Grijs

The Maimed God - (Dark Age Casual-Advanced Character RP)

@Narcotic Dollie Well you see, emphasizing the full udders is all part of my artistic process.

The Maimed God - (Dark Age Casual-Advanced Character RP)

UPDATE: Thanks to @Narcotic Dollie we've got a dank Character Index at the first post of the CS to structure all faction characters.

(She made it a while ago and I forgot to put it in xd )

The Maimed God - (Dark Age Casual-Advanced Character RP)

Maimed God Character Index

---

• King Cauroman
• King Dagobert
  
  • Autchar der Herstal -- Paladin of the Chlotar Kings
• Vetericus
  
  • Crocus, The Elder -- Right-hand to Vetericus
• Einhard Cloviscisca
• Wulfberht

---

• King Dalgiserius
• Princess Dalgiserata
• Princess Antonia
  
  • Gundiberga -- Antonia's Shield Maiden
• Giselart the Soothsayer
  
  • Ratechi the Iron-Hand -- Giselart's Right Hand Man
  • Dauraulf Locust-Head -- Warrior and put in command by Giselart to lead raiding parties & advises on tactics and logistics.
• Ardoiwn Theodorn
  
  • Cleph -- Ardoiwn's Second Man
• Raditschs the Damned

---

• King Badastan
  
  • Thane Aelfgar of Westerburh -- Badastan's henchman
• Prince Alric
• Lord Captain Leofric
  
  • Aela -- First Mate in Leofric's Crew
  • Peric -- Oarmaster in Leofric's Crew
  • Alicia Arenar -- Quartermaster in Leofric's Crew

---

• King Orso
  
  • Abadactus Rogan -- Orso's Captain of the Palace
• Athalaric Heldefredus -- The Viigoc
  
  • General Sigeric, General Eriulf, General Vandil -- The Military Council
  • Primo Foederati Custodes -- Body Guard Unit
• Doux Theodonus
  
  • Madam Kalisto -- Theodonus' Mother
  • Prince Nonnonso -- Friend of Theodonus & one of King Orso's many children.
• Quintus Vitalius of Amal
  
  • Prince Zeno of Tautom -- One of King Orso's many children.
• Doux Belisar II of Syrome
  
  • Douxaina Anaceaia Aetius -- Wife of Belisar
  • Lord Seneca Aetius and Lady Nicaea of Syrome -- Children of Belisar & Anaceaia

The Maimed God - (Dark Age Casual-Advanced Character RP)

Nevelholt Forest, South-east of Aaixen

The Great Army of King Cauroman is on the move towards the far-away Rudine Marches, Chlotaringen’s southern frontier. Having moved through the riverlands surrounding Aaixen, the king's army of some ten thousand men is recuperating at the edge of a vast, ancient and ancestral woodland known as the Nevelholt. The King’s initial host was larger, but for logistical reasons they were split up in several smaller armies entrusted to the Paladins.
Meanwhile Cauroman is accompanied by three of his great Paladins. With Vetericus assigned to the Baltian Marches, it leaves Einhard, Cauroman’s own, Wulfbehrt, champion of Udos, a crusader for Godas and Defender of the Holy City -- of whom songs are sung throughout Visandza, and last Autchar, the Sword-bearer to Cauroman’s bedridden brother King Dagobert, who ventured out on his behalf.

The twilight shines through the leaves as the fiery sun disc fades into the horizon. The Nevelholt, already considered a mystical woodland, appears even more otherworldly underneath the orange-purple sky.
In the great Chlotar encampment at the edge of the forest, Paladins Einhard and Autchar stand with the Chlotar quartermaster around the hewn base of a once large oak tree central of the pavilion, that they use as makeshift table. There they discuss logistics with the quartermaster in regards the Long March over Visandza... Though not letting the opportunity pass to toast a drink.

