Polybius

The Rise of the Second Kingdom of Osteria

@Theodorable What does it mean that the Marshal and Spymaster 'leave their fief and give up 50% of their resources?'. Is this in addition to taxes as well? So if I have 2 iron per season I give 1 to the crown? Thanks for the clarification.

House Wars and Blood Feuds In Old Venara

Lucien Delorano

---

If anyone could crack the harsh facade that Lucien had constructed for himself since learning of his father's death it was Pieter. The troubadors smile yearned for others to join it, and Lucien could not help but smirk slightly as he remembered stealing basket-loads of those very same buns from the kitchen as a boy. Pieter and he had ruined many a dinner gorging themselves on the savory treats.

"Lucien, try these cheese buns, they're just like when we were kids."

"Well they are, Pieter,"said Lucien half-heartedly. His anger was subsiding and the shock of the past few days events was fading, replaced by a dismal certainty that nothing would ever be the same in House Delorano. "I would speak to you in private when we have the chance, Pieter," whispered Lucien to his friend. He was about to attempt a lame joke-something about buns-when Lucien noticed the extra guards enter the room and take up position on either wall of the dining hall. Captain Meldyr was strolling along the table, heavy hand on the pommel of his sword.

The casual manner in which the guard captain had spoken to Lucien earlier left a bitter taste in his mouth; and it was on Meldyrs watch that his father had been killed after all. As Meldyr took a position beside his sister, Lucien could not help but feel that the guard captains loyalty would be unwavering to Nalia-something about the way he looked at her unnerved the young lord.

And then their was Luciens sister, unnoticed until now , such was the fury that had engulfed Lucien. Sweet Juniper, Junebug, their mother had called her. Puffy eyed and looking like a wilted flower. A soft spot in Luciens heart opened at the sight of his forlorn sister. The girl was clearly shaken. She must have been up all night in tears, he thought. But their was suddenly a look of contempt on Junipers face and Lucien followed her gaze to Aunt Fiona and Lorenzo. The girl flailed, emotion spilling out and her heavy wooden chair upended, filling the room with a deafening crack. Lucien shifted uncomfortably in his chair, not helped by his rapier digging into his side. He shifted his blade awkwardly to rest on his lap instead.

Juniper had always been an awkward girl, Lucien remembered, but spirited. Some of the choice words his little sister seemed to conjur from the mouths of sailors had been supplied by Lucien whether by slip of the tongue or her inquiring mind. And it was Lucien who had first shown the girl how to fire a pistol with proper accuracy. The force of it had shot her arms into the air, but the clay pot they had swiped from Anathagos' chambers had been obliterated. "A natural, dear sister!" Lucien had shouted.


"My lady, I could have a few of my men escort the Lady Juniper to her chambers...", said Meldyr.

"I would take her," said Lucien, surprising even himself. "With your leave of course, M'lady?" Lucien asked Nalia, perhaps a bit too sweetly. Whether or not Nalia consented was irrelevant, at least Juniper would know she still had an ally in her brother.

Describe your favourite game in a nutshell

Chrono Trigger Best jrpg you will ever play.
Civilization II Gods, what have I done with my life?

The Rise of the Second Kingdom of Osteria

Lord Jerran Gades Stolt

---

Stolt listened to the noblemen speak their peace in turn. Many spoke of revenge, of grand plans and schemes. But as a warrior, Stolt knew that often a plan on paper did not hold up in the field. Lord Gerantius had spoken well and passionate, it was clear the man was not to be trifled with. Still the grand strategy he had entailed required a great many actions, and would cost innumerable lives. And Lord Conrad was correct in his estimate of the armies losses. It would be a long while before any more 'crusades' could be conducted against the Orcish hordes.

"Lord Gerantius, your impassioned speech does your family motto justice. I can see you are a man of great vision. But I must caution you, as I caution anyone who will listen at this table. Lords Marek and Conrad are both correct. The Black Army is in no state to wage another war for quite some time, and our morale is devastated at the loss of our King, 4000 Knights would be but a drop in the bucket..." Lord Stolt paused and wiped his brow. He pressed his thumb against the necklace of orc-fangs around his neck until he felt a calming pain seize his finger. A drop of blood trickled to the table.

