Reding Family/Charles

Personal Ensign and Portrait
Continent
Family	Family
Class
Age	years
Honour
Prestige
Rank
Region	[[]]
Duchy	[[]]
Realm

Overview

Coming in at 5’9” in height with average build, Charles has the physical attributes expected of a loyal, calm, steadfast warrior. While no towering intellectual, Charles thinks fast on his feet and learns at a surprisingly rapid pace. Most of his noble peers regard him as possessing a generally friendly, respectful disposition. As the first public figure from his family, Charles has gone to great lengths in building relationships with his fellow nobles to build a good reputation for himself and his heirs.

Personal Story

Ascent to Knighthood

Power was shifting, and Margravine Evelyn Challon knew it. Madina Gardens, her fief, was no stranger to constant warfare and monster incursion. The burning fire of war had definitely taken its toll, wiping several of the Gardens former towns from the map. While devastating overall, even the deepest adversity may bring golden opportunity to some. In the wake of the annihilation of the western towns Larafa and Gofau, the formerly small village of Madriona had rapidly expanded filling the void. Previously too small to bother with, Madriona’s new dominant status would need addressing. Someone would have to keep an eye on things.

Enter the Redings, local Madrionan nobles who until recently had only been minor players but whose wealth and holdings had grown noticeably with the village’s expansion. As people of great influence in the town, they would be useful for filling the regional leadership vacuum. After approaching the house’s aging patriarch, he had suggested his nephew, Charles, up for the task. Although young and inexperienced, he did have basic military training and could prove a useful knight. Thus knight him the Margravine would and grant him an estate controlling the western villages. In exchange, his family would provide the initial troops and funds for him to serve as warden of the Gardens’ western march. And so began the public career of Charles Reding, first of his house to join the ranks of BattleMasterra’s high nobility in 26 YD.

Dwilight Monster Invasion Begins

Charles’ first mission was clear - carve out a good reputation for his family. Interested in a military career from a young age, he used his new found position to found the Crimson Guard (known as the Crimson Warriors initially) and funded this new military outfit with family gold and local tax revenue. The timing of his knighthood proved most serendipitous as shortly after joining the ranks of Fissoa’s Privateers, the great monster invasion of Dwilight consumed the provinces causing chaos throughout the realm. Armed for battle and eager to prove himself, Charles led his infantry, sword in hand, against the monstrous beasts. Fighting alongside his fellow nobles, he slayed everything from Panamanian manticores in Lugagun to giant trolls in Maraba and even undead legions on the very doorstep of his own Gardens’ estate. His dedication to duty and fighting prowess caught the eyes of several important people within the realm, and Charles was awarded the lordship of Panabuk by His Grace, Duke Skyndarbau Melphrydd in the summer of 27 YD.

Pronounced Viscount of Panabuk

The first of his family to ever hold a high lordship, the new Viscount Charles was naturally thrilled to have finally made it to the ranks of the landed nobility. Little did he realize the trials of being a landed noble would prove even more challenging than the most ferocious monster melee. Panabuk, having been severely hit by the recent monster incursion, was all but in ruins. The population had been reduced to 1/6th of its original size, virtually all of its major infrastructure was gone save its military recruitment center which collapsed days later, and the roads in and out of the county were nothing short of a disaster. Undeterred, Charles organized the local ducal militia provided by his liege and retooled his combat troops as a local police force to maintain control of the region. The first months of his lordship proved quite rocky as peasant riots regularly prevented him from holding court, and the growth of regional loyalty and population size remained abysmal. However, his extensive measures to restore unity to the land combined with a local natural disaster eventually shifted public opinion his way. During this time Charles also began his conversion to Verdis Elementum, reconstructing the former temple in Panabuk, after conversing with Fissoa’s High Chancellor who was also a high priest.

Rising through the Ranks

Although physically constrained to Panabuk’s fields, Charles was not about to stop his rise in Fissoa’s ranks. After a short campaign, Charles was appointed Vice-Marshal of the Fissoa Privateers and set about using his new found power to manage the kingdom’s domestic forces. Charles also managed to takeover as Warden of the Fissoa Verminators granting him command of the kingdom’s community of skilled adventurers.

