A Short History of Mousillon
Mousillon is situated in the marshy valley of the River Grismerie
and originated in the Dark Age of Bretonnia when refugees from
Settra's raids sought safety hiding in the marshes along the
river. The settlement grew rapidly into a large town, and became
a prosperous trading port. Riverboats made frequent trips up
and down the Grismerie bringing goods and people, from all over
the world, to the towns of Guisoreux and Parravon and the numerous
villages in between. The lower parts of the city suffered badly
from frequent flooding of the river, causing conditions to become
unbearably squalid. The poor state of these areas often attracted
Skaven and Undead raiders. Elements of the latter managed to
gain a hold within the crypts of the city, and became a persistent
menace to the population. Eventually so many people sought refuge
here that their hovels clustered around the outside of the walls
and extended along the banks of the river. These would remain
the city's poorest inhabitants, finding work only at the quays
or as sailors aboard Bretonnian ships. Like other port cities
of Bretonnia with similar poor areas, Mousillon would be plagued
by the Red Pox from time to time. The last outbreak two centuries
ago was so bad that the city was almost entirely depopulated.
Many of the kings of Bretonnia have desired to cleanse and rebuild
Mousillon, but despite every effort the city tended to revert
back to squalor. For centuries the dukes of Mousillon tried
to hold back the decay. And under the leadership of Duke Maldred
the city seemed to have finally achieved a victory over the
centuries of pestilence and squalor. Travellers reported that
Mousillon was the most wondrous city in Bretonnia, more splendid
even than the capital Couronne. The city seemed charmed, its
people happy and content. In summer the white walls of the buildings
sparkled in the sun, and in winter, when the rest of the land
shivered under the snow, soft breezes kept the streets and houses
warm.
But like a gilded goblet made by a shoody craftsmen,
the glittering surface of Mousillon hid a rotten interior. The
port's prosperity was not due to the hard work and honesty of
its citizens, but was fuelled by the sorcery of Malfleur, and
the corrupt dealings of Maldred. In daytime the city streets bustled
with all the usual activity of a busy port, but after the sun
had set, the inhabitants of Mousillon had the curious habit of
never leaving their homes after dark. At night, the only things
that moved through the dark streets of the city were packs of
rats and the crews of the night-calling ships. Wrapped in cloaks,
hoods pulled over their faces, these silent strangers moved mysterious
bundles of cargo backwards and forwards between the dockside warehouses
and their sleek, black-sailed ships.
During the years of Duke Maldred's rule the king
of Bretonnia died and left no heir to the throne. Maldred decided
to seize this opportunity to make himself king of Bretonnia. He
could not wed Isoulde, the daughter of the dead king, since he
was already married to the sorceress Malfleur. So together she
and Maldred hatched a treasonous and dishonorable plot. This became
known as the affair of the false grail. When the treachery of
Maldred and Malfluer was exposed, their doom, and the doom of
Mousillon, was set in motion. The knights of Bretonnia led by
the Fey Enchantress laid seige to the city, a siege that would
last for three long years. as its inhabitants suffered, so did
the city decline. The sparkling white walls started to flake and
peel, revealing cracked mudbricks beneath. Foul-smelling seaweed
clambered up the rusty mooring chains and spread across the piers
and jetties. Cracks appeared in the pavements, and streaks of
grey mould soiled the city walls.
Yet while the townsfolk perished from starvation
and the pox, Maldred and the nobles of his court shut themselves
up in the white palace and immersed themselves in an orgy of self-indulgence.
Outside, the starving townsfolk killed each other in fights over
dead seagulls while in the perfumed rooms of the palace the nobles
drank sparkling wine from crystal goblets and nibbled on swan's
wings. Dressed in red silks and satins, and wearing fantastic
masks, they danced to the sound of their own self-destruction.
One cold spring morning the Knights besieging Mousillon
witnessed something strange. As the sun crawled slowly into the
sky, its cold red light spilled over the walls and towers of the
city, so that it seemed drenched in blood. Mousillon was utterly
silent: not a single sound could be heard from inside its walls.
With an ominous groan, the twin gates of the city yawned open,
as if inviting the watchers inside. Protected by holy relics,
and in the company of the Fey Enchantress, a small party of Knights
ventured into the city. Inside, all they found was death. Bodies
of men, women and children lay all about. Batting away the flies,
the Knights made their way through the dead up to the palace.
They walked through the open doors into a scene from a nightmare.
In the palace gardens, the plants had withered and rotted. Inside
the halls and chambers the finery of the debauched nobles writhed
with maggots, and scuttling insects gnawed away at the chairs
and tables. In the main hall, Maldred and Malfleur slumped dead
in their thrones, their empty eye sockets gazing vacantly over
richly dressed skeletons of the nobles heaped on the marble floor.
Maldred's stiff hands were clasped around a golden chalice chased
with rubies; the false grail.
Who could say what strange fate had brought about
the doom of Mousillon and its lord and lady? Was their evil punished
by some divine retribution, or had the powers they sought to master
ultimately destroyed them? The Fay Enchantress ordered that every
door and window of the palace be bricked up, so that none could
ever enter that cursed place again. Great grey stones were hacked
from quarries in the forest, and dragged to the city by teams
of oxen. Room by room, corridor by corridor, every door and every
window was closed with blocks of stone, and wreathed with sacred
blessings to seal the evil within.
All the dead bodies in the streets and houses were
gathered up, heaped on wagons and taken outside the city to be
buried in great pits. Though the burial mounds were covered with
fresh earth, and sanctified with prayers for the souls of the
dead, the only plants that would ever grow there were twisted
hawthorn and black sukebind. Indeed, the pits soon aquired such
an evil reputation that the main road into Mousillon, which used
to run right past them, had to be rerouted to approach the city
from the east.
Periodic attempts to repopulate Mousillon have never
succeeded, as most honest citizens of Bretonnia are wary of the
place. Any who are foolhardy enough to venture into the ruined
city in search of sanctuary or treasure inevitably come to a nasty
end, crushed by falling masonry, torn apart by monsters, or driven
mad by stalking horrors. And traders sailing up the River Ois
on their way to Gisoreux whisper that, at the dead of night, the
sound of ghostly music and laughter still floats from the abandoned
city.
Mousillon is now virtually an uninhabited ruin.
The few remaining townspeople are dwindling or settling in new
domains along the coast established by vigorous Knights. In this
way the king and his Knights are tirelessly building a 'cordon
sanitaire' of castles around the city which is regarded as virtually
lost to Bretonnia. Ultimately the city must be redeemed for Bretonnia,
but for now, its days as a port are over and it is regarded as
a lost territory to be reconquered. The present king has now ordered
an Errantry War to cleanse the city's ruins. He has declared that
the Knight who can rid the city of evil will be made Duke of Mousillon.
Young Knights Errant from all over Bretonnia now gather outside
the city gates preparing themselves for the trials that await
within this city of lost souls.
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