"I have seen great men, giants whilst in armor weep openly at the loss of a loved one. I have buried sons in the desert my Lords. They did not all go to their deaths with smiling faces and singing songs as the fairy tales would have you believe. For my part, when I took the head of Groth, son of Gorguth, I felt a great satisfaction. His dried and foul head has a fine place above my hearth. There are many more heads to take beyond the Southern Reaches. Far more than any of you can imagine, and as Lord Dematorious has assessed, their numbers grow. I fear we do not have the numbers. Lord Conrad, have you anything to say of matters of state? I fear any lingering indecision will only further depress the morale of the army, and of the people. "

The Rise of the Second Kingdom of Osteria

Lord Jerran Gades Stolt

The fate of King Timault was still yet unknown when Lord Jerran Gades Stolt returned to Thunderhall, that single bastion overlooking the wild reaches of the South. Osterias frontier was more than scrubland, desert and waste-it held the ruins of an ancient era, and the blood of generations of Stolt men spilt by the foul orcs of the Blackmouth Clan. Creatures summoned from the very pits of hell, black fanged and cruel, with yellow eyes and bubbling muscles that wielded weapons more akin to a butchers than a civil knights. Under orders from the late King Timault himself, Lord Stolt led a cadre of crack troops against the flank of the horde in an attempt at a feint. The Kings army was to deal a decisive blow to the enemy right in the center. In truth, Jerran Stolt did not believe the tactic would work. It was a strategy that might persevere against a civilized army, where rows upon row of knights in polished armor waited for the order to advance. But the orcs of Blackmouth Their ranks were amorphous, and deceiving. Where fifty orcs appeared, their may have been 500 lying in wait or ambush. But Lord Stolts duty was to follow orders, not contradict them. He had parted at dawn with the King and his host not knowing it would be the last time he spoke to his liege lord.

Lord Jerran Gades Stolt entered the chambers of the council garbed in the black and tan cloak of the Knights of the Southern Reach. He wore upon his neck a black scarf of mourning, still covered in the silty dust of his homeland. Hidden beneath this scarf was the necklace of black orc tusks that Stolt refused to remove. On his hip was the blade of his father, a curved scimitar with a simple hilt and pommel, an amalgamation of the Orcish blades and the civilized weapons of the kingdom of Osteria. He was a warrior, hardened by life on the frontier, and he felt uncomfortable the moment he and his men entered the metropolitan city of Tythmas, with its endless walls and windmills and storied buildings.

Stolt arrived later than his fellow noblemen, left his cloak and scimitar with his retainers and entered the lavish meeting hall. He could not help but stare in wonder at the feast sprawled before the men-his people rarely if ever dined with such fine foods. Gods...that must be cheese, thought Lord Stolt.

Lord Marek, of the order of Silk & Iron was presiding, and it appeared that a discussion was already underway. Most of these men Stolt had never met, and as he took a seat among the most powerful men in the kingdom he considered what he would add to the discussion. The very business at hand made the old warrior uncomfortable-democratically choosing a king? A divine ruler chosen by men and all their vices! It seemed an absurd but necessary business to Lord Stolt.

A pockmarked man with a shaven pate and topknot was speaking. "I have no aspirations for Kingship. I only wish to see the best candidate for Osteria...and there is no better man Duke Conrad".

Duke James Conrad. Stolt spied him at the far end of the table, pale faced and dressed in fine clothes. Courtly clothes. Lord Stolt knew this man and had heard of his plea to King Timault to halt his crusade against the Blackmouth Clan. Duke Conrad had been dismissed, much to the shock of the court.

It also seemed that Lord Garantius, of Marethia was in contention for the throne. It seemed it would come down to these two men, whom Lord Stolt hardly knew, if by reputation only. As graceful as she was, even the Lady Allard seemed unsure in her nomination of Garantius.

Lord Stolt gathered his courage and stood, chalice raised.

"My lords, and lady. I am Lord Jerran Gades Stolt, forgive me if I have no steward to announce my titles and privileges, for I am a simple man. In truth, this is the first time in twenty years I have set foot in this fair city-"

Jerran paused. His heavy southern accent seemed to amuse the nobles at the table. Jerran coughed awkwardly. "Forgive me, I am still in mourning for our beloved King. I rode from the Gates of Thunderhall under his banners, and soon parted ways at the Ravine of Snakes where..." Lord Stolt pulled the black scarf of mourning from his neck and folded it carefully on the table. His fiery red beard framed his chin perfectly, and below it, hung the necklace of polished black orc-fangs.