Charles’ personal growth in power would also be mirrored by his fief, Panabuk. During this time, Panabuk’s population underwent rapid growth, over doubling in size within two weeks. The Verdis Elementum faith also experienced a strong resurgence among the peasantry thanks to a visit by Fissoa’s High Chancellor. The local temple was then consecrated and expanded to meet the needs of the faithful. The population enthralled, Charles soon departed to join the rest of his fellows in the war against Luria Nova.

The Lurian War

Panabuk under control, Charles quickly travelled north to join the southern league in battle against Luria Nova aggressors. The offensive was a disaster, plagued by miscommunication, delays, and wasted resources. Charles was particularly brutalized when left to fight waves of Lurian militia in the massacre of Ciarin Tut. With his unit destroyed, Charles slowly made the long journey home to Madina. Undeterred by his losses, Charles quickly rebuilt the Crimson Guard from the ground up and helped Marshal Challon plan a second, separate Fissoan offensive against Luria Nova’s southern border. This second wave proved much more successful, breaking Luria’s southern army and stripping them of their Irvington holdings.

Roleplays

Battle for Maraba Aftermath, Dwilight's Monsters Invade

Charles awakes, eyes blinking at the roof of his tent. His first thought, “How did I end up here?” Straining his mind, thinking back he remembers the battle: the blood red sun setting over Maraba’s sky, his men charging toward the rampaging troll battle line, steel clanging upon scaly flesh, clubs swinging sending men airborne, the sounds of a downed troll’s dying screams, himself at the center of the maelstrom. Ah yes, it had been a good fight! He remembered getting in a few good stabs but then a sharp pain at the back of his head, then black. Remembering this he feels the back of his head flinching at the touch of a large painful lump, his movement alerting the healer and guard attending him. While the healer rushes over to assist him sitting up, the guard runs out to fetch his captain returning in moments with his commander in tow. “Good afternoon, Sir Charles, welcome back to the land of the waking,” his captain states.

“Rufus, what happened out there? I remember charging the troll lines giving those beasts a what for then nothing.”

“Villainy sir. While we were engaging the main horde, another smaller band of trolls snuck around and flanked us. In the ensuing chaos, you took a glancing blow to the head at which point I sounded the retreat.”

“Did we win?”

“Aye, those trolls were no match for the might of Fissoa. Those few monsters that survived the battle were destroyed the following morning by your fellow nobles. With regards to our own men, nearly half our unit was killed, but most of the survivors are no longer in the healers’ care and fit for duty.”

“Very well. Rufus, start rallying the men. We’ve got work to do.”

“Sir, are you certain, you did take quite the blow?”

“It’s a bruise, Rufus. No more deadly or disabling than a paper cut. Now get my troops moving! And you there, guard, send in one of my scouts. And where the hell is my scribe? Nap time is over. We’ve still got an invasion to stem!”

Dwilight Monster Migration, The Iceglow Approaches

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!!!!!!!!! Charles is awakened by horrific sounds coming from outside his window. As his eyes squint open his mind is immediately filled with anger. Days of putting up with rioting peasants at court and insurrection in the streets while rushing to prepare his devastated lands for the impending autumn harvest had left him high on stress and in no mood to have his sleep disturbed. This anger vanishes though as the grogginess wears off and he recognizes the ominous nature of the sound. Thinking his manor under monster attack, Charles grabs his sword and rushes to the gates only to find, well, nothing. “Where are the monsters?” he shouts to the guards on the manor walls.

“There are no monsters, my lord,” his captain Rufus calls down from atop the gate.

“Then what in the Gods’ names is that infernal racket?”

“Oh it is monsters, my lord, but they aren’t here. Something has gotten them all stirred up out in the Pananont.”

Sigh…the Pananont…the wild lands forest separating Panabuk’s southern farming estate Southfields from the northern Skyfields estate. Because the woods had been unsuitable for farming Charles had excluded them from Panabuk’s newly drawn up agricultural estates. That, though, hadn’t stopped them from being a constant thorn in his side. While not profitable to the province, those woods did serve nicely as a hiding place for monsters, undead, and brigands crossing over from the lawless dense woods of Panafau and Lawataling to terrorize his lands. “What could possibly be goading them to make that noise?”

