Somewhere in Southeast Germany, in a town far from the heart of the Empire, there is a gala underway. The dignitaries of the town are all in their resplendent best, gowns and gloves, surcoats and tabards, finery normally reserved for Sigmar’s high holy days, or for the seasonal festivals. Tonight they celebrate their liberation, long and hard and merrily.
Here in the drakwalds of the Empire, lawlessness has a heavy hand. Roadwardens, champions and justices are far too few, and far too distant. This area has languished under the auspices of a Meister who has long abused his power and wealth. He had murdered his rivals, destroyed his competitors, and ruled as a petty tyrant for 25 years, all under the very nose of the Emperor himself.
Tonight this same man, Meister Illbereth, lies in a pauper’s mass grave with his lieutenants and soldiery. The celebration is to anoint the town’s hero of the hour, he who slew the tyrant and gave the smallfolk back their lands and wealth and freedom. Tonight, they all hail the Knight of the White Arrow!
His pennon flies regally from the highest tower of old Illbereth’s castle. He sits in state with the newly elected constable of the town, the young blacksmith, Fallowden. Within a month, Fallowden will have moved into the old offices of Illbereth on the town square, and have 5 men-in-arms wearing the crest and color of the area, deputized constables, with their names on a scroll awaiting the next roadwarden’s visit to be official. Within 2 months, the town will have recovered from their joy and celebration and once again pick up life in the norm, sowing and reaping, hunting and gathering.
6 months from now, Fallowden will replace the faded pennon on the castle’s high turret with a new one, freshly dyed, its white arrow bright and unmistakable.