‘’It will take some months for an army to travel from Aaixen’s heartlands to the Rudine Marches.’’ Says to quartermaster. ‘’In the meantime we ought to take it easy, the men are tired after another day’s march.’’
‘’No, we must stay on alert. I’ve heard ominous reports from this part of Chlotaringen.’’ answers Autchar, pouring himself and the other paladins a curious beverage of fermented grapes, which the Celeseans call ‘wine’.
The quartermaster, after inspecting the liquid, takes a cautious sip of it.
‘’Hrm. Good, but a tad sour. These were imported from the Baltian marches, no? It takes some getting used to. Where’s the mead?’’ He blurts with a grin. ‘’Hey, come on Autchar, why so dour? Don’t get distraught from hearsay.’’
‘’It’s not hearsay.’’ Autchar speaks solemnly, after passing the waterskin of wine to Einhard ‘’For years word has spread as a plague through these lands, of ominous and sudden disappearances of those who rode out too deep into the Nevelholt.’’ The paladin then casts his gaze to the east past the trees and into the darkness beyond.
“What, afraid the goatmen are going to come and take you?” Einhard replies sarcastically as he takes a swig of the wine Autchar presented him. “The only thing that we need to worry about are those by Godas forsaken Lamperts and their devious king.”

‘’You think it’s outlandish, and perhaps it is. Except that among those missing are two Paladins, deployed by late King Carlovech to investigate the disappearances.’’

‘’Berengar and Ojevar…’’ A third voice interjects as someone enters the pavilion. It is Cauroman.
‘’My King!’’ Autchar utters in surprise, instinctively pressing his fist against his chest as salute. Einhard halfway drops to one knee, then back up with a nod of his head and bellows “High King Cauroman!”
‘’Hail, brothers. Be at ease.’’ The Chlotar King speaks, taking off his crowned spangenhelm and placing it on the great oak stump before them.
‘’Autchar, I remember these two Paladins you named from my youth, Berengar and Ojevar. They were most loyal, and formidable above all.‘’
The King is quiet in a moment of contemplation.
‘’I always did wonder what had become of them. Had these disappearances of our kinsfolk never been resolved?” Cauroman looks at Autchar inquiringly from the corner of his emerald eyes.
“Not that we know of, my King. Once it became common knowledge that the forest abducts the living, your subjects have wisely ceased going there.’’

“So it is no longer a problem.” The quartermaster says.

‘’No…’’
Cauroman's voice is beset with resolution.
‘’If my father’s Paladins perished in there, it must not be ignored but confronted. As Paladins and as King, it is our duty to either retrieve or avenge them.
However at present our attention cannot be diverted from the great war to come. I suppose it is something to look into once the war with Lampertei has come to pass.”

“If we will live to survive that war.” The quartermaster smirks, half in jest, having meanwhile turned to the mead to wash away the sour wine-taste.

‘’Better to die on the battlefield against the Lamperts than in some forest” Einhard mutters.

“Whether we live or die, it matters not so long that we WIN.
Should we fail to save Godas, Visandza - no, all existence, - will fall to final darkness.’’ Autchar groans solemnly, to which the quartermaster can only sigh.
‘’Autchar, your grimness is the reason we are trying to have a toast right now. Just have a drink.’’

Cauroman raises a clenched fist.
‘’Gentlemen! Let us not brood on what is to come. But one thing is certain; this forest is hexed. It is best to be on high alert, as Paladin Autchar so wisely asserts.
Quartermaster!’’
The man’s back stiffens. ‘’Orders?’’
‘’Double the nightguard. We need volunteers.’’
‘’I shall see to it posthaste.’’

Then spotting an opportunity to demonstrate his commitment, Einhard slams his fist on the oak stump, proclaiming as he chews a mouthful of pork: “I will keep watch through the night.”
Cauroman turns to him with a grin, arms folded;
‘’Ever a dependable warrior, much like your father.’’
The Chlotar King picks up his spangenhelm and holds it under his arm.
‘’My warriors, I will see the three of you at dawn. Do your forebear proud as I myself strive to.’’ He leaves the pavilion to make for his own tent. One whose regalty is outwardly only betrayed by the banner of the Faramundian lion planted on top.

The Maimed God - (Dark Age Casual-Advanced Character RP)

@Guinemerz It's weird seeing my sketchy concept art appear in a clip. lol

The Maimed God - (Dark Age Casual-Advanced Character RP)

Skadan Castle, the hallway leading toward the Eoin Tower

---

On the old Stronghold that is Skadan Castle are built two great towers. One of them is old and weathered, purposefully constructed by the first King Alboin to oversee his nascent Kingdom. This tower has become the living quarters of the King’s trueborn daughter.
The second and higher tower is a much newer addition to the Castle -- it is the tower Dalgiserius had constructed from whence to challenge God. The Eoin and Serius towers respectively. And it is in the latter where his adopted daughter rests in a room adjacent the long stairway up. ...Two towers for two daughters.