Rufus replies, “I don’t know, my lord, but I suspect it has something to do with that,” pointing upward. Charles mouth drops open in utter amazement as he gazes up, beholding the vast transparent curtains of greenish-purple light rippling throughout the night sky. Suddenly, silence, darkness…both the monstrous light and sound cease at once. Next, off in the distance, a rumbling punctured by the cracking sound of trees and underbrush. “The monsters appear to be on the move my lord. Heading west from the looks of the breaking trees. Wherever they’re heading, they seem in quite the hurry. Not even trying to hide their movements.” What this all meant, Charles hasn’t a clue, but he knows it definitely can’t be good.

“Rufus, double the guard for the evening and be sure to alert me if any other strange events should transpire.” Charles returns to his room, but this time not for sleep. Grabbing some parchment and quill he sets to work.

“Divine” Intervention, Panabuk Returns to Stability

For almost a month Charles had endured Panabuk’s hatred. While no serf would dare violate his noble person, it was clear the peasants seethed with rage. Having been abandoned to die at the outbreak of the great monster uprising, the people of Panabuk harbored no love for the continent’s southern realms. While their anger remained mainly directed at D’Hara, Fissoa as a close ally was also despised. At every walk through the local village, the streets would clear with his approach. Angry stares pierced like thrown daggers from the windows. At every court held in his manor's main hall, shouting and fighting would collapse the proceedings. The angry mob undermined his rule at every turn.

But no more! Sitting on his throne as the guards ushered the last of the peasants from his hall, the young Viscount relaxed back into his chair contented with another successful day of governance. While his generous government policies may have helped shift public opinion, Charles still couldn’t really believe the circumstances surrounding the true catalyzing event. Virtually no taxes, strong immigration of loyal subjects from his former knightly estate, and even using almost the entirety of his remaining personal savings to rebuild the local Verdis Elementum temple - nothing seemed like it would move these irrational peasants. Well, almost nothing.

Last week as his troops were shutting down the anarchy at another failed court session (this time being held in the newly rebuilt VE temple shack to protect his private manor) the seemingly impossible occurred. Overwhelmed with frustration at the chaos before him, Charles had looked up at the emblems of the elemental Gods and screamed out to his chosen patron, “Radenem, God of Courage, Lord of Earth, what in the name of all that is holy will it take to quell these obnoxious rubes and hayseeds?” Then… KAAAAAAAAAAABBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The ground shook violently, a loud roar deafened the air, grown men were thrown to the floor, furniture flew across the room, glass blasted from the shattering windows. Charles himself lost his footing. Then dead silence…

The Viscount quickly climbed to his feet, surveying the scene. “Guards! Clear the temple! Everyone outside now!” Following the exiting mass, Charles eyes looked the town over as he crossed the temple threshold. The damage was clearly minimal, as one would expect for such a rural place, although the shock remained pervasive throughout the community. Noticing the rising whispers of the loitering peasants, Charles took charge quickly. “People of Panabuk! Return to your homes! As of now the temple is officially closed until further notice! Guards, disperse the crowd!” The obvious question dominating his slowly calming mind, “What the hell just happened?????,” would have to wait though not for long.

Later that evening while overseeing repairs to his manor grounds, a two man patrol from the local ducal militia would arrive, Charles' desired explanation in hand. Apparently, a large, old manure fertilizer depot slightly to the north, which had become damaged and dilapidated from severe neglect, had somehow caught fire and exploded. Having witnessed the conflagration from afar, the two scouts had gone to examine the site before reporting directly to him. Definitely a lot more mundane cause than some of the supernatural explanations floating around the village, but who was Charles to say what started the initial fire at that exact moment, especially when the rumors surrounding the incident were painting him as having divine favor. Charles naturally thanked his visitors, gave them some gold to hold their tongues, and sent them on their way.

