Comte Electeur Theodoric Gausser

[Dreadaxe]

Sabertooth nous change l'élécteur du stirland de EiF Alblerich Haupt-Anderssen (2512) en Martin (pas de nom de famille ?!)

En faite c'est un peu bizarre. Je savais bien que j'avais déjà entendu ce nom (Martin). Je susi allé voir mon livre d'armée Mort-Vivant et le Comte Martin est celui qui tue Mannfred von Carstein à Hel Fenn. Bizarre qu'il ai une carte à WarCry.

Je me répond à moi même. En faite cette carte du comte électeur fait partie d'une extension "Death and Honor - Battle of Hel Fenn" donc rien de surprenant.

[Dreadaxe]

Pour Gausser j'ais trouvé ça :

Theodoric Gausser, Elector Count of Nordland, banked Razortalon, his griffon mount, hard over, pulling the ground closer and closer. The maneuver always gave him a reluctant thrill; surely the leader of an Empire nation could act more responsible to his command than to relive the arrogance and risk taking of his youth. Below, his men kept a steady pace, their horses winking in and out of Razortalon’s wide winged shadow, as he circled down upon them.

Ca vient de chez Sabertooth, le lien :

http://www.sabertoothgames.com/warcry/fact...reports_wc6.asp

Donnons la totalité du texte tant qu'à faire. Ça permettra de mieux cerner le bonhomme :

Forest of Shadow, Forest of Blood. HORDES ARE VICTORIOUS! 4/2/2004

Valmir von Raukov, Elector Count of Ostland, pushed his face into the wind, as if the lean forward and his stubbornness would somehow make his steed gallop faster. If he was able to smell, the scent would be the tart spike of blood and the frothy sweat of his horse; but the air was too cold and the wind too fierce to allow any senses past the sharp sting of pain and the blur of watering eyes.

Ahead of him, the Chaos champion stood over the First Captain of his regiment, a man named Gustov Winkelson. Winkelson’s horse struggled in a useless attempt to stand, just off to the side of the pair, its flanks and chest opened with the numerous axe blow it took in service to its rider. Winkelson scrambled away from the thrashing animal, his armor carving rivets over the frozen mud of the battlefield. Getting trapped underneath it was certain death.

Raukov kicked aside a Chaos marauder, one of the numerous unarmored barbarians crowded around his Ostland forces. They had known of the Chaos insurgent, but the size of the force and the exact location had been a mystery.

Winkelson rolled to his weapon as the Chaos champion’s axe chopped into the tundra. Raukov called out to him to hold on. The Chaos ambush had come at the edge of the Forest of Shadows and the sparse trees were in the foot soldier’s favor. He knew that the invasion force had marched through the edges of Nordland and Elector Count Gausser had given chase. If his men could hold out a short time more, the Chaos forces would be caught between the two Empire forces.

Javelins hit near his head, sticking into the tree beside him. Bark caught into his beard from the force of the blow. He pulled his horse hard to one side, galloping through the sparse undergrowth. The Chaos forces outnumbered Raukov’s men two and three to one; only their undisciplined nature and lack or cavalry had kept the battle even.

Von Raukov split the helm of a Chaos warrior next to him, the steam from the man’s head jetting through the cut around his sword. The smaller sprinkles of blood and tissue frozen nearly at once in the air and drifted away on the wind.

Winkelson’s horse had given up its struggle and lie still.

Theodoric Gausser, Elector Count of Nordland, banked Razortalon, his griffon mount, hard over, pulling the ground closer and closer. The maneuver always gave him a reluctant thrill; surely the leader of an Empire nation could act more responsible to his command than to relive the arrogance and risk taking of his youth. Below, his men kept a steady pace, their horses winking in and out of Razortalon’s wide winged shadow, as he circled down upon them.

Up ahead, he could see the bulk of the Chaos army already engaging with the Ostland forces. Gausser, his eyes lined with age, still had the vision of a man half his age. His lithe form gripped the reins tightly as he lead Razortalon to a cluster of activity he saw off the main force.

