Valariel

As Lak returned I received a notification

I immediately accepted the trial. Then my children gathered to hear my plan.

___

Bertrand's Pov

We marched to fight the golden herd. After elusively hiding, they have made their presence known near the hill beside the village of Haskamp. No doubt they have already raided too. If the golden herd wants a fight, I will give one. I have also sent a messenger toward Marienburg. But even I don’t know what those knaves will do with the message. Thankfully the Eonir decided to stay and help. Though my men have reported that their countenance is becoming more scary each day.

Soon we reached a clearing. A distance away from the golden herd. We swiftly readied our own formation. My army, mostly infantry at the front, was supported by Eonir infantry. Then the Eonir archers at the back. Fighting on the swamp will be a bitch but my men have handled worse.
“Is it just me or their herd has more beastmen than before our ambush?” Dagobert voiced one of my worries.
“Probably another foul sorcery from the daemon or another herd joining them.”

As soon as our formation was ready, the beastmen charged. Twenty winged minotaurs at the very front.
“I spot no ranged unit” The Eonir captain said curtly.
Good, an old fashioned melee. Just the way Ulric likes it. We braced for the minotaur’s charges to connect. But the minotaurs leapt before their charge connected. I along with many others can only watch dumbly as they jumped over us, supported by their wings, and landed on the archers.
“No, wait!” But too late, the elves more concerned with their kin immediately broke rank and supported the archer. The Eonir captain took leave to support the back.

“Fuck! Fuck!” The rest of the beastmen are closing in. “Dagobert! Take some men and support the elves. Don’t let them surround us”. The front formation is getting thinner as the rest of the beastmen finally clash against us. Then the stalemate when we ambushed them repeated. Our swords glanced from their golden skin while their crude weaponry struggles to do damage against our plate armors.
“Things can’t get worse than this.” But then a chaos war mammoth emerged from beside the hill. Iron barbed wires tied across the mammoth’s overgrown tusks. The daemon on top of its wooden platform.

“May Sigmar’s balls gag my mouth”

___

Pov back Valariel

I continue to rain arrows from the howdah. My steel compound bow and arrows pierces their plate with every shot. The mammoth charge was fantastic. Breaking their center formation immediately. Though only a few died as their formation spread thin. But it doesn't matter. I commanded the mammoth. Crushing soldiers with every step. Poor souls are eviscerated by the wire while some are punted away by the mammoth trunk and tusk.

Everything is just as planned. But then a horn blows across the battlefield. And a notification appears.

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