Divine or not, this incident had finally opened the peasantry to accepting his rule. Charles, not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth, quickly exploited his newfound authority to impose the right of high justice on his lands. At last, Panabuk would know order and begin to grow once more.

An Honored Guest, The High Chancellor Comes to Town

A cool, dry ocean gust enveloped the air. The autumn sun gently warmed Panabuk’s southern shores. Charles’ eyes gazed up, fixated on his camp’s Fissoan blue and white banners fluttering in the afternoon breeze. “A good day for sailing,” he ruminated aloud. Rufus, his captain, hesitated a moment before offering a response, initially unsure to whom his lord’s comment was addressed.

“Aye, that it is, my Lord.” It was clear to him his master was getting anxious. Several hours had passed since departing the manor for the village’s closest seaside “port.” Rufus used that term loosely for what was little more than a glorified fishing pier. Panabuk, being a rural province with no sea trade, had use for little else. Still, the young Viscount had wanted to make a good first impression on his arriving guest, High Chancellor Baal Zephon. As such, Rufus had been ordered to prepare a small honor guard so that Viscount Charles could escort back his honored guest in person. While not privy to the contents of their communications, Rufus was well aware the two men had been corresponding for some time and surmised his commander was eager to personally meet the priest responsible for his recent religious conversion.

Although the Viscount may have been excited, this feeling was not shared by the men, most of whom were starting to doze off with the boring wait stretching late into the day. “Much longer and the High Chancellor’s ship won’t need those large dock banners to find us. He can just follow the sounds of the snoring battalion,” Rufus chuckled to himself. His glazed over eyes took in the collage of colors around him. The sapphire blues of the sea seamlessly merged with the emerald ocean of green on which they lay. The gulf’s rhythmic, ultramarine waves seemed to pass right through the shoreline into the meadow. Those pulsing jade ripples of grass traveled upward into the swaying olive drab of the Pananont forest trees on the horizon. How could one NOT enter a coma in these surroundings!

Suddenly, his daze was pierced by the loud thumping of feet creaking on old, wooden boards. “My Lord, a ship approaches!” he could hear the scout stationed on the dock shouting as he scurried towards the shore.

“As if everyone for a thousand leagues doesn’t already know from the racket his run is making. Some scout…” Rufus quietly scoffed while helping the seated men around him get to their feet.

“Rufus, get the men in parade armor lined up. The rest of you, break down the camp and prepare to move out,” Charles ordered.

“At once, my Lord,” Rufus replied leading the ceremonially clad soldiers towards the dock. He had to admit, he too was becoming curious to see the man responsible for such a stir in quiet, old Panabuk.

(Italicized section Written by Baal Zephon Beldragos' player.)

As the ship neared the docks, the Honor Guard could see a lone individual standing stock still on the deck while the sailors scurried around him as if he was a part of the ship. The strong breeze did not seem to ruffle his robes and he leaned upon a walking stick. A couple pieces of luggage was stacked a short distance away and a scribe stood nearby, trying to stay out of the way of the crew.

As the ship docked, the wind seemed to die down coincidentally at the right moment to make the task easier on the men. Several of the older crewmembers glanced occasionally at the elderly man and made simple signs of warding, superstitious nonsense from a superstitious folk.

The elderly man stepped off the boat and walked down the gangplank once it was lowered, onto the pier. His scribe hauled the luggage behind him, struggling with the bulky cases. When Rufus and Lord Charles finally met Baal face to face they saw only an old man with a cracked and weather face that has obviously seen many miles of travel, not one expected from someone hanging out day after day in courthouses, libraries, and city halls. His robes were simple but sturdy traveling garb, nothing fancy and honestly a little soiled from what must be years of road dust. Other than that, his hands and face were clean and respectable. He smelled of a combination of earth and growing plants, or at least that is what Rufus and Charles thought.

Looking around at the small village, Baal nodded in approval and spoke. His voice was quiet bit you could hear him as if he spoke loudly, his was a talent that allowed him to be heard no matter the volume.

“I like what you have done with the place. The last time I was here we only had a fishing pier for the locals to use in loading and offloading their boats. Now the navigational compass has been made that is cheap enough for most captains to use, we can have a proper pier here.”

