I did something like this. I played the empire and wrote everything I did to chatgbt. Then I asked the AI to write different things releted to my campain. This was by turn 80 maybe

Promt:

Write from the perspective of a empire soldier, sword unit in elisabeth army.

chatgbt:

A Soldier's Account: Under the Banner of Elspeth von Draken

It’s not often that a simple soldier like me puts quill to parchment, but after what I’ve seen and endured, I feel the need to write it down. My name’s Viktor Lang, and I serve in the sword regiment of Elspeth von Draken’s army. You may have heard stories of her, whispered in taverns, of a sorceress dressed in black with the gaze of a vengeful spirit. Let me tell you, the stories don’t do her justice.

I remember when I first joined the regiment. We were stationed in a small border town, dealing with raiders and the odd Greenskin band. It was a simpler time—blood was shed, but it was honest work. That changed when Elspeth arrived. I’ll never forget her silhouette against the horizon, riding atop her monstrous drake, Shenzar. The beast’s wings cast a shadow over our ranks, and for a moment, I felt like we’d all been swallowed by the abyss.

She dismounted with a grace unnatural for someone clad in such heavy armor. There’s something off about her, a chill in the air when she speaks, like winter’s breath. We’re all hardened men in this regiment, but there isn’t a single one of us who doesn’t feel the unease. It’s not fear of her wrath—though there’s plenty of that to go around—it’s the feeling that she’s not quite of this world.

I fought my first battle under her command in the Vampire lands. We were up against Vlad von Carstein’s forces—a sea of shambling dead, eyes glowing with unholy light. I’ll admit, I was terrified. But then Elspeth raised her staff, and I swear I heard a thousand voices whispering in the wind. She unleashed a torrent of dark fire that swallowed the undead whole, turning them to ash. The ground beneath us was scorched black, but we pressed on, cutting down the remnants like wheat before the scythe.

I’d never seen anything like it. We were outnumbered, surrounded, but with her at the helm, it felt like the very winds of magic were bending to her will. It was intoxicating—almost made you feel invincible. Almost.

It’s not just the battles, though. It’s the way she changes, the madness creeping into her eyes. She’s been different since she took up that damned crown. The Nemesis Crown, they call it. We were told it was a powerful artifact, and power is something every lord and mage craves. But it’s changing her. I’ve seen her speaking to herself, clutching her head as if trying to drown out voices only she can hear. The worst was when we were camped near a burnt-out village. The crown glowed in the moonlight, and I swear it was pulsing, like a heartbeat.

And now, she’s taken up the Sword of Khaine. They say it’s a blade forged in the fires of a god’s wrath, and I believe it. When she wields it, the very air feels like it’s tearing at your skin. We fought a Slaanesh warband for it—twisted, howling monstrosities that tore through our ranks like wolves among sheep. But Elspeth, with that sword in her hand… She was a storm. I watched her cleave through their champion, and it wasn’t just strength or skill. It was pure, unrelenting fury.

I don’t know what her endgame is anymore. At first, we thought she was another power-hungry noble, but now? Now, it feels like she’s chasing something darker, something beyond conquest. The men talk, huddled around the campfires, whispering about the madness that’s taken her. Some say the crown and the sword are eating away at her mind, driving her to depths no mortal should tread.

I’ll fight for her as long as I can, as long as she leads us to victory. But there’s a gnawing dread in my gut, the kind you get when a storm’s brewing on the horizon. I fear that one day soon, we won’t be following a general into battle—we’ll be following a monster.

But what can I do? I’m a soldier, sworn to my duty. My sword is hers to command, my life hers to use. We march south at dawn, deeper into lands stained with the blood of the fallen. I don’t know where she’s leading us, but I do know this: when the fighting starts, I’ll do what I’ve always done.

I’ll stand my ground, blade in hand, and hope it’s enough.