To the side of the main battle, a small unit of Chaos warriors marched through the sparse tree line. If they were able to flank the Ostland force, Gausser knew that Elector Count Von Raukov would have a grim task ahead of him. Signaling his first in command to continue to the main battle, Gausser pulled his griffon into a steep dive and brought his lance to bear, determined to give the Chaos raiding force a surprise of their own.

Winkelson had regained his feet, locking his sword into the shoulder pad of the Chaos Champion’s armor. As Von Raukov charged forward, sword outstretched, the Champion twisted his shoulders to one side, throwing Winkelson off balance. The huge steel axe arced down and the ring of it biting into Winkelson’s chest plate caused Raukov’s heart to drop as fast as the now lifeless body of his warrior.

Von Raukov thundered past two Chaos warriors. He and his mount leaped over the still form of Winkelson’s dead horse, bringing Von Raukov to the fray. Keeping the high ground against the warrior on foot, Von Raukov maneuvered his horse to help its armor deflect the Chaos champion’s hard swings.

He looked for his opening.

Razortalon opened its beak, a shrill death call pouring from it. The Chaos warriors below froze, for merely an instant; but it was all he needed. Tumbling into them, the griffon’s claws shredded three men before they had an opportunity to recover. Gausser pushed his lance into a heavily armored man, the warrior instantly thrust backwards into the mud with the crunch of ribs.

A blur of feather and beak, Razortalon made short work of several more men. Gausser’s sword struck out when he could, sometimes drawing death, other times unbalancing warriors who then were quick victims of his mount’s lethal beak or claws.

Gausser wheeled around at the sound of a challenge issued behind him. The Elector Count instantly recognized the marking and weapons of the Chaos god Khorne. The man’s huge, double edged axe obviously made its owner a warrior of some importance. The Khorne warrior wore the numerous skulls of his conquests and his body language made it clear that he would be no easy task.

Guasser wide grin signaled he was up for it.

As Elector Count Guasser prepares to do battle with the Khorne Champion, the forces of Ostland and Elector Count Von Raukov hold back the approaching tide of Chaos forces. Can Guasser’s men arrive in time? What secrets do the Chaos forces hold?

Both armies clash at the edge of the Forest of Shadows, with the lands of Ostland and Nordland the prize. And you decide the outcome!

---

From a distance, the dull clash of metal and the murmur of men’s shouts were lost in the thin trees and frozen mud. Ostland, a notoriously unforgiving land, gave little quarter to the foolish; and less to the brave. In the midst of it, the loud clash of metal and shrieks of pain echoed in Valmir von Raukov’s ears. The Elector Count of Ostland gave no quarter to invaders.

Around Raukov were the remains of both his army and the Chaos forces intent on destroying him. His First Knight, Gustov Winkelson lie near his feet, a horrible gash marking the remains of the man’s chest. Winkelson’s blood had already frozen; the last gasps of his breath clumped icicles in his thick beard. Other bodies were stacked around him; all still and steaming in the cold wind. Raukov’s own horse, cut from underneath him moments before, shuttered a last breath, then went still.

On the outskirts of the battle the reinforcements from Nordland arrived. With no sign of their leader, Theodoric Gausser, the Nordland horsemen rode hard into the flank of the Chaos forces. Raukov was impressed with their prowess.

In front of Raukov, a Chaos Champion stretched his arms wide, the greaves in his armor scrapping together like the grinding of teeth. The blade of his axe was a wide as Raukov’s chest, its surface etched with the cuts of a hundred or perhaps a thousand men’s ribs. Raukov held his own sword at the ready; no stranger to blood itself. Raukov was determined to end the Chaos Champion’s rein of terror here and now.

Theodoric Gausser, Elector Count of Nordland, pulled the reins of Razontalon, the ground rushing up to meet them. He had rushed ahead of his horse mounted troops in his attempt to cut off the flanking attack on Raukov’s beleaguered Knights. The griffon’s large wings blew drifting snow and ice into a cloud, partially blinding the Chaos warriors underneath. Gausser pushed his lance down into the haze, feeling it bite into armor and flesh.