The hallway leading up to the old Eoin Tower is where the Princess often links up with Laiamicho, a steadfast retainer of her family.
For a Lampert woman Dalgiserata is on the short side, likely taken after her mother. By contrast she inherited the dark hair and icy eyes of her namesake father, Dalgiserius. Her forehead is beset with a diadem of gemstones. Over her embellished robes she wears a dark and heavy bear pelt similar to her father's, which around her neck is also beset with yet more gemstones. For Lampert royalty it's not the gems that is considered Alboinid regalia, but the bear fur. All Lampert royalty, be they male or female, are expected to wear a mantle made from the pelt of a black bear. Unbefitting for a Princess, however, is that under her regal robes the king's daughter wears trousers rather than a dress, for she and her retinue often embark on horseback.

As for Laiamicho, one wouldn't think that he's a royal servant based on his ragged overcoat and worn tunic, though with his errands of subterfuge, perhaps that's the point. His clean-shaven face and well-kempt hair betrays his standing however. And everyone inside Dalgiserius' stronghold immediately would recognize him by face and voice alone. Of all her servants, the Princess trusts him most.
‘’The King is not taking the warning as gravely as I hoped he would.’’ Laiamicho sighs. ‘’The Chlotar enemy are preparing something big. Greater than anything to date. There’s something off with their new King, this Cauroman.’’

‘’You’ve done the best you could, Laiamicho. I know of the strain it takes to address my father…’’
The scout sighs. ‘’I’m just glad to be out of that accursed hall. Outwardly I could carry myself calmly enough, sure, but in truth I was Goddamned pissing myself from anxiety. Almost literally too.’’
‘’You did your duty to the Kingdom. My father is grateful for your reconnaissance, even if he doesn’t show it.’’
‘’Don’t get me wrong, I am not looking for pity. Pity rather your half-sister. Is she seriously a Gastald? I honestly thought it’s a joke! The Gastalds are fearsome warchiefs and the like, and she’s just a meek lit--’’ He abruptly quits talking when he spots Antonia approaching from over the Princess’ shoulder. He abruptly clears his throat and straightens his overcoat, uncomfortably looking another direction in the hopes she hadn’t overheard.

Antonia raises a brow at Laiamicho’s hushed remark, but Gundiberga lets out a bark of laughter that cuts through the silence and causes the royal retainer to give a startled jump.
“Do you hear that, little fox?” the shield maiden askes, twirling a coil of the girl’s ginger hair around her finger and yanking on it. “He thinks you’re meek. I told you that you’re too precious for your own damn good. Maybe you ‘ought to take your training more seriously.” Antonia hisses and bats the blonde woman’s hand away while shooting her a glare, which only causes Gundiberga to give a grin that is more a baring of teeth than anything else.

“Thank you, Laiamicho. I’ll do my best to be more fearsome in the future,” the redhead quipped dryly before flashing the servant a half smile to show that while she was annoyed at his remarks, Antonia bore him no ill will. Afterall, it was ridiculous to imagine a nineteen year old, not yet battle tested girl as a mighty Gastald.

“My apologies, my lady. I just thought… I-” Laiamicho coughed, giving his coat one final tug. “-I’ll be on my way. Glory to Lampertei and the High King. Death to God. Have a pleasant evening, ladies”, finally making a swift bow to Dalgiserata ‘’Princess.’’ before hastening off.

“Death to God,” both women echo, Antonia in a practiced monatone and Gundiberga in her typical manic timbre. Dalgiserata remained quiet the whole time, casting a stern gaze at Gundiberga as to dismiss her, and only addressing her half-sister when Laiamicho and she had removed themselves from their vicinity.

‘’The skull drinking… it-’’ The Princess struggles to find the words, her face pained.
‘’It was cruel. That my father’s dogs would do such a thing to your true father.’’

Antonia purses her lips and remains silent while she waits for the other proverbial shoe to drop.

‘’...In his own way, my father -- our father -- was trying to help you, I am sure.’’

