Regarding Crivenshire most royal

 The brave Men of Royal Crivenshire repel a cowardly attack by those Burkenshire types.

 In this crazy little world of ours it is often said that everything is BIGGER in Texas, well in the same way in Olde Albilande they say everything is just, well, BETTER in Crivenshire (well those folks from Crivenshire do anyhow!). This is partly due to the County being the home to the seat of the Albilande royal family (a fact every proud Crivver will not shut up about), the biggest and best collages, the national 'museum of everything of any actual importance, not the quaint bits of pottery and scraps of bone you plebeian types have dug up' (actual title) and a quite good chain of pie shoppes which actually claim to not contain vermin of any kind, leading to a sense of superiority creeping in to the regional mindset from the highest scholar to the grubbiest peasant. Ever since the original king of Albilande Colin the First (a.k.a 'Colin the Brave', 'Colin the conquer', 'Colin the bloody fisted' and to those not actually from Crivenshire, 'That 'effin Colin tosser') built a ruddy great castle on the banks of the River Crivens ('ye Fortress Impregnable') which served as the kings stronghold for several weeks before it was leveled by Francinlande invaders. Undaunted the new king (Colin the 2nd, 'Colin the almost as brave', 'Colin the sort of almost capitulater' or to the rest of the country 'The other bloody Colin knob-end') built Crivins Castle in the center of Royal Cravenally which has served as the national seat of power ever since. Other areas of interest include the market town of Spillage, so named because it stands on Olde Albilandes most flooded area (684 times and still partly standing!), Hampage-on-Fosse, a bustling shopping mecca for those in dire need of sheep related products (only sheep related products, the people of Hampage are bloody obsessed!) and the village of Smudgly and its award winning parsnip.

Crivenshire, There it is!.

 I could spend hours delving into the history and culture of the Shire but there is in truth just one thing to take away from this choice bit of 'fluff':


 here's a list of reasons why:

-They have a proper organized class system and everyone is aware of and accepting of their place within it (on pain of being laughed at for a little bit too long to be a joke).

-Manors, proper manors involving bowing, too many types of forks and standing up when some (but not all) of your betters are present.

-The ingrained ability to look down on all others as 'quaint' and 'fun'.

- Correct use of grammar.

-Punctuality, to an obsessive degree.

-Because they bloody well say so. ALRIGHT!!!!.

The men of Crivenshire give the hoi polloi what for!.

    The current political situation in Olde Albilande is said by many to be partly caused by the current Earl of Crivenshire Sir Glinric Pallenbrooke declaring himself 'king in the interim' while an heir to the throne is found. In Crivenshire this move is roundly supported as it is only right and proper that an Earl take the reigns and guide the land through the shite storm and who better than one that rules the seat of the royal family?. I mean it would be laughable to allow the common folk the keys to the throne room now would it not?!.


Being the home of the seat of the King (until recently anyway) the standing army of Crivenshire is well equipped and maintained. Many of the richest merchants and courtiers sponsor irregular companies partly as a way of showing off and al....actually its just about showing off!!.
   For this reason Crivenshire armies may pick any troop types included in the basic troop types covered in the rules.

   As well as the normal troop types there are several types that are exclusive to Crivenshire. Some of which are quite famous!. You can pick troops from the list below:

     The regiments of Kings Regulars form Albilands professional core of soldiers, sponsored and raised by the crown. They are Better trained and equipped than most of the irregular companies. Most of the shires have several barrack houses manned by the regiments of Kings regulars under the kings control allowing the King to maintain a military presence across the country and for the King too be able to muster a force in the face of any threat no matter its origin.
    Kings Regulars carry the Royal coat of arms and are mostly deployed as infantry in the field. They provide a solid core of inspirational troops around which the irregulars muster.

Kings Regulars in One Hour in Olde Albilande:
Kings regulars count as Infantry &  They may add +2 when taking a morale test.
 They are class 3.


  Jarkin are big fellas, really big fellas. They originate from the very early days of Olde Albilande, the original settlers encountered them living among the indigenous tribes of the land. No one knows why they are so freakishly big, many scholars have come up with reasons but they tend to range from mildly offensive to totally tonto!. Jarkin look almost identical to the average human, maybe with a slightly heavier brow or a slight stoop but the most noticeable difference is they stand between seven and eight feet tall and are very powerfully built. They are well known for their single minded devotion to the present, showing almost no concern for the future, where we humans plan and scheme and store away Jarkin live totally in the now and can become quite lost in an interesting thought pattern or simple task. As such they make fantastic manual laborers, excelling in repetitive tasks which they delight in perfecting. Lots of people think Jarkin to be stupid because of this outlook but this is not the case, they just see life rather differently to us. Because of this outlook they tend to shy away from military duty, seeing it as a needless distraction but some however (seen as mavericks within the Jarkin community) take great pleasure in the drill, maintaining equipment and achieving the perfect one handed decapitation!. Jarkin soldiers are rare but the King keeps several well trained Jarkin in a separate regiment of dedicated royal guards, their disposition towards the immediate making them wonderful body guards and sentries. They are sometimes fielded as shock troopers in times of need.

