Peace has come to the land of Albion! At last, after near three decades of shedding blood and vicious infighting the land has once again fallen under the rule of a king, finally putting an end to the Great Civil War of Succession.
The war was begun when the old King Leo Mathias died with no clear heir, his only son killed in a battle with the trolls in the west. As soon as his head could no longer bear the crown it seemed every house, clan and banner-lord leapt up to nominate a head of their own, as years of marriage and breeding had left many with a just and equal claim to the throne. Knight fought knight, man-at-arms fought man-at-arms. Crops died untended in their fields, homesteads burnt, great castles were broken to rubble. For some thirty years great Albion was cursed with this madness of greed and rage but the cure has come, and his name is Lionel.
Lionel Caerwyn of the ancient and noble house of Caerwyn, was but an infant babe when the Great War first started. An infant babe with a claim through his mother's blood and a father callous enough to believe he could control the crown through his son if only that son could inherit. However the father did not anticipate how long the war would drag out for, nor that a wasting sickness would take him before his plans could come to fruition. His training of the child left Lionel a cunning adversary in the field of battle and in political manoeuvring, and his early demise meant the boy inherited none of his coldness. The ability to both charm and strategise twinned in one champion made him a force to be reckoned with; what rivals he could not rally to his own cause with words of flattery he could crush with sheer military might. It took thirty years, but with the signing of the Treaty of Aldendan removing the last of the legitimate claimants Lionel Caerwyn could truly call himself King. Officially recognised by all major parties, he began reinstating the Crown's Peace, the ancient Pax Corona, an attempt to restore peace to the land and remove any last threats to his reign.
For you see, signing a treaty does not make every problem magically vanish. Bandits that swarmed the lands in times of war still prey on the weak, the remnants of broken armies roam far and wide in search of conquest, the ever-present threat of the trolls looms as it always will in west…and in his last mountain fastness the vengeful Bat Lord plots the downfall of all Caerwyns...
Lords of the Realm
He claimed the throne through the blood of his mother, the old king's cousin, and secured it through conquest. He rules the realm now from the great citadel of Watsmaet, his mind turned to the task of enforcing the Pax Corona and ensuring his own succession so a second war will not break out should his rule be ended. Upon taking the throne he dropped his own house sigil of a green fire-drake and took up that of the old king; a lion, proud and crowned. It is this sigil his house-knights and bodyguards wear, while the knights who bear the lone crown sigil are dispatched across the land to bring law and peace.
Younger brother of King Lionel, and inheritor of the green fire-drake sigil that lends him the title Earl Wyvern. Always considered 'the spare' by the elder Lord Caerwyn he did not receive as much instruction in conduct and warfare, making him a more impetuous and reckless sort of fellow than his reserved and calculating brother. Lionel is smart enough to recognise such traits as useful and effective in some circumstances, making the two close companions despite their differing humours. For his aid in the Great War Lionel awarded Willem lordship over the flatlands of Estfallan, famed for both its extensive farmlands and occasional piracy from the port town of Darkharbour and its castle, Dragonsmouth (ancestral seat of the Caerwyns)
A hard man, hard and cold like the northern mountains over which he holds sway. He was one of the few great lords not to lay a claim to the throne of Albion, instead lending his support - and army - to Lionel. Since the men of Gryshire, Hossler's province, long ago mixed with the Viking raiders of the far off icy islands they are strong and doughty warriors, and their support was key in several of Lionel's earlier victories. Yet he has asked for little reward, still content with keeping his own province safe. His castle is Falcon's Roost, high in the Gargrim mountains bordering the Blasted Wastes.
The Milkweed clan have always held in the harsh lands of Marsokk, where the Marbrantt mountains both limit troll attacks to simple raids but turn the lands in their shadow to swamp and marsh with floods of meltwater. Danaus was one of the first lords to claim Albion as his own in the War of Succession, and in truth probably has the better claim than Lionel, but his heart went out of it when his eldest son was killed in a skirmish with the Black Falcon's troops. He withdrew to his fortress of Aenkia until swayed to join Lionel's cause through bribery and homage. This may make he and Hossler allies, but in truth he has never forgiven the Falcon for his son's death. There is just little he can do about it at present.
