[@Grijs]

One warrior-monk and locust prophet coming up. I'll add some cohorts soon.

I took some liberty with giving a provisional name to the Lampert pseudo-clerical sages - it's as much a play on the Russian volkhvs as a debased Latino-German combination of "Volk" and "dux".


[hider=The Soothsayer]
[b]Name:[/b] Giselart. Also known as Giselart the Soothsayer, or, to his enemies, Giselart the Mad.

[b]Appearance:[/b] In many things, Giselart takes the traits of the archetypal Lampert to their extreme conclusion. His hair and beard are long, dark and flowing, not to say wild; his frame is robustly built and vigorous, though somewhat short among his compatriots and slightly stooped with incipient age; his gaze burns with a wrathful light that strikes terror into the hearts of those that meet it. Although he dresses humbly, donning only the sombre raiment of a sage, from a distance his form can appear richly bejewelled due to an eccentric choice of adornment: upon his person Giselart wears numerous holy amulets and symbols of faith from the Amalian lands, all of them defaced and broken by his own hands. The most imposing of these trinkets is a large nondescript, weathered husk hanging from his neck, which he claims is the head of a Divine Locust, worn as a symbol of God's malice.

[b]Kingdom Allegiance:[/b] Lampertei.

[b]Tribe:[/b] Lampert, born and bred.

[b]Background:[/b] Of where and when Giselart's life began no one can say much for certain, save that his origins were lowly and obscure, likely among peasants in the conquered countryside far south of Skadania. In his youth he was apprenticed to a [i]volcaduc[/i], one of those wise men who, among the godless Lamperts, fulfil that role of masters of lore and tradition that the clergy take on in more pious lands. From that teacher, he learned the legends and histories of his people, as well as smidgens of some practical sciences, such as how to speak with rhetorical cunning, read the stars and know the herbs that can cure fever or kill the body and the mind. Giselart proved an eager and curious student, and when, several years later, he was ordained a volcaduc himself, he began to travel Lampertei, seeking out other sages for their knowledge.

His intent was to collect all the tales of the Lampert tribe into one great chronicle; however, on his journey he had many adventures which marked the path of his life from then onward. He climbed mountains, traversed swamps and braved rivers; several times he fell severely ill, but always recovered. In the south, he joined various raids and campaigns against Udos, fought bravely and desecrated some shrines and temples, in which he took a fiendish joy. It was in those years that people first began to notice his immense hatred against God. Whether it came from the many stories of His evil and iniquity that he assembled, the perils he faced, a deep conviction of his own or something else entirely is unknown, but those who spoke with him of the questions of faith were often impressed with the virulence of his words and the abundance of his arguments, which were great even for a volcaduc.

Thus passed several more years of Giselart's life. The next great change came in the later years of King Cunincprand's reign, after a particularly unlucky expedition to the south. Angered by the failure, the wandering loremaster withdrew to a small, isolated town and began to preach to its people. He drew upon the wealth of knowledge he had accumulated, evoking great heroic deeds of ages past, and above all inflamed his listeners with fury against God and his vile minions on Visandza. His thunderous words fell on impressionable ears, and, when he rode out of the town, he was not alone, but followed by a cohort of coarse yet zealous men, enthralled by his speeches. He led his acolytes towards the lands of Udos, and on the way others joined them. Many were simple folk swept up by Giselart's blasphemous predication, but there were also among them experienced warriors from the remains of forces broken in past invasion. In the end, it was a sizeable, though shabby warband that crossed the border, and, while it was more owing more to blind luck than their skill, not only was it not entirely decimated, but even managed to bring back some plunder.

Upon their return, the surviving improvised raiders were overjoyed, and acclaimed their leader as gifted with a power that could breach the defences of God and men alike. Giselart, for his own part, grew convinced that it was his duty to bring war against God to all Visandza, and that for this end he had to go speak to the king himself. The band thus headed north, towards the capital, gathering more proselytes yet on its way. By that time, the supposed Locust head was already in Giselart's possession, and around that relic was built, almost casually, the warrior sect's identity. The assembly of rabble became the [i]Farigai[/i], the ones who brought the end and the extinction of God and his kin, and the divine instrument of destruction was perverted into the symbol of a scourge of His faithful. Members of the band carved stylised wooden effigies of the head and wore them on their persons or hung them to their saddles to signify their allegiance.

At length, the now greatly swollen force reached Skadania, and Giselart appeared before the king, his dire omens filling the halls of the capital. Although the fulminating loremaster and his followers were rather coldly received by the altogether moderate Cunincprand, who deemed them too undisciplined and rambuctious for his liking, they found greater favour with one of his younger sons, Dalgiserius. The prince's rougher character was more congenial to the band's rowdy, violent nature, and he took it among the forces under his command, with Giselart becoming his lieutenant and advisor. When, struck with suspicion at the deaths in his family, Dalgiserius began to investigate the source of the evil afflicting his bloodline, the Farigai were all too glad to become his hands and eyes, terrorizing the populace in their efforts to leave no stone
unturned.

The sacking of the Mountain Temple was an occasion of great celebration among the warband, which had long set their eyes on that glaring target in the very midst of Lampert lands, but had theretofore been held back from assailing it by royal protection. Giselart himself, by that time a Gastald of the new king, led his men through the rampage with club in hand. Those who were with him then say that his hoard of plundered symbols of devotion grew twice as heavy on that day alone. Yet he was also never far from Dalgiserius' ear. When no proof of the Vestals' involvement in the deaths was found, he proclaimed that this was all the more reason to be certain that God's own invisible hand was in this, and He had to be fought with all their forces.

Since then, that indomitable old man, volcaduc and warrior, prophet and Gastald, has not been idle. He was ever close with his unholy oaths as the king descended into his madness, and those who sought to limit his influence were suddenly struck with mysterious ailments. This gave rise to rumours that the man had some sinister power with which he could bewitch and curse whom he pleased. Yet it is much too late to openly act against him. The only rival Giselart fears at all is the king's own get, Dalgiserata. For all he hates her mother for being a foreign witch and herself for weakening the king's resolve, he does not dare work against her, either with curse or poison or through the daggers and strangling-cords of his devotees.

Nevertheless, the Soothsayer thinks little of even the princess, for he is certain his power is immeasurably greater than hers. At his command, the Farigai ride out across the land, terrorising the populace in their quest to root out "disloyalty to the king" - that is, sentiments towards God other than venomous hate. To this day, their vexations rage on unhindered in the shadow of their protector, who, in his prophetic guise, makes no secret of abetting Dalgiserius' obsession and working to plunge Lampertei and all the world into apocalyptic carnage.

[/hider]