Jarkin royal Guard in One Hour in Olde Albilande:

 Jarkin Royal Guard units count as Swordsmen but they suffer No combat penalties vs cavalry or reiters.
They may also add +2 to moral tests.
 They are Class 3.

      If ever there was a case for suing the S.T.P.W.T the fate that befell sir Roderic 'Crimson Blade of Bloody Death' Castallia has to be it. The greatest general and warrior of his age, Sir Roderic was groomed for leadership at an early age. Schooled by the finest military minds of a generation he rose swiftly through the ranks to become the kings own trusted general, first sword of the Crown, Champion of Crivenshire, all round crumpet magnet and moustache sporter of the year three years running. He had the world at his feet, funny the world has a habit of kicking such folk right in the plums.
   It was the battle of Sodden Hump, the dirty Francenlanders had invaded the isles of Dampen End and were pulling political faces at the King while jumping around making insulting gestures diplomatically speaking. Sir Roderic was dispatched at the head of the relief force to teach them some ruddy manors. During the midst of the carnage while casually backhanding one ruffian while nonchalantly disemboweling another our brave hero plucked out a S.T.P.W.T scroll with a flourish and began to cast a spell that would see the foreign scum scattered to the four winds. As he cleared his throat dramatically to begin reading there was a deafening boom followed by a blinding flash, then everything went black for Sir Roderic......
    The scroll he was reading from had been misspelled!, Sir Roderic was changed beyond all measure. He was taller than before, he was far plumper than before, he was more feathery than before?.......
    The spell scroll had turned Sir Roderic into a giant mutated, foul tempered Turkey!. However so revered was he that his charges would not leave him and having seen off the invaders took him safely home to the king. Many wizards tried to reverse the effects of the spell but none were able. The King decreed that Sir Roderics rank would stand, he was the first sword of the crown and first sword he would remain. To this day the former sir Roderic still lives in his family estate, lord of his manor despite being unable to do anything other than gobble, scratch, defecate and trample the odd servant. In times of war the first sword still heeds the call to muster, directed towards the enemy to rampage through those that would harm the king!

Sir Roderic in One Hour in Olde Albilande:

 Sir Roderic counts as Swordsmen but he suffers No combat penalties vs cavalry or reiters.
 Sir Roderic MUST charge the closest enemy unit if they are 9'' or less away in his movement phase.
Sir Roderic is class 3 and is unique, you can never have more than one Sir Roderic.

Sir Roderic and Jerkin Regulars deal with a Fossestershire raid.
     The crown has quite an interest in new tech, especially if they can be used to put down a potential uprising or invasion. In fact the King is so keen on machines of destruction most foul he likes to patronize anyone that has an idea that might just work (by jove!). Most of these projects have fallen by the wayside for various reasons and the testing fields near Crivens castle are littered with the hopes and dreams (and charred corpses) of many an inspiring military engineering genius. Out of all these doomed and slightly silly projects one actually worked!
     The Steam driven iron behemoth known as the S.S. Belching Bessie has rumbled over battlefields for several years bring death, death and a touch more death (and air pollution) wherever she has rolled. None can stand before her steel shod wheels and turret mounted cannon. She was designed and built by the frankly rather unhinged engineer Leobardo Kingda Bruvinchi, who it is said he was driven mad trying to perfect his design and dashed off to live in an upside down tree house wearing clothes made from Cow dung and nettles and calling himself Duc Iffibottom (the majestic) of Blllaaahhhhhh. Whether that is true or not is up to conjecture however he did disappear before any more could be built.
     Bessie is the jewel in the crown of the Crivenshire forces, only deployed in times of dire need (or if the general in question fancies seeing the enemy soil themselves!). Few can stand before her, her mighty cannon roaring as enemy shot bounces harmlessly off her armoured flanks, before she plunges into the ranks of enemy troops grinding skull and bone to dust under her unyielding wheels. HUZZAARRR!!!!

Belching Bessie in One Hour in Olde Albilande:
Belching Bessie counts as Infantry &  may add +2 when taking a morale test.
All attacks against Bessie are divided by 2, rounding in favour of the attacker.
 Bessie is class 3 and is unique, there is only one Bessie!.

Bessie supports a unit of Kings Regulars in showing the Burkinshire unwashed the way off the field.



