Grijs — Roleplayer Guild

Brothers shall fight
and fell each other,
and sisters' sons
shall kinship stain.
Hard is it on earth,
with rampant whoredom;
Axe-time, sword-time,
shields are splintered.
Wind-time, wolf-time,
ere the world falls.
Nor ever shall men
each other spare.



Slot-Pharamond, the Royal Faramundian Citadel of Aaixen

Slot-Pharamond, castle-fortress and home to generation upon generation of Chlotarian Kings, stands with perhaps impregnable walls, built of the same clay that can be found throughout the rivers of central and northern Chlotaringen; a boon which has lent itself to many aspects of Chlotar construction, most notably in this very Royal Capital. The Royal Castle is an impressive and certainly ambitious construction for a yet semi-barbarian and nascent civilization. Great towers and domes dominate the skyline as somber sentinels, a testament to the power of Chlotaringen. It is said that on a clear morning, one can see those very same imposing towers of Slot-Pharamond from a hundred leagues away – as their power rises ever closer to the heavens, so too shall Chlotaringen be the foundation for a Kingdom to define this age.



Within the citadel’s central hall banners bearing the heraldry of the Faramundian dynasty, the Chlotar Lion, hang proudly from sturdy wooden beams holding up the throne room’s ceiling. Assembled are the subjects of the new King Cauroman, his Paladins at the fore. Each one a legendary warrior and personal friend of the King, outfitted in gleaming scale-armor and wearing long dark green or blood-red capes. Tales of their exploits are sung in hearths throughout the Kingdom. The blood of such heroes has built this Kingdom. From the far and wide borders of the vast Chlotarian expanse this gathering has come, some traveling for as long as months to Aaixen for no other reason than to hear the address of their new King.

Cauroman enters through the columns and climbs the elevated podium at the far back of the room, stopping right before the throne -- but does not sit down. The throne is merely a ceremonial embellishment, for a Chlotar King never sits idle, but belongs on a horse -- leading the men!
The young King is lean and tall, though not quite so tall as half his Paladins that currently stand before him. Though he dons much the same attire as them. The key difference being that into Cauroman's spangehelm is forged an iron crown to denote his kingship; from under his helmet strands of long blond hair fall over his shoulders and back, with a similarly coloured short and trimmed beard covering his chin and jawline.

‘’My warriors!’’
King Cauroman surveys the crowd, and waits till his voice has grabbed everyone’s attention. This swiftly done, the King speaks sonorously through the long hall.
‘’From the confines of Udos and the Holy City wherefrom I returned, a horrible tale has been brought to my ears which I will relay to you.  
The tribe from the kingdom of the Lamperts, an accursed tribe, a tribe utterly alienated from Godas, has invaded the lands of the Amalians.. and has depopulated them by the sword, pillage and fire; it has led away a part of the captives into its own Kingdom, and a part it has destroyed by cruel tortures. 
I’ve heard that in these tortures they harvest the blood of the faithful to spread on their altars and pour in their vases in perverse rituals unheard of in our lands.
Who can carry out the labour of avenging these wrongs and recovering this territory, if not you? You, upon whom above all other tribes Godas has bestowed glory in arms, great courage, will and strength to humble all who oppose you.

Soldiers, brothers and allies...
Hear my words: In the name of my ancestor Pharamond, himself Part God, I trust on you the burden to defend our world.’’

Cauroman walks off the stage, stopping before his first Paladin -- Vetericus.
He is a tall, long-haired warrior, imposing in both stature and mannerisms even when not adorned in his typical warpaint. In his left hand he grips the haft of his distinctive axe, head resting on the floor, saluting King Cauroman with his right instinctively, the thud of his fist on his armoured chest audible. 
‘’Vetericus of Baltia, I entrust you, and only you, to lead the subjugation effort against the ungodly Tautans. I believe you’ve witnessed firsthand the evils that happen within the Tautan confines…’’

“More vividly than most would ever fear to, my Emperor.”

The King nods, smiling uncomfortably at an outlandish honorific as Emperor, but he takes it as a compliment.
‘’You Baltians are renowned for your ferocity, your zeal and your willingness to smite malice. And I think no one understands this enemy better than you do.
Through my revelation in Udos I have learned the evils of their ways. Through their debauchery they seek to undermine the justice of Godas with the intent of undoing Him forever. The debauchery of the Tautans, and their King’s wanton whoring is a means to an end. He and his thralls seek to kill our almighty Father thereby.’’