...and there it was. Antonia lets go of a sigh, the exhale sounding explosive in the tiny corridor.
“That's enough, Serata,” the freckled young woman finally says, not unkindly, before placing a hand on the princess's shoulder.
“I'd rather not speak about it now, if it's all the same to you.” As much as Antonia loved her sister, she knew better than to argue with her over Dalgiserius’s ways.

‘’Of course.’’ Dalgiserata lowers her head respectfully as to acknowledge her wishes. This isn’t court protocol or anything, it’s in her nature.
‘’My father’s dogs, they--’’

Speaking of the devil, a bearded sentinel turns up from deep down the hallway, speaking with a voice low and hoarse as he taps his halberd hard against the stone tiles.
‘’Gastald Antonia. The High King summons you to the netherhall. -- Don’t make him wait.’’ Then the large man turns around, expecting Antonia to follow behind.

‘’It seems as though another trial has been prepared for you as a Gastald.’’ Serata hushes at her.
‘’Things will get better for you, I swear it. My father will yet learn to value your true worth.
Be strong, sister.’’

Returning to the Netherhall, the place has gotten colder and darker now that the seats of the grand table are all vacant, and the green flames of the braziers dying. There is no one in the hall, save one great shadow that the green embers cast far over the whole of the floor. The shadow of Dalgiserius. With a fist resting against his worn bearded face, his icy eyes look up with a scowl into Antonia’s direction.
‘’You kept me waiting. Come hither, Gastald Mouse.’’ Dalgiserius' imposing voice echoes through the hall with a low hum.

After her eyes attuned to the darkness, Antonia can tell that the King is not in fact alone. At his side, shrouded in shadow, stands a figure whose sparse metallic glimmering betrays it as Giselart, the Soothsayer. The old loremaster is bent down, his beard trembling as he whispers something in the King’s ear, before silently withdrawing into the darkness to observe the girl’s approach.

‘’Each of the men hosted at my table are there for their demonstrated might, and selfless devotion to Lampertei. Still, each has been found wanting.

The insult to the Lampert people and our ancestors… Udos… and the evil witch whores therein yet live. The queen of all witches schemes there, the source of all mayhem. A decade ago my ‘best’ men could not take the city. Nor I could take Udos as I charged myself into the breach. But you, little mouse... I trust will succeed where all my stumbling wardogs have failed.

Only a warrior of your… ‘unspoiledness’... can undo the City of Witchcraft of its warding hex.

Now tell me, my beloved daughter, how would you like to see mother again?’’

Antonia stands motionless for a moment, before carefully answering,
“I would only see her if that is what my king wishes of me.”

‘’Hrm.
You are right to be wary. She is a dark deviant. A shameless schemer. A hag of hazards. Yet nevertheless your mother. Think of the... ‘’ Dalgiserius struggles to say the word, forcing himself as he spat it out ‘’..JOY.. it would bring her old heart.’’
The King stares intently at his adopted daughter, trying his best to keep his perpetual fury contained by grinding his brittle teeth against one another -- which makes it all the more unnerving for her.
Despite the king’s efforts to control his aura the atmosphere inside the hall feels extraordinarily oppressive and it's a struggle for Antonia just to keep her feet firmly planted instead of sprinting for the door. She is speechless, so in lieu of answering she responds with a quick nod.

‘’Yes. I thought you’d like that.’’ Dalgiserius mutters as he reveals a mere glint of contentedness, but never enough so for his perpetual frown to fade.

The Soothsayer’s deep-sunken eyes gleam briefly as he emerges from the dim, stooping once again to the King’s ear. He soundlessly whispers some more before vanishing back behind the seat.
Dalgiserius’ brooding voice, even in attempts to remain calm is induced with only barely contained rage as the King’s voice echoes through the stone fundaments.
‘’You… will wish to become one of the witch queen’s vile cultists… the Vestal Virgins. And the best way to earn their boon is by presenting yourself as Nanperga’s daughter.

Then, and then alone will you have access to their vaults of sorcery. From there, you will know what to do.. And you will understand what is at stake if you do not.’’
That last line sounded very threatening, though Antonia does not fully understand what the King meant by it. Nevertheless she understands not to trifle with a royal decree from Dalgiserius.

“Yes, father,” she responds.