"We parted ways. That is all I will say of King Timault. As for this business of 'electing' a king to rule, I cannot say I agree with the process wholeheartedly. In that spirit, I cannot in good conscious submit myself for candidacy of governance. I will provide, however, to whomever may prevail in this debate, a lifetime of knowledge and service fighting and defending this Kingdom from our most horrible enemy. I will not lie my lords and lady; my soldiers are hungry. They are tired. They have suffered the worst defeat in half a century and they have lost their king. I have lost my King. The enemy is more vicious than anything you can imagine my lords. I would ask for a place at the council, so that my voice may be heard and my experience in fighting these animals considered. I abstain from voting for election of a king. I have said my peace, my thanks."

House Wars and Blood Feuds In Old Venara

I feel myself mentally retooling my character to be super nice in response to how petty and awful some of the other characters are. I'm not going to name names, but I think Pieter's new thing is always being nice to the servants.

@Sypherkhode822

Hm. Not my intent for Lucien to seem petty, he's simply treating a servant how any rich Venaran would treat a hired hand. It's not like he insulted the servant personally. Besides, he's fuming about Nalias choice and the death of Leon of course.

The Rise of the Second Kingdom of Osteria

Name of Lord/Lady
Lord Jeran Gades Stolt
Physical Description:
An impressive and battle hardened man with a thick mop of dark red hair and a fiery pointed beard to match. Lord Jeran carries the scars not of civil weapons, but of the cruel and savage implements used by the Orcish Hordes, gained over a lifetime of protecting the borders of the Osterian Kingdom.

Claimed Fief:

Souther Reaches

2. Southern Reaches (Unclaimed): On the border of the Orclands of the vast desert, the Southern Reaches is geographically a destitute backwater that remains immensely important to the security of the lands. While it is lacking in resources, the Southern Reaches keeps Osteria protected from the Orcs, who threaten to come pouring in at any time.
STATS: 400,000 Citizens | 21,000 Men-at-Arms, 2,000 Cavalry, 8,000 Knights | Produces 0 Grain/2 Gold/1 Iron | No Roads | 1 Fortress | Requires 4 Grain/Season. | 0 Unrest

Basic History:
It is commonly regarded that the Stolts were a rowdy and rambunctious clan originally from the Highlands, but constant bickering and quarrels (and some say rebellion) led to a quiet exile to the Southern Reaches. Over the following centuries, the Stolts built Thunderhall, the lone fortress on the brink of the southern desert to guard against the occasional band of Orcish raiders. A fierce martial discipline was established, and after a few more decades of protecting the kingdoms border, the Stolts were allowed to officially return to court.

So Lord Jeran Stolt was raised amongst warriors, with a simple military code and the brief, spotty history that his family could cobble together. Regardless of the kingdoms view on the former exiles-turned kingdom protectors, the Stolts are duty bound to defend the Souther Reaches from the Hordes. When King Timault was slain by the Blackmouth Clan, Lord Stolt was devastated and took a vow of honor to destroy them.

Background: Champion (Bonus to Combat Rolls)

House Wars and Blood Feuds In Old Venara

@Polybius Oh gods no, Lorenzo will never be allowed the seat on her right, that will always be her brothers. Lorenzo takes his mother's seat on the Left soon:3

@Zverda

Ok so the seat beside Fiona? I'm confused I think. Either way it's just a token symbolism thing.

House Wars and Blood Feuds In Old Venara

A little filler post to get us moving!

EDIT: Lucien is an asssss. He's so much fun!

House Wars and Blood Feuds In Old Venara

Lucien

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Lucien look at his sister with a twisted expression on his face.

"Lorenzo... you will take the vacant seat on my other side next to your mother from now on.."

The words were unexpected and stung Lucien more than he thought they would. He snatched his rapier from the table and slammed it into the sheathe.

Inhaling sharply he stared at the faces in the room in turn. Lucien grinned suddenly, the dark scowl gone from his face. He turned his palms upward towards Nalia in a sign of acquiescence.

"Apologies, dear sister," he said not all too sweetly. "My anger got the better of me, I confess. I-dishonor our dear father at his wake. We should honor the flame of his memory while still it burns." Taking a seat beside Pieter he snapped his fingers at the nearest servant.

"You there-let's clean this mess up and bring out some more wine for the table. Pieter's cup seems to have a hole in the bottom," he said clapping his old friend on the back. Lucien paused suddenly, as if he had heard a whisper in the corridor. He turned to face Lorenzo with a mocking expression. He gestured to the seat beside Fiona.

"I believe that is yours cousin?"