Gausser looked around for the Chaos warrior he had seen from the air; a large Chaos warrior in red, with gold trim, leading the charge. A worshipper of the war god Khorne, the warrior’s armor was more ornate than a normal warrior. Obviously a warrior of importance, Gausser sought to rob the men of their general.

Suddenly Gausser found himself surrounded; a logical conclusion to his brazen actions. He spurred Razortalon to flight, but the Chaos troops were ready. Using a trapping maneuver, several of the marauders threw netting and rope over the beast’s wings and feet. As the griffon struggled against the weight of the bodies, Gausser cursed his own recklessness and dropped his lance. Quickly, he donned his shield and sword, sliding off the saddle to the snow covered ground.

The warrior in red stepped through the clouds of snow kicked up by the struggling griffon. Gausser grinned, motioning the warrior to him. It was time to prove once again why he was Nordland’s greatest son.

Raukov’s arm shook as he blocked the downward swing of the Chaos Champion. Raukov knew his speed would be his only chance against the powerful warrior. Not afraid of using any tactics to gain an edge, he used the downward momentum of his sword to dig into the icy ground with its tip. He flicked the dirt and ice upward, hitting the warrior on the front of his helmet. Raukov knew the clumsy ploy wouldn’t distract a Champion for more than an instant; but that instant allowed Raukov to close in, hampering the warrior from using all of his strength with the massive weapon.

Minutes ticked by and the two fought in grim silence. Around them, the Ostland and Nordland forces drove back the remaining Chaos forces. Perhaps sensing eventual defeat, Yahel Bilith began a slow, fighting retreat.

Back to the wood line, the two men’s weapons sparked off one another; the sharp ring quickly absorbed in the trees. "Scurry back to your hole," Raukov spit, backing up toward an approaching group of cavalry.

"When we return, our numbers will be ten-fold," growled the Champion. "You will wish you would have died today, so great will be the misery surrounding you."

Yahel stalked into the forest, several of his men covering his withdrawal.

Raukov hurried to a lone horse, near the fallen body of one of his men. He motioned to a group of the Nordland cavalry. "Where fights Gausser? Take me to him!"

Valmir von Raukov, Elector Count of Ostland, pushed his face into the wind, as if the lean forward and his stubbornness would somehow make his steed gallop faster. To his flanks, the Nordland Cavary tried to keep up his breakneck pace. The small birch trees, coated in ice and snow, whipped by; the background a series of blurs.

Up ahead of him, he could see the Nordland Elector Count. As he closed, watched the bold strokes of Gausser cut down one, then another marauder. From this distance, he could see the other marauders signaling and pointing in their direction.

The Chaos troops began to withdraw, pouring past Gausser and the Khorne warrior. A few moments more and Raukov would be at Gausser’s side.

Gausser deflected another axe blow with his shield. The Khorne warrior used a fairly straight forward fighting style and Gausser was now easily able to predict each strike.

"It seems time for me to depart," the Khorne warrior suddenly spoke

Gausser was glib, but wary. "Your kind is not known for cowardness."

"We are not known for our stupidity. I am outnumbered… for now." The Khorne warrior lifted his axe in a wide sweeping arc. "I leave you with a final gift."

The Khorne axe cut down, across. Gausser, in a brief moment of overconfidence, prepared to deflect the predicable blow on his shield… and was horrified as the arc adjusted inward. He had fallen for a feint.

Gausser felt a sharp pain and heard a snap, of bone. The Khorne warrior’s axe buried itself in the ground near Gausser’s feet, with a shower of blood on white snow. Gausser fell back, leaving his shield, and the arm that held it, where he had stood.

"I am Korvil the Sentinel, Nordlander. Should you survive your wound, remember it. And spread the word." Korvil stepped back, leaving Gausser’s blood sheeting down his axe. "Archaon comes. He brings a storm of Chaos."