‘’On the morrow you will ride south away… Escorted. Then present yourself at Nanperga’s Hold.. Dare not return before you have seen this through to the end, Gastald Antonia.’’
King Dalgiserius waves with his crude iron scepter, then pointing it at the exit. ‘’Begone!’’

Antonia bows deeply at the waist before walking as quickly as possible out of the Netherhall. It's only when she makes it out into the courtyard that she allows herself to stop, sagging forward and covering her face with her hands while taking deep breaths to calm her racing heart.
“The king had good news then?” Gundiberga asks from her place beside a black rose bush. Antonia is not surprised to find her there.

“He wants me to take Udos,” she huffs, still in shock. “No one’s ever taken it and he expects me to do it!”

“Watch your tone, little fox,” Gundiberga growls, voice turning hard as steel. “Our king knows best.”
“Of course,” Antonia says after she has recomposed herself, holding her hands up in an attempt to placate her shield maiden. “I was only surprised, that's all. He wants me to become a Vestal Virgin.”

At this Gundiberga squinted and scrunched her nose up unflatteringly. “You’ve never had a man before?”

Antonia’s face turns the same color as her hair and Gundiberga erupts into a wild, cackling laughter that is unique to only her. Embarrassed, the king's ward chooses not to answer, opting instead to turn on her heel and stomp back towards her chambers at the Serius tower.

The Maimed God - (Dark Age Casual-Advanced Character RP)

@Isotope Excellent sheet! Post 'em right up with the others. I was already wondering where you were!

The Maimed God - (Dark Age Casual-Advanced Character RP)

Far away beyond the mountains – there live a people that hate God.

-Chronicler Domentziolus on his working chronicle ‘Barbarian Races of Visandza’’

Skadan Castle, throne of Dalgiserius

Skadan Castle is built high into the Rudines at the northern outskirts of Skadania, from where the dark Castle menacingly looks out over Lampertei’s Royal Capital -- ever a stern reminder as to who is in charge. It is home and headquarters of the Lampert King Dalgiserius and his Gastald thralls. Where the Chlotar constructions tend to be built of clay, due to them being largely a riverland people, the Lampert constructions are often built of rocky rubble masonry – stone from the very mountains in which the Lampert capital is built.
Though initially a more-or-less ordinary castle, with the coming of King Dalgiserius, Skadan began to resemble a sinister labyrinthine ‘pyramid’ after more and more subterranean levels were added with the construction of tunnels and hallways. Underneath the throne of the King is a large network of dungeons where the Lampert’s many hostages are kept. The poor fools dragged into there will never see the light of day again. After the initial screams, their voices are, by means unholy, snuffed out from this world. Their fate known to few save for the Farigai that operate Skadan’s dungeons.
The Farigai is a sinister policing force and cult of personality centered around King Dalgiserius. After the old clergy of Lampertei were driven out, the Farigai is more-or-less what filled their vacuum.

Before Skadan castle is a somber court area flanked by Rudine cliffs and walled by the towers of a great battlement. Through the great entry gate is a long hallway leading to stairs, corridors and smithy chambers. And finally, the nethermost hall – the Throne of the King of the Lamperts.

The throne room is a very dark place due to being the deepest section of the castle. No sunlight reaches there, and the only light sources are dim braziers flickering with green flame – giving the dark netherhall a general greenish and unnatural glow.

There, on a large monolithic stone throne sits the King himself – Dalgiserius. An imposing man with the likeness of a great black bear. On his head rests a tremendous tower-like horned metal crown. With a vicious scowl he gazes at the assembled thralls situated around a large and long dining table, a great piece of furniture that is at the centre of the hall, around which his Gastalds sit for their supper. It’s supposed to be a feast, but the mood is never merry. Ever.

In total the assembly sitting around the whole of the great table consists of some fifty men. And the number of women can be counted on a single hand. The more noteworthy of the Gastalds present are:

Liutpertus, a model warrior-noble that even during feasts brings his lamellenhelm and lamellar armor. He is the King’s stalwart sword-bearer and bootlicker, swiftly recognizable by his missing eyeball and crooked nose, platinum blond hair and long drooping mustache.

