The lands of Numinor, a once peaceful kingdom of happy peasants and noble lords has been ravaged by decades of war. Twenty-three years ago, Konungr Agnarr, the bloody, lord of the north, brought his loyal Jarls down on the warpath, burning villages and laying waste to the countryside. Raiders poured over the borders, attacking merchants, the commoners fleeing south and hovels too small to be of notice to the great northern king. They came like nightmares, unstoppable and deadly.
King Gregor, of Numinor, was only in his second year of his rein when the attacks came but had the fiery heart of the warrior-kings of old. He raised an army from his own vassals and set out to match Konungr Agnarr in field. The battle was unlike any seen before. The blood flowed like water over a waterfall and filled the depression of the dell, where the army’s clashed, until the warriors were forced to wade in thigh high pond to cross blades.
However, the loss of life brought no victory for either side. Konungr Agnarr escaped with his life, as did King Gregor (although crippled) and most of their high-ranking nobles. It was the common soldiers who suffered, to be truthful. With both armies depleted, the war went cold for five years or so, as the manpower of both nations was restored. The need for warriors was so great, that noble ladies began to lead household troops into battle for the king and women would be granted knighthood. From there, the war has continued on, nearly constant raids across the border by both nations, Feudal lords clashed, leading small armies.
In one such pitched battle, the King’s young son was struck down, leaving the kingdom without an heir and joining his mother in the afterlife. Like every king of the royal line, going back over ten generations, Gregor was cursed to have but one child with each wife and his morning period was not yet over for the deceased Queen Cecilia. Without a new bride, there would be no new heir for some time.
The war has come full circle now, as Konungr Agnarr as raised his mighty host once again. Down from the north comes a dragon of seasoned if young warriors, armed to the teeth and calling for blood. From his throne in the Numinor capital of Hrothsgard, the one legged King Gregor sent Duke Roger of Strompeak, in his place as Marshal of the army, to repulse the threat. As fate would have it