He holds the title Warden in the West as it is his armies that stem the trolls from advancing over the mountains into Albion proper, a constant state of warfare which makes even the youngest man in his legions a grizzled veteran. Anyone bearing his blue fire-drake sigil will receive honour and respect wherever they go.
In ancient times the D'Warrow house were the butt of every joke. Their territories at Nethcross were risibly worthless, full of rocky outcroppings, steaming bogs and land salted by sea winds. These jokes stopped when attempts at digging to fertile ground beneath the salt and bogs uncovered vast seams of mineral wealth. Iron for swords and armour, silver for coins and wealth, coal for fires and forges, even clusters of gems like the eggs of some terrible bird. The D'Warrows became rich and powerful off this, adopting their current sigil of the double axes to symbolise the mining efforts and weaponry it produced. Since the wetland moors of Nethcross could support no castle above them, they built the Under-Hall within their mines and tunnels. No army has dared to siege it in the hundreds of years it has stood.
The house of Basil has always claimed direct descendant from an ancient line of kings that predated Leo Mathias and his kin, and it was this former glory Heironymous sought during the Great War. It is believed this was down to the urgings of his consort Willa, a witch rumoured to be from the Blasted Wastes, whose words were like poison into his ears. His radical claims gained no support amongst the other lords, and his own province of Nichtblud, squeezed between the warriors of Gryshire and the veterans of Marsokk, stood little chance against the forces arrayed against it. While Heironymous himself still lives, most of his lands and holdings were given away to Danaus Milkweed as part of Lionel's settlement with the Warden in the West, leaving the self-styled Lord of Wrath and Ruin largely powerless and forgotten. That is, until he hit upon the notion of gathering the scattered bands of forgotten armies to his sole remaining fortress of Dunnor, arming them under his black bat sigil and sending his so-called Fright Knights to pillage and loot…
The Realm of Albion
Watsmaet: Where the Kings have ruled since time immemorial. A great citadel or marble and granite standing on a mighty spar of rock where the Dragon River running from Darkharbour and the Broadwater from the Gargrim mountains cross each others' paths.
Dragonsmouth: A fortress originally built to guard against attacks from the river, and to launch piratical attacks on the continent beyond, Dragonsmouth actually gets its name from the immense carving of a dragon's head over the main entrance which was used to spew boiling water on any would be attackers (which also spawned the Caerwyn crest). Confusion over time, however, has led to the belief that it is because it sits at the mouth of the Dragon River, never mind that the Dragon River wasn't called as such until this belief.
Falcon's Roost: A construction of impenetrable stone built into the very mountains it sits on. Few in history have been foolish enough to attempt to storm the Roost, and their idiocy has been remembered long after their names have been forgotten. It looks out over the Blasted Wastes, but what exactly it was supposed to guard against in those long forgotten days has been lost to the annals of time.
Aenkia: Also known as the Shield-Fort, for a pair of reasons: its is the greatest bastion of defence against troll incursions from the western lands, and long ago one of the Milkweed lords started the tradition of hanging the shields of the fallen upon its eastern wall as a sign of respect and defiance. Said eastern wall is now entirely covered with shields, a dazzling array of blue fire-drakes glaring towards the troll lands.
The Under-Hall: After years of renovations, extensions and improvements, nobody is quite sure where the Under-Hall ends and the Nethcross mines begin. The surface entrance is not much to look at though, being a simple motte and bailey. A determined army would have no trouble breaking into the Under-Hall proper. No, the real problem would be getting out again
Dunnor: In the craggy lands of Nichtblud, there was never going to be much space for a castle on the scale of Watsmaet, so the forts there were always very tall and oddly narrow. Dunnor is no exception, looking like some strange rocky arm reaching for the sky. While not the ancestral home of the Basils, it has always been their fall-back and last refuge. You can feel the paranoia leaking through the architecture, as any wall or floor could be a trap to discourage invaders.