Baal stepped forward and offered his arm to Lord Charles, presenting it as if to give the proper arm clasp of a warrior.

Charles could see the sight of the distinguished elder statesman approaching him, arm outstretched. “Welcome to Panabuk, High Chancellor,” he said while clasping the offered arm. “Come, let us get you back to the manor. I’m sure you’ve had a long enough journey as it is without us idling here in the middle of the road.”

The small train of soldiers, servants, nobles, and luggage made quite the site moving along the old dirt road. Upon reaching the village outskirts a small crowd even began gathering. Most just gawked, curious what all the commotion was about, but a few older residents did recognize the High Chancellor and shouted words of greeting. While Baal hadn’t said much on the walk, Charles could tell he was pleased to see Panabuk’s people doing well after so much turmoil. Their audience quickly dispersed though after exiting the village’s other end and walking up towards the manor grounds.

In the distance they could see the low stone walls set against the backdrop of the late afternoon sun. All of it surrounded by fields of corn and wheat stretching off into the distance. As they approached the main gate, Baal could tell the large wooden doors were new. “Nice isn’t it,” Charles said. “I had it installed shortly after moving in. Even had my family coat of arms embossed on the door. It seemed a fitting way to be welcomed home. The place was a bit of a mess when I took over, but most of the monster damage has been repaired by now.” As they approached the large wooden doors, a lone sentry rushed out towards them. “You there, have the High Chancellor’s belongings taken over to the guest wing,” Charles ordered. Turning towards his guest, “I don’t know about you, Lord Baal, but I’m famished. If you are agreeable, let’s head over to the dining hall where we can converse over refreshments.”

… Later, in the manor’s dining area while seated among plates of cheeses, breads, and fruits with cups of wine …

“So here’s what I’m thinking: right now you can try preaching while I hold court. Civil work remains impossible because of the reduced population, and police work isn’t of much use with the region already firmly under control (OOC core level). (OOC Realm loyalty and morale are now both in the mid 70s, so hopefully it won’t be long before they get maxed out.) Currently, I’m maintaining the tax rate at 2% to encourage immigration and boost morale/loyalty; however, with the region now recovering, I’m considering raising the rate although I'm unsure how that will impact continued growth.

Based on the letters coming from the Prince-at-Arms, it sounds like they’re going to want all hands on deck for the coming second offensive against Luria. I’ve sent Marshal Evelyn a letter about this, but as Vice-Marshal of the army, it seems likely I’ll soon need to join the fight. However, I won’t be leaving at least until I hear back from the Marshal and Duke Skyndarbau can send the necessary finances. Should I be required to go, I would ask that you hold court in Panabuk in my absence until you need to return to Candiels.”

Battle for Ciarin Tut, Setting the Bar Low

The words still haunted his thoughts, "...the next sunrise will do...most of our allies [will arrive then]...The other Privateers can serve as reinforcements..." That is what Marshal Evelyn had sent in reply to his suggestion to postpone the army's arrival and launch a more unified attack.

It was definitely sunrise, but this one wouldn't do at all. Charles surveyed the field and could already tell exactly what was about to happen. His men were in formation ready for a battle. What they were about to get was a slaughter. His unit was joined by the small retinue of one lone D'Haran knight. Apparently, "allies" meant "ally." Two infantry regiments to march at five battalions of dug in Lurian militia.

Withdrawal was not an option. With the Lurian ranged defenses now deployed, they would be cut to shreds if they tried to leave. No, Charles knew there was only one way out. They would fight. They would die. And maybe, just maybe, they'd create a window in which to escape.

The march was brutal. Men dropped like flies. A long, red stain of blood and death trailed behind the army like a grisly footprint. The D'Haran's unit, which had positioned itself at the front of the column, was completely wiped out before even closing half the distance to the enemy's front line. Charles's men fared little better.