The assembly behind the Paladins turn to clamour.
‘’To kill… God? Impossible!’’
‘’Unbelievable!
‘’Unthinkable!’’
‘’They will pay for this!’’
‘’They will pay with their blood!’’
The Chlotar King raises his hand, signaling his subjects to silence.
“I have none other in mind for this exceedingly important mission than you, Vetericus. While the Lamperts are the main target, we must deal with the Tautan heathens too. And perhaps more urgently even. You will plant on their smoking ruin the banner of Godas. And bring an end to the Tautan King's reign!’’

Vetericus with a gruff and ringing tone gives prompt reply.
“I will see it done, as sure as I draw breath. The Tautan stain upon history and God’s sacred lands shall be purged.”

Next Cauroman walks up to Paladin Einhard, who stands besides Vetericus and observed their dialogue cautiously. He salutes the King of Chlotaringen as he approaches.
Einhard, another tall and strongly built man, can be marked immediately as a Chlotar warrior in that regard. However, while not rare his brown hair and eyes are certainly not the norm for someone who claims direct descent of the legendary Chlotachar. He still retains a youthful appearance at the age of twenty-four, with the lack of scars demonstrating his juniority in this warrior society. From his belt hangs his mace… for the tale goes that Einhard was not found worthy to wield his ancestral family sword.
The young King speaks to him:
‘’As I muster the forces to march against Lampertei, you, Paladin Einhard, will lead the vanguard.
Long have our people tried to move an army across those perilous mountains. The Rudines. And everytime, the Lamperts have driven us back.
In these dire times, where our world begins to wind down, I can think of but one way we can defeat Lampertei for good and all.’’
The Paladin Einhard stands still, having listened carefully to each word.

‘’Ten years ago my father, Carlovech, sent your father, Mauger, into the mountains with the very same mission as I impart now to you. 
Mauger was Chlotaringen’s finest, and this was not without reason. I do not think we will see the likes of him again…
That said, I bid you pick up from whence Paladin Mauger left off. For your father carried with him the only weapon that will defeat the Lamperts. 
The Millennia Horn’’
A silence falls over the gathering at the mention of the lost artifact.
Another Paladin speaks up. 
‘’My King, the Horn is lost. As the cowardly Lamperts slew Mauger in ambush, Godas sent down an Angel to pick it up, and took the Horn to the heavens as to not let it fall in Lampert hands. It is no longer of this world.’’
Yet another Paladin speaks.
‘’An angel? I thought it was a white dragon!’’
Some in the crowd behind the latter Paladin nod affirmatively. ‘’I heard that version of the story too.’’

‘’Warriors!’’ Cauroman yells. ‘’I tell you the Horn is still within this world!” 
Cauroman sighs.
‘’Last night I dreamt in a fever -- Eulal-- I mean, Godas, sent me a vision of it. The Horn is waiting to be found. You will have to trust me on this, for the Millennia Horn is our only hope to defeat Lampertei.‘’
Again the King turns to Mauger’s son.
‘’Einhard!’’
Einhard drops to one knee, and speaks forcefully.

“By Godas, I will either return with the Millennia Horn or I will follow my father’s brave footsteps into the afterlife for our people’s sake.”

Einhard turns to the rest of the paladins and yells “For Godas, King Cauroman, and Chlotaringen!”
The hall erupted into cheering, those who had brought weapons thumping them against the ground to add force to their words as an echoing chant of ‘Godas, Cauroman, Chlotaringen!’ overwhelmed all other sounds in the world -- at least to those present. 

At the last Cauroman raises forth his hand, outstretching three fingers.
‘’Three months.
Three months and we march to war against Lampertei. Perhaps even sooner. There is no time to waste, my Paladins, my warriors.
And so that is the time you have to complete these tasks I have assigned thee. When the time comes, I will recall you to the southern marches at the feet of the Rudines, where my Camp will be.
I need all twelve of you Paladins at my side as we march across the mountains. And most rest of you too! Remember this!
Here, we stand. There is no alternative to victory. Should we falter... then all is lost. 
Go with Godas. ‘’ 
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