      The proud troops of the Storm Badgers are revered across Crivenshire for their constant bravery and dedication in the face of whatever hardship they are called to endure. They are among the most decorated of the skirmishing companies, having proven their worth time after time. They operate away from the main warzones and battle grounds acting as a surgical tool rather than the hammer blow of a field army. Expert scouts, assassins and trackers they 'take out' delicate targets and have been the difference more than once when putting down a rebellion or invasion, working as they do to eliminate enemy commanders and key targets quietly with little fuss. The Storm Badgers answer only to the king and will only act if personally directed to by the Ruler of Olde Albilande.
    To serve as a Storm Badger you must be the best of the best, being able to survive in the harshest conditions while completely focused on your mission. Recruits are chosen from the best skirmishers and subjected to a training schedule so tough many of the men drop out early, suffering the stigma of not being good enough for the rest of their lives.
They also only use the  Badger 20000 branded compound hunting bow and wear their famous camo-smocks (or dresses to their enemies). They rub themselves with soil and dung to hide their scent. Many believe this is the real reason why they are often ordered to fight away from the main battle line.....
Belching Bessie in One Hour in Olde Albilande:

Storm Badgers are Skirmishers but they may charge against any troop type not just other skirmishers.
 Storm Badgers Do not -2 from moral tests.                   
 Storm Badgers are Class 2

Storm Badgers hunt some hapless Fossestershire billmen.


    Richard 'hey man, call me Ricardo' Demacelle is, or was, the eldest son of the largest and most powerful merchant family in Crivenshire. His Great great Grandfather had built the empire from a tiny stool selling only scavenged animal waste as 'executive manure compound' into the biggest trading interest in the shire, his son had continued in that vein by consolidating the legacy before his son, Richards father took over and kept the ship powering on (economically speaking). From his earliest days Richard had heard nothing but his responsibility to the Demacelle trading group and that one day it will all rest on his shoulders. But Richard cared nothing for the cut and thrust of commerce, preferring to 'hang out' with his rich buddies, drinking fine wine, eating only the most rare and expensive foods, sampling only the best drugs and impregnating the young daughters of the great and the good!. Such activities got him a reputation among the elder population as a prize twat and abject lesson in the benefits of offering the youth of today a good slap. However the younger generation seemed to love his devil may care attitude and actually considered him some kind of hero!. 'Ricardo' was riding the crest of a wave...for a time.....

 His luck changed dramatically when during one Cheese, Port and Chillumbian Stomping root party got particularly raucous Richard ended up being etched by some opportunistic tabloid quick draw artist in an uncompromising position with Lady Annabella Cranella Fantella Manella Frinkledore-smythe, Daughter of the revered  Dr Antonio Frinkledore-Smythe, head of creative magics at the S.T.P.W.T!. When the good doctor confronted the young tit and demanded he made an honest woman of his precious daughter Richards response was along the lines of 'Like, what are you sayin' man, she was well up for it, she wanted a piece of the Ricardo sooo bad, i got tired of fighting her off and had to give in. Know what i'm sayin'?'. Incensed Dr Antonio plotted a very special revenge.

  One morning soon after, after a particularly potent night of frivolity Richard awoke in an unfamiliar house. All was quiet. He rubbed his eyes in a poor attempt to shift his hangover and tried to take in his surroundings. It was then he saw them. His bed was surrounded by corpses!, not lying down dead traditional corpses but standing staring at him through dead eyes corpses!. The bed was surrounded by them, wounds gaping, hair matted and clothes torn, each one he recognized as his former fellow revelers, the very people that worshiped him!. His head span with a million questions as he attempted to make sense of the situation. Still the corpses just stood there looking at him with dead eyes. Richard shuffled to the side of the bed and to his amazement the 'zombies' there moved back a pace, keeping a constant distance from him. Confused he moved closer and as one they moved away the same distance.
   From that day to this Richard has been followed by a small army of stinking decaying zombies. They never come any closer than a meter from him at any time and never further from that distance. They never harm him but never tare their gaze from him. Richard has learnt to his cost that he must stay away from the living, as the zombies will attack and kill anyone attempting to get near him, the corpses of such unfortunates rising in no time to add themselves to his growing entourage!. 'Ricardo' is now named 'Lonely' Richard, a pale unkempt sallow eyed shadow of his former self, shunned by his family and unable to travel close to other people he is cursed to spend his days alone...... save for his worshipers of course!.

   Using 'Lonely' Richard Demacelle (and his Zombie horde) in One Hour in Olde Albilande: Richard and his 'army' count as Infantry but they may not fire, it is assumed they begin the battle out of ammo.
  They may perform a rally during the shooting phase of each turn in which they are engaged in combat . This represents the dead troopers of the enemy joining the zombies ranks!
  Richard and the Zombies are Class 2.

'Ricardo' and his zombies face off with some Lamavic clan infantry.

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