The Bretonnians
Unlike the Empire, Bretonnia is almost entirely Human. Dwarfs trade from the mountains, and Sea Elves keep an enclave in L’Anguille, but one can travel for days in the heartlands without meeting either. Halflings are rarer still, and those few come from the Empire.
Bretonnians are diverse, yet share a trait so common it defines their national character: they live for the moment. To a Bretonnian, what matters is what you do now—not what tomorrow might bring. This does not mean they are heedless revelers, though some nobles fit the image. Rather, the craftsman labours through the night to perfect his work today, the knight seeks always to act with honour in the present, and the peasant focuses on surviving the day without thought for the morrow.
Consequences, when they come, are met in the same spirit. Few waste time brooding on misfortune or planning too far ahead. Indeed, Bretonnians often scorn those who do. To them, hoarding wealth or making long-term provisions is little more than shirking one’s duty to live rightly in the moment.
This mindset shapes every part of their culture. Feasts are lavish, even if lean times follow. Buildings are raised to impress immediately rather than endure for centuries. Social reforms are dismissed as distractions, since their benefits lie in the future; better, they say, to feed the starving now than to waste time debating causes.
Imperials often sneer at this philosophy, blaming it for Bretonnia’s “backwardness.” While the Empire arms itself with handguns and cannons, Bretonnia relies on knights, arrows, and trebuchets. Printing presses fill Altdorf’s libraries, yet most Bretonnian books are still copied by hand. And yet, what they lack in innovation, they make up for in excellence. A Bretonnian swordsmith does not aim to grow rich—he lives to forge the finest blades he can. The same spirit drives their artists, cooks, and craftsmen, whose work is famed across the Old World.
Adventurers embody this outlook most of all, and Bretonnia produces more than its fair share. Knights errant ride forth without thought for their own safety, seeking glory now rather than waiting for the future. Even peasants sometimes abandon their fields to seize a chance for immediate fortune or honour.
There are, of course, exceptions. Merchants, by nature, must plan for the future, storing goods for sale when others are in need. Many Bretonnians with a talent for foresight drift into trade, often against their own inclinations. As a result, merchants are both despised and envied: scorned for their un-Bretonnian pragmatism, yet undeniably richer than their fellows.
Thus, Bretonnians remain a people of sharp contrasts: reckless yet brave, improvident yet generous, impractical yet brilliant in the moment. To live as a Bretonnian is to live for today—and let tomorrow bring what it may.
Noble Politics of Bretonnia
Bretonnia remains the last great realm in the Old World still governed by feudalism—an ancient system built not upon law or statecraft, but upon personal oaths of loyalty. Though Bretonnians think of themselves as a nation, legally “Bretonnia” means nothing more than all who ultimately owe fealty to the King.
At the base of this order stand the peasants. They swear no vows, for they are deemed without honour to keep them. Instead, they are bound to their lords by command, duty, and force when necessary. Above them stretches the vast pyramid of nobility, tied together by oaths of fealty: service in exchange for land, protection, or sustenance.
At the summit stands the King of Bretonnia. Sovereign in truth, he is bound by no law—whatever he decrees is law. In practice, the King’s example restrains abuses among the lesser nobility. Louen Leoncoeur, current King and Duke of Couronne, is held up as a model of chivalry, as were most of his forebears. Yet should a corrupt king ever ascend, the realm would face grave peril.
Below the King are the fourteen Dukes, each ruling one of the great duchies founded by Gilles the Unifier and his Companions. Within his own lands a Duke’s word is law, though he remains subject to the King. This power has often been abused—most notoriously in Mousillon, where corruption ran so deep that no Duke is recognized today.
Barons hold land directly from the King but are not Dukes. They answer only to the crown, not to neighbouring nobles, and their fiefs are independent of the duchies around them. Far more common are the lords, who hold land from a Duke or Baron. Lords are subject to royal law, ducal law, and the authority of their immediate liege. They make up the bulk of Bretonnia’s nobility.
At the base of the noble hierarchy are the knights. All nobles are knights, but those without land or title serve their betters directly in return for food, lodging, and the hope of glory. They are the backbone of Bretonnia’s armies and the embodiment of its chivalric code.
Beyond rank and land, nobles may earn titles of honour:
Earl – A mark of wealth and favour, often held by powerful Barons.
Marquis – Granted to nobles defending frontier fiefs; they may fortify and raise troops without permission.
Castellan – Keeper of a great castle on behalf of a superior, wielding full authority in his lord’s absence.
Justiciar – A noble or retainer entrusted to enforce law, sometimes across the whole realm in the King’s service.
Paladin – A knight celebrated for unmatched valour. Though largely honorary, many Paladins are set to guard dangerous marches.
Alongside the nobility stand the Damsels—sorceresses chosen by the Lady of the Lake. Gifted with mystical power, they serve as advisers, healers, and seers, ensuring that the Lady’s will is never absent from the realm’s councils.
Civil Strife in Bretonnia
Though Bretonnia is famed for its knights and ideals of chivalry, peace is far from assured. Beyond the constant threat of Orc raids from the mountains or Beastmen prowling the forests, the land is often scarred by conflicts between nobles themselves.
Within the feudal order, disputes may lawfully be settled by force of arms, rather than in court. A noble cannot raise arms against his direct liege or one with clear authority over him—but in truth, such lords are usually too powerful to challenge anyway. Among peers and rivals, however, war is an accepted tool of politics.
Three justifications for private war are recognised:
Recovery of stolen lands – No matter how long ago the theft occurred, a noble may claim the right to retake territory by arms. The victim of such an attack may then gather allies and counterstrike, claiming his land was the one stolen, fueling endless cycles of revenge.
Punishment of treachery – A traitor is expected to be judged by his liege, but any noble has the right to act. Serving Chaos, consorting with Greenskins, or harbouring cultists can all be branded treason—though the accusation is often wielded as a convenient excuse for war.
Defence of family honour – The broadest and most dangerous cause, this allows war for almost any perceived insult. Even being seated poorly at a feast has sparked bloody feuds. Some of these quarrels have dragged on for generations, with each new slight—real or imagined—reigniting the conflict.
In principle, these rules uphold honour and justice. In practice, they unleash petty rivalries, endless grudges, and open opportunities for manipulation. The greatest nobles wield their right carefully, striking only against proven traitors; yet even then, assembling evidence of corruption or heresy often falls to others. Adventurers, mercenaries, or wandering knights are frequently employed to investigate rivals, expose treachery, or recover proof of dark allegiances.
Less scrupulous lords abuse the system freely, launching wars over trivial insults or concocted charges of treason. Innocent nobles may be crushed under the weight of ambition, unless they can call upon allies—or outsiders—for aid. For adventurers, this civil strife offers both danger and opportunity: campaigns of intrigue, feuds fought in ambushes and skirmishes, and the chance to earn patronage from the embattled.
Thus, even without the threats of Orc warbands or Chaos cults, Bretonnia bleeds from within. Its feudal code, built upon oaths of loyalty and the defence of honour, just as often fuels quarrels as it prevents them. Many a knight rides to battle not for crown or country, but for the insult of a word, the theft of a single acre, or the whisper of treason.
For all its shining ideals, Bretonnia remains a realm where noble pride can plunge villages into fire and blood, and where the pursuit of honour may mask nothing more than ambition and greed.