Then there is the soothsayer, Giselart. Leader of the Farigai, he is a mighty sage, loremaster and foremost advisor to the King, and by far the oldest among them. Whispers of sorcery and superstition surround his grim figure, bent under the weight of years, and voices of more palpable fear. Even now, none can be certain that an army of faceless, black-cloaked shadows is not watching his every gesture from a darkened corner, ready to seize upon anyone the elder may point at in condemnation.

There is Ardoiwn, the only foreign-blooded amongst the Gastalds, with long earthen hair and a short scraggly beard. Despite his blood the man has been found strangely and admirably devoted to the King. He scanned the table with his deep blue eyes, still new to the court and learning what he could from those around him, however his shoulders were slumped and his hands nervously held under the table as he was indeed still new to the table, and the king.

And then there is the girl Antonia, the King’s adopted daughter, who sits as silent as the grave with her bright eyes carefully averted. She has forgone a gown and instead wears a simple leather jerkin and cotton breeches, but even in her plain clothes she looks very out of place in the company of these old and battle-tested men. Yet none question the King over his decision to include her here.

For a long time there reigns an eerie silence, and the only sounds heard come from the flickering of the braziers and the strong mountain wind howling through the pathways. As the King always has the first word before a feast may commence, each of the Gastalds remain deadly silent as they await the royal word.
The King finally grunts with a deep and booming voice, intensified by the echo inducing walls.
‘’Eat, you mangy rodents. And Curse God!
Drink to the final battle! Drink to the world’s end!’’ Dalgiserius raises his mace-like-scepter.

‘’Death to God! Hail King Dalgiserius!’’
The Gastalds speak in choir, raising tankards and horns of foaming mead as their unison of voices boom through the castle halls.

The Gastald sitting closest to the King, Liutpertus snarls at a nearby cup-bearer:
‘’BOY. Where is the King’s tankard? Get it! And be quick with it!’’ As he uses his rope-belt to lash at the boy’s feet with a ‘CRACK’.
The cup-bearer of some age of 12 yelps and scurries through the large stone columns, returning seconds later carrying a red cushion, on which a skull-cup… with a thick orange alcoholic liquid in it. Too thick to be regular mead. And the unfortunate man the skull belonged to had been a particularly hated enemy of the King.
‘’About time, damned be God. Give that here, mutt.’’
Liutpertus growls at the boy, his face red with a passive seething as he whisks him away with his hand.

‘’y-Yes my lord!’’ The cup-bearer stammers.

Having taken the cushion and skull-cup off his hands, Liutpertus turns around to present it to the King nigh him. And just like that his red face turns mellow, and a smile falls on his lips.
‘’Here, your excellency…’’ The Gastald drops to one knee and lifts the cushion up within arm lengths of Dalgiserius.

Not even commenting on Liutpertus’ familiar fawning, Dalgiserius takes hold of the skull and, after taking a mighty gulp of its contents, turns his attention to Giselart.
‘’Soothsayer.
Tell me the omens. When has the ritual been finalized for me to make my charge?’’ The King speaks cryptically to Giselart over the table, expecting him to know exactly of which he speaks.

“Soon, my king.” The defiled icons and symbols scattered among the old man’s robes and beard ring with low, melancholy notes as he rises to bow before the sovereign. Twisted pieces of precious metal catch gleams from the sickly light of the braziers in their flowing motion, so that it appears that Giselart himself has wrapped a shroud of green flame around his squat, but firm body. The gnarled shell on his breast glows as though restored to its monstrous life. Yet not a single glimmer reaches his own eyes, which are two deep black wells amid his weathered face.

“The blood of your foes spells signs of ruin over their broken shrines. Every drop of it that falls is a spear to God’s rotten heart.” The sage’s voice is as deep and rumbling as that of a man twenty years his younger.
“I have watched the shapes of the stars, heard the voice of the waves and read the liver of those that died by my knife, and all speak of fire and death. If you move before the year turns, Udos will fall.”

For the first time this evening, the King gives off a mild suggestion of satisfaction. ‘’And so…’’
Dalgiserius stands up from his throne and speaks forcefully.
‘’Before the first snows of winter -- God will be yet another foe that I have defeated!’’ The last three words were accompanied with Dalgiserius harshly slamming the table before him. ‘’And show the world..! --- NOT A FOE can stand against the GOD-SLAYING LAMPERTS!’’

‘’Hail King Dalgiserius! Hail!’’ Raising their tankards and horns many sensible Gastalds cheer in choir in anticipation of their kingdom’s approaching and final victory.