Blasted Wastes: Lying north of Gryshire and Falcon's Roost, legend says this was the home of a mighty sorcerer, king of all he surveyed. It is this sorcerer the Basil family claims descendant from, as it happens. He ruled with black magic and necromancy, which slowly poisoned his land until nothing living remained that wasn't sustained by his dark power. It is said a good wizard came and challenged the sorcerer, and that their battle reduced the land to nothing more than the scorched and toxic wasteland it is today. Nothing dwells here but the dead and, it is said, the vanquished sorcerer's apprentices. While there are mages and hedge-wizards still left in the world, no-one equals the power of the two titans that fought here.
The Troll Lands: Nobody quite knows how the trolls, green in skin and long in fang, came to dwell to the west of Albion, whether they came in boats or walked across a since-sunken land bridge. Nor does anybody particularly care; they're more focused on how to keep them there. The trolls are too many and too dug-in to be driven out if all the armies of Albion were gathered together, but they can at least be stopped by the Marbrantt mountains and the long line of Wardens in the West.
The Black Bulls: While the land was without king, the fortress of Watsmaet was held by Cedric the Bull, old king Leo's Marshall-at-Arms. While the infighting began, Cedric saw how petty and quarrelsome these lords were, and how pathetic their claims, and decided to simply take the crown himself through strength of arms. It was essentially what the rest of them were doing anyway after all. His ruthlessness and strict discipline in his troops won him many victories, but were in the end what cost him everything. When seeking to conquer the province of Banteras, swathed as it was in the Old Forest, he decided that he wouldn't risk being bled dry in constant ambushes and skirmishes and simply ordered the forest set alight, razing the city within. The Burning of Banteras became infamous, and more gratuitously violent with each retelling, drawing the ire of every noble family in Albion. Cedric was lured into a battle which turned out to be a trap which left him outnumbered and outmanoeuvred. His army was broken and Cedric himself hanged from the blackened remains of the oldest oak in the Old Forest. The remains of his army took up a black bull as their design, a remind roof Cedric's great strength and famed horned helmet, and wander the land as swords-for-sale or vicious marauders.
The Wolfpack: In times of war, thieves and bandits grow brave through the absence of law. In the midst of battle a soldier's heart might be so gripped by fear that he turns from his friends and flees. These are the fellows who make up the Wolfpack; courageous thieves and cowardly warriors. Lost souls who joined swords because the alternative was no home or food. In the Wolfpacks you might find a exile from Nethcross rubbing shoulders with a deserter from Marsokk while breaking bread with a criminal from Gryshire. They are of all provinces and yet none, as mismatched in skills as they are in clothing and weapons. A raggedy band of outcasts who prey on the weak like the wolves they take their name from.
The Forestmen: On the surface the forestmen who fight under the stag sigil seem to share many similarities with the Wolfpack. They originate from many provinces, follow no lord or king and occasionally rob and raid from others. But they are no wandering band of misfits, instead they believe that the forests of Albion are rightfully theirs, that they should be allowed to dwell in them unmolested and tax whomever they wish for passage through them in what they consider a noble cause. They hold this to be true as, for the most part, the Forestmen are the survivors of the Burning of Banteras. The forests are the home they have taken since their own was lost, and no king or his Pax Corona will drive them out.
1. All BZP Rules apply. Obviously.
2. No godmodding. This means no killing whole cities of enemies in a single go, no pulling deus ex machina solutions out of nowhere, no developing sudden skills never displayed before, and so on.
3. Don't have your character somehow know something that he would only have learned if you, the player, had told him, aka metagaming.
4. I realise this is a game where pretty much everyone is going round with a variety of very sharp and pointy objects with the intent of hitting other people with them, but try not to get too graphically violent, okay?
5. Related to the above, don't kill someone else's character without their permission
6. To play, use IC, meaning In Character to describe events happening to your character, and OOC, meaning Out Of Character, for things you as the player are saying
7. There are currently no limits on characters. Its a big world, go nuts
Fill 'em out and post 'em here
Alliegance: (If any)
Thanks to Sisen for approving!
Edited by Lord of Adders Black, Feb 20 2013 - 05:12 PM.