Those who survived the death march were now faced with the impossible task of frontally assaulting the dug in Lurian position. Sir Olwë, who had joined the front ranks of Charles' unit led the charge. What happened next couldn't even be fairly described as shooting fish in a barrel. The front wave, surrounded by archers, was mowed down in minutes. To finish off the wave's survivors, the Lurian infantry moved between Charles' reserves and forward line completely surrounding the first wave. Unable to fight through to rescue Sir Olwë from capture, Charles' took advantage of the Lurian's preoccupation with the forward group and retreated with the last of his men hauling the few survivors they could. This terrible battle was over, but the war had just begun.

Highway to Hell, Traveling the Palm Sea

“Where in the infernal abyss of hell are we?!?!”

Charles and his men, after refitting in Drowenton, had taken the Palm Sea back towards the Lurian warfront. It was supposed to be the quickest route, but this little shortcut through the bowels of hell had quickly devolved into a bone dry, endless sojourn complete with blistering heat and grinding sandpaper winds. As if the brutality of the elements weren’t enough, being lost in the vast emptiness of this wasteland netherworld was shredding the very strings of their sanity.

“My lord, a village, off in the distance!”

“Not another one of your mirages, Viktor. One more day chasing phantoms through this Inferno, and I’ll have sand for blood.” Charles paused to look out at the spot on the horizon. “On second thought, I’d take even imaginary water at this point. Onward!”

As the ragged party passed into the village a small crowd approached them demanding their identity and purpose. Charles didn’t care. To him all was invisible save one lone object, the watery oasis shimmering in the desert sun like a gateway to another world. Standing before the pond, he fell to his knees and buried his head in the ethereal waters. Like a tsunami crashing into the surface of the moon, it was as if water was contacting him for the first time, sending the days of accumulated dust surging away. After what felt like the blink of an eye basking in the life giving water (although in reality was several minutes), Charles felt himself tugged back into the real world as captain Viktor pulled him to his feet. “Feeling better, sir?”

“Infinitely! Now let’s find some food and a shady space to sit.”

The group quickly moved towards the locals and began the process of determining their position and arranging basic lodging. While Charles had hoped to be through the desert already, they would need to remain where they were and rest. As much as his disdain for the Palm Sea, his party would need time to recover. At least he would now have some time, finally shielded from harsh environment in a local yurt, to address the literal mountain of correspondence that had been piling up…

Special Delivery, Presenting Asylon's Tribute

Fissoa's Royal Palace, what a sight to behold! Despite having visited Madina on numerous occasions, Charles had never before set foot in the palace's opulent walls. "The Kingdom must truly be doing well from the looks of this place," Charles thought to himself while waiting for a royal audience. He simply couldn't help but soak in the richness of his environment. The usual chatter of the idle conscious mind filled his head: "I may have to get a tapestry like that for my library." "I wonder how many candles that chandelier goes through in a year?" "I didn't even know they made those in gold."

His mind absorbed in his palatial surrounds, Charles didn't even notice the approach of a palace attendant. "I apologize for the wait Milord, but as you well know His Majesty is a very busy man. If you would like to leave whatever it is you have for him with me, you may."

Charles looked down at the wrapped bundle of cloth resting in his arms. "No, what I have is for King Waldor's hands alone. I'll wait. If His Highness asks what this is about, simply tell him Asylon sends its regards."

(Italicized section Written by Evelyn Challon's player.)

"That is quite alright, Geoff. The King should be able to receive the viscount Reding, I am quite certain." Evelyn spoke up, after entering the room Charles was kept waiting. Her red tresses were braided in a single braid down along her back, while the Queen Consort was wearing a regal dress, though it may as well be one of her regular ones. Evelyn's love for proper gowns and dresses was likely well known and she always relished giving in to her vanity when not marching to battle.

"Perhaps some wine for our guest while we wait." She told the attendant, sounding as a suggestion while being in truth more directions. After this she turned to Charles, a small smile on her lips. "Greetings, viscount Charles. A pleasure, as always. I am certain my husband should be about at one point."

Evelyn gestured behind her, before speaking up. "If desired, the sitting room might be better place to wait." The noblewoman suggested as the servant moved to fetch some of that wine, not questioning her or her words.