Antonia is so used to seeing the man scowling that the sight of him even slightly content has her on edge. Her thoughts are disturbed by the sudden call of her King:
‘’Girl!’’
Antonia can tell, sense, by the dark and familiar foreboding that always emanates from the Lampert King that he is looking directly at her. She bites down on the inside of her cheek hard, but despite her best efforts she can't stop the shiver that runs down her spine.

‘’You have been found worthy of being anointed to the select few, and thereby be hosted at my table.
Now begins the gruelling process to make you one of them.’’ The King motions his scepter at the Gastalds around the table, all their eyes on her, before continuing.
‘’…And I know just where to start…’’ The King gestures at Liutpertus, as he takes the skull-cup off the King’s hands. Then the one-eyed Gastald walks over towards Antonia’s seat.

‘’Drink.’’ The King snarls.
‘’Drink merrily with father.’’

Liutpertus pushes the skull into her hands a little harder than necessary, causing some of the honey colored drink to slosh over the sides. Antonia can feel everyone’s attention on her but for a moment she stands frozen, blue eyes boring into the skull in her grasp and the frothing liquid that is contained within it. She knew without doubt it belonged to her true father because the King had just had him hunted as a message to the queen, and it’s exactly the kind of hateful behavior she’s come to expect from Dalgiserius at this point.

Still, it doesn’t make it sting any less.

Antonia feels her eyes grow hot but blinks the sensation away just as quickly. “Yes, father,” she says in a quiet but steady voice. “Damn God and long live my king,” the girl professes solemnly before taking a drink.

‘’There’s a good girl. No, not a girl. You are my new Gastald.’’ He lets out a faint chuckle, though the sneer on his face doesn't betray any good will.

Liutpertus takes the skull from her hands and brings it this time to Giselart, as the one-eye wantonly slaps the soothsayer on the shoulder before making for his own seat again. It was his Farigai, after all, that had captured and slain the man it once belonged to.

---

As the evening progressed, two men are allowed in the netherhall to plead with the King. The first is Laiamicho, a loyal scout and servant of the Royal Family. The latter, based on his single-garment dress, sandals and lack of pants, must be a Tautan emissary.

Most of the warriors had long finished eating, and some were already hoping to leave the dark hall. But now this brat, this Laiamicho with his youthful and smug face and handsome black curls, is making them wait. King Dalgiserius perks at the sight of his two new guests.
‘’Speak.’’ Dalgiserius blurts impatiently.

‘’Yes my King.’’ Laiamicho says as he makes a deft and deep bow.

‘’I have traversed into Chlotaringen per request of Princess Dalgiserata. And I bring you ill-tidings, o almighty ruler. For the Chlotars have a new King, who has gained the mastery over the whole of the Chlotarian territories. He is assembling his armies and marches them south as we speak -- seeking to challenge us, your excellency.’’

‘’So what? They’ve never crossed the Rudines before. We’ll beat them back yet again.’’ Liutpertus quips, who happens to have won his Gastald status by being an accomplished Rudine patrolman.

‘’This time will be different, for the Chlotars seem more committed than ever. I heard whispers that they seek, or already have in possession, a weapon by which they can cross the mountains…’’

‘’No such weapon exists!’’ Exclaims another Gastald in the back of the hall, standing up as he was just about to leave the room, and thereby frustrated towards Laiamicho for holding him up.

Liutpertus, however, grows pale as the tale seems to ring familiar to him. He speaks hesitantly:
‘’Is this weapon per chance a horn?’’

‘’So it is said.’’ Laiamicho replies.

The one-eye slumps back into his chair in contemplation. Giving away a twinge of nervousness as he brings his hand towards the hole where his right eye used to be.

‘’Hrm….’’ The King mutters. ‘’None may interfere with our march on Udos. I will send more of our boys to fortify the northern perimeters. What else?’’
Laiamicho nods, not quite content with the answer, but not willing to push his luck either. He makes another deep bow and retreats towards the back of the room. Dalgiserius this time looks at the flustered Tautan who, realising it is his turn to make an appeal, drops to the floor as he folds his hands together. Whatever rational diplomatic proposal he might’ve prepared as he traveled to Skadan was lost to him now, because Dalgiserius’ oppressive air is one that no outsider could prepare for.

