Augulus Family/Tratumal

Tratumal was a proud Lord of Ienith, a coastal northern region of the realm of Iashalur. He is an active member and follower of Sanguis Astroism, and well respected within his realm and religious community. Level-headed and thoughtful, Tratumal believes to have achieved the balance of the austere sought after by so many of his peers. Deep meditation, logical reasoning, and passionate discoveries have led him to believe that the Austere reigns supreme over him.

After much travelling, Tratumal has settled in The Merchant Republic of D'Hara for the time being. Shortly after arriving, He was elected to rule the rural region of Maeotis, but was elected Margrave of Paisly soon thereafter. Tratumal's mercurial rise to power can be attributed to his strong ties of friendship to many of his peers as well as well-developed public speaking skills. Having traveled to every far corner of Dwilight, Tratumal believes he has found a new home in the grand city of Paisly.

Noteworthy roleplays:

3/4/14:

Every day, a few more men trickled into the Fifth Edreun Auxillary Force encampment just outside the city walls. Sir Tratumal turned very few away - only those who had families that would need their help in the exodus or those too young to fight.

The peasants showed a steely resolve that Tratumal had come to expect from the hearty Northerners. These were people who had endured decades of eking out a meager existence among the war-torn steppes. Most farmers were handy with the bow and arrow, and one would be hard-pressed to find a man who didn't have at least some experience with horses. Workhorses had always been an integral part of Niselurian farming.

Nonetheless, those who came were often in poor condition. Rusty swords, cracking shields, and tattered leathers were common amongst the recruits. These men had fought their way to Gaston, Tratumal reminded himself. That alone was reason enough to keep them in his service. Not all were grizzled soldiers, but every last one of these men had fought for his life in the weeks prior. Upon signing on with the F.E.A.F, each man was presented with the option of picking a weapon from Tratumal's private armory. Since word of trouble had first caught wind, the old Lord had dispatched servants to the city to secure some of the best gear available. The result of this decision was that among the sixty-odd men, there were nearly a score of unique weapons employed.

The F.E.A.F. was strangely unique in that is members were armored well - chain shirts and plate mail - but carrying such a strange variety of weaponry that they resembled a disorganized (if not well-funded) raiding party from the barbaric lands to the south. Sir Tratumal, emerging from his command tent chuckled at the sight of it. The men in the camp gathered around to hear what he had to say.

"Soldiers of Niselur,

Today we prepare for a new kind of fight. As you all well know, the Steppes are overrun. This City of Gaston stands as the last bastion against all the evil of Dwilight, which has gathered at our doorstep! We cannot hope to return to the Golden City, at least not for some time. Now, you've all heard the rumors. The east is free of this plague! We march east for a new life, a new home. There, within the heartland of the east, we will carve out our existence; a Niselurian existence.

Spread the word, my soldiers! Let all men hear our purpose. Those who stay, die! Those who join will partake in the greatest endeavor of Niselurian history - not our reclamation of the Golden City - but our leaving it behind! Go now, and let our purpose be known!"

A roar of approval erupted from the crowd upon the speech's conclusion. Tratumal smiled. He knew that many of these men would die in the weeks to come. Most would go without pay. But these men, they truly believed in what they fought for. Tratumal only wished he could feel the same...