The sudden, unexpected, female voice sprung Charles to his feet like a tripped jack-in-the-box. “My Queen, delighted to see you. Given the quick start to our next campaign, I didn’t think I’d get to before your departure.” From the display before him, Charles could tell his Marshal was enjoying her new role as Queen-consort. Her sleek dress and well styled braid were clearly indicative of someone appreciating the finer things in life. “I would absolutely love some wine.” After having sat in the hallway for quite some time, Charles was more than happy to accept the Queen Marshal’s offer of refreshment.

(Italicized section Written by Evelyn Challon's player.)

Evelyn nods slowly to Charles' words, with a small hum of agreement released by her at the mention of the sudden start of the next campaign. More sudden than she would have liked, though she did not quite voice her opinion on the matter yet. A small smile touched her lips soon again, before leading the way to sitting room.

(Italicized section Written by Waldor Graves' player.)

Waldor arrives not long after the wine has been poured in the sitting room, tailed by a flustered retainer carrying his etched crown on a small, satin cushion. He's dressed simply, in an obscenely fashionable sort of way - one concession, perhaps, to his stylish new wife and her own vanity. His tunic and trousers are dyed in plain, solid colours - blue and white - with some gold trim and high, black leather boots. He's clean-shaven, as well, and his shaggy reddish-brown hair has been trimmed and swept back along his skull, though that's as much due to a new tic of the king's as any stylist's legacy.

"What's this about Asylon, now?" He asks, ignoring common courtesies, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice. The irritation and, to a lesser extent, the tension, too. Asylon's a powder keg in the south, and he's forgotten all about their promises of tribute and their congratulations. He waves away the servant who comes bearing a goblet of wine, approaching Charles and Evelyn. His crown-carrying retainer follows, cross-eyed from the effort of caretaking that exalted bit of headgear.

Almost immediately upon the two situating themselves in the sitting room, King Waldor bursts through the door. Charles stands to give a quick bow, trying to extend the necessary level of respect while obviously observing his king not being in any mood to exchange pleasantries. “I apologize for interrupting your busy schedule, Your Highness, but given the sensitive, fluid nature of southern politics these days, I felt it important to personally ensure this delivery.”

Charles walks over to a table in the middle of room and hurriedly unrolls his cloth parcel. “May I present the offerings given me by Sir Girard Hurlant, Treasury Logothete of Asylon, Knight of Grodno. On the left we have the Bloody Blade of Doom.” The eerily sharp blade with its iridescent sheen looks downright wicked. Oddly enough, at first glance it looks rusty, but closer inspection reveals clearly nothing is wrong. And yet, those present cannot shake the feeling, as if the blade is still encrusted with the blood of its previous victims. Charles continues, “I’ve personally never seen anything like it. Rumor is the blade ‘remembers’ its past conquests, absorbing part of the lifeforce of its victims from their very blood. Granted, I’m not one for superstition, but it is a quality weapon for sure.”

“And here we have our second item, the Ornate Ring of Freedom.” Ornate, ha, what an understatement! This ring couldn’t have been gaudier if it came with a life-size diorama of a diamond unicorn riding a golden double rainbow. Encrusted with quite possibly every jewel known to man, this gold ring was no ordinary show piece. To insult the injury, the symbolism engraved upon it had all the subtly of a hammer to the face: along the hoop, images of gem encrusted chains breaking before twin, rising suns of ruby resting on the ring shoulders. A top the bezel was imbedded a mosaic of diamond, ruby, sapphire, emerald, and amethyst forming the shape of an eagle, scroll in one talon, weighing scale in the other. Charles could only assume it as some metaphor for the rule of law. “Definitely a shiny display of the wealth and prestige. While a little ostentatious for my tastes, the ring’s message of prosperity yielded by freedom is unmistakable.”

“As you can see, the items are in relatively good condition with minimal wear from transit.” Handing the items to Waldor, “And with that, our business is concluded. If there is anything else Your Majesty requires of me, I would be happy to assist. Otherwise, I shan’t delay your Royal person any longer. Your Highness is of course welcome to join your wife and myself as we discuss the upcoming campaign, but I sense you probably have other important affairs of state to deal with right now.”