Gausser lay in the snow, cursing his foolishness. He drove the stump of his arm into the snow pack, a desperate attempt to staunch the bleeding. The echo of hooves grew, though Gausser couldn’t tell if it was simply the blood rising in his temples or a dull throb of pain.

Soon, he felt the attentive arms of Raukov and his troops. He allowed himself to pass out. Chaos had been driven back, for now. But at what cost?

Yahel Bilith strode from the dense forest, the pre-arranged meeting place. The ring of skulls on his belt battered against his chain mail. Their hollow clatter kept him irritable, on edge; focused. His horde had descended south, more of an advanced scouting troop than an invasion.

Korvil the Sentinel moved up beside him. The Champion did not meet the man’s gaze. He suspected Korvil was put in his serve to spy on him; or some even deeper, nefarious mission. The Chaos Champion did not trust him; nor would he take his counsel.

"They will give an alarm."

"Of course they will and so what?" Korvil turned his back to the man, motioning the remaining forces. "These men came to die for the glory of Chaos. Ambushes and puny patrols do not suit them. Let the battle come. Let their defenses be prepared. It won’t save a single one of them... only make the stories of their defeat all the more glorious for us and more pathetic for them."

Korvil grew silent, his visage hide behind his terrifying war helm. He knew that Archaon was the true master of this attack. And Archaon would determine who was worthy and who would be cast aside.

Le dernier supplément de l'Empire pages 22-24 contient un petit texte à propos des péripétie de Balthazar Get et de Théodoric Gausser. Je le recopirais à l'occasion

[Invité Vlad D Tepes]

D'après le WD du mois de janvier '07, les Comtes Electeurs sont les suivants :

- Averland : contesté

- Hochland : Aldebrand Ludenhof

- Middenland : Graf Boris Todbringer

- Nordland : Theoderic Gausser (bien vu Dreadaxe!)

- Ostland : Vladimir von Raukov

- Ostermark : Wolfram Hertwig

- Reikland : Empereur Karl-Franz

- Stirland : Graf Alberich Haupt-Anderssen

- Talabecland : Helmut Feuerbach (porté disparu)

- Wissenland : Emanuelle von Liebwitz

Comtés déchus :

- Solland : Eldred (dernier Comte)

- Drakwald : Konrad Aldrech (dernier Comte)

Martin, Comte du Stirland, abat Mannfred à la bataille de Hel Fenn en 2145. C'est juste un prédécesseur d'Alberich.

D.

Modifié le 8 janvier 2007 par Vlad D Tepes

[Dreadaxe]

Le 07/01/2007 à 20:27, Dreadaxe a dit :

Donnons la totalité du texte tant qu'à faire. Ça permettra de mieux cerner le bonhomme :

Le dernier supplément de l'Empire pages 22-24 contient un petit texte à propos des péripétie de Balthazar Get et de Théodoric Gausser. Je le recopirais à l'occasion

 

 

Citation

Un autre épisode notable fut le moment où les ambitions territoriales pour le moins agressives du Comte du Nordland à l'égard de la province voisine du Hochland furent contrées par l'intervention du Patriarche Suprême des Collèges de Magie, Balthasar Gelt, et ce à la demande de Karl Franz. Gelt se rendit au château de Salzenmund, demeure de Theoderic Gausser, Comte Électeur du Nordland, en tant qu'ambassadeur de l'Empereur. Grâce à ses pouvoirs, Gelt transmuta secrètement l'or destiné à la solde des armées du Comte en plomb. Les mercenaires et les soldats refusèrent de combattre sans être payés et la guerre civile put ainsi être évitée. Dès qu'il découvrit ce qui était arrivé, le Comte Électeur dégaina son Croc Runique, bien décidé à décapiter le sorcier, mais il n'y parvint jamais, le Patriarche Suprême ayant sagement choisi de fuir promptement le Nordland sur le dos de son pégase.

 

Source : WFB7 Warhammer Armées L'Empire page 22-23