‘’O magnificent King of Mighty Lampertei! Please… Please…! Now more than ever, on behalf of our Noble King Orso, Baltia seeks alliance. We.. We are on the verge of collapse! Our allies have deserted us! Only your intervention can prevent Cauroman’s total hegemony north of the Rudines!’’

The Lampert King looks away in disgust from the groveling Tautan.
‘’Pathetic. Celesean scum. Or Viigoc? You are all the same to me. My people are not here to remedy your self-inflicted disease. Your laughable weakness is not our business.’’ Slamming his fist on the table, the King yells out in anger. ‘’Guards! Remove this disgusting creature from my sight!’’

Two Lampert guardsmen carrying maces enter the netherhall, seize the Tautan still there groveling on the floor, and drag him out by the feet.
‘’Your majesty! Please! Please! Please! You must hear m--’’ As the man wouldn’t shut up, the guards begin kicking and beating him, and begging turns to screaming. Then the gates close shut.
A new silence reigned, and it was unbroken. Dalgiserius stares into the hall, with the Gastalds quietly looking back. Then after a brief moment of hesitation, a voice rings through the netherhall loud and clear.

“My King if I may, I believe this is in fact our business”.

Everyone looks to who spoke; it came from Ardoiwn.
The young man had stayed quiet up until this point, not yet ready to speak under the oppressive air that seemed to follow the king, however this was a matter of importance.

“If you’ll pardon my interruption sire. Tautom falling would not go over well for us. With access to the Sea of Tears the Chlotarian’s may just be able to flank around and bypass the Rudines entirely. Such an action would put lands dear to me in grave danger and as such I must volunteer myself and my men to this.”

Ardoiwn at this point was standing out of his chair, his passion getting the better of him as he considered what may happen to his home should Tautom fall. The moment passes and suddenly Ardoiwn feels the number of eyes upon him and sinks down into his chair, the aura of his king beating down his fervor as Ardoiwn offers another more collected thought,
“Of course, defending the walls of Tautom will also mean more Chlotars dead without any risk to our own fortifications, stalling their armies and giving us ever more time to build up our defences.”

...Dalgiserius remains quiet for a while. ‘’...Your men?’’ The King eventually grunts. ‘’You seek to take my warriors to whore for foreign interests.’’ The king sends a vile glare towards the Gastald that so brazenly spoke out.

Sensing an opportunity to suck up some more, Liutpertus speaks to the king with a hushed tone:
‘’What hubris this man displays with his defiance… radical disciplinary measures are surely warranted, your excellency.’’

‘’Quiet.’’ The King grunts at the one-eye.

‘’Gastald Ardoiwn --- was that your name? You raise one point -- Carlovech’s worthless Spawn has the audacity to challenge Lampertei. If what Laiamicho says is true, he means to cross into our rightful territory. I would be hard pressed if he could claim the Stronghold of the Celeseans, which has resisted Chlotar dominion for half a century now. Let alone pass into invincible Lampertei!’’

With a groan he follows.
''I do not wish to show good faith to those degenerate Tautom wurms. Nevertheless I will permit you and your personal retainers to go there and offer your services to the Celeseans… And no more than that.’’
Dalgiserius finishes with a low, threatening growl:
‘’No more than your own handpicked retinue… Am I perfectly clear?’’

Ardoiwn flinched under the words of his king, but managed to muster enough spine to make his words clear, “Ye- yes, my king. We shall do no more than needed, with as few men as possible.”
Ardoiwn would allow himself to sink as deeply into his seat as the chair would allow him, fear dogging his mind as he tried to find out where exactly he made his mistake and how to account for it in the future.

The day passed and the Lamperts made ready for war.

The Maimed God - (Dark Age Casual-Advanced Character RP)

Should add a little rule: at the start of an IC post always add the location as to where it takes place! It's important to know which characters are nearby.

The Maimed God - (Dark Age Casual-Advanced Character RP)

So when am I good to intro Leofric? I'm thinking about doing a thing where he takes down a ship.

@Not Fishing

That sounds good. And honestly whenever you like, the people i'm currently looking to for their intro posts are all busy with their lives and jobs ATM.

Speak of the devil, Wernher posted the Tautom intro!