(Italicized section Written by Evelyn Challon's player.)

When the wine is served she graciousy accepts the drink from the winebearer, sampling it with a small sip. As Waldor enters right after they settled, she rises back up again as well, flashing the king a bit of a wider smile. The glass of wine still held in her hand. Her nails are well manicured and painted red, matching the liquid quite well as she holds the drink. She lets Charles speak, remaining silent as the man explains and displays the objects, the noblewoman stepping over to Waldor's side.

At the explanation about the sword, there is a brief frown on Evelyn's features. She always had a healthy respect and wariness for magic and a sword that sapped the lifeforce from opponents seemed... Dark. She knew of the existance of such weapons, though she never saw one up close. She was not quite certain what to think of it. Instead of speaking about it, Evelyn opted to take a sip from her wine instead.

After the explanation of the ring and Charles' questions, a small smile touched Evelyn's lips again. Her free hand reaches up to rest lightly on Waldor's arm, her head canting to the side ever so slightly. Adressing her vice-marshal as she speaks up again. "There are quite a few matters to discuss, I want this next campaign to go smoothly. The less time is lost in the following refit for the siege the better. Barca, D'Hara and now Asylon are all relying heavily on the military might of the Privateers."

Her following smile was a tad of a wry one. She knew fully well that the war would still last a while. Luria Nova was prideful, they would likely keep fighting to the very last man.

Battle for Outer Giask, Deja Vu Defeat

Charles sank to the ground, plopping his arse down in the mud with his head slinking back against a ditch wall. What a long, long day…..

Charles wasn’t sure what had been more taxing: the seemingly endless preparations or the actual battle itself. He had spent the whole morning constantly inspecting the entire Fissoan battleline, pouring over intermittent scout reports monitoring the Lurians’ approach, and ensuring his fellow Privateers were ready. The onset of the winter chill hadn’t done wonders for his mood either, but this battle was the reason Fissoa was here. As Vice-Marshal, he would leave nothing to chance. The Queen Marshal’s army had to prevail. Period.

But it didn't. Sure, the battle had started well enough. From their fortified positions they had been able to absorb the Lurian archer fire with relative easy. When the Lurian infantry line had finally reached their dug in position, dispatching them was a simple task. His direct opponent, the Kapnobatai, hadn’t lasted a single bout. But then came a sight Charles was all too familiar with, the endless death march against the Lurian archer lines. Charles had yet to meet a Lurian infantryman he couldn’t defeat, but those bloody snipers kept snatching away victory. Replaying the battle over and over again in his head, Charles hadn’t even noticed the approach of his captain. “Mi’lord, a message from Prince Soren!”

Upon scanning the contents, “Viktor, rally the men. Our job here is done. We should let the Lurians enjoy their pyrrhic victory. They’ve earned it.”

Safe Harbour, Making the Journey Home

Irvington, finally! It feels like an eternity since Charles had last set foot inside its walls. Where once a proud regiment, 50 men strong, had eagerly marched north to battle, only 16 survivors have managed to successfully limp, crutch, and hobble their way back over the border.

The weary unit hovers across the threshold of the old motte and bailey in absolute silence. After days out in the winter rains running injured from Lurian patrols, the party resembles a pack of anemic ghosts to the unnerved garrison guards. The sentries approach, "Who goes there?!"

Charles steps out from the group, wiping the grime from his face, and stares his questioner dead in the eye.

Mortified, "My apologies, Lord Charles," the lead guard squeaks out in terror from not having recognized the Vice-Marshal. "When we heard you and your entire unit fell in battle, we weren't sure you'd....." The soldier quickly trails off seeing the growing glare in Charles' eyes. Exhausted, starving - Charles was in no mood for small talk from small men. The silence drags on, filling the air around them.

Shattering the soundless impasse, Charles coughs out, "Prince Soren?"

"He is here, Milord."

"Marshal Evelyn?"

"I'm afraid the Queen has yet to return."

Satisfied with his answers, Charles turns to rejoin his men already entering the town. It'll be a long voyage back to capital in this winter weather, but right now there's a warm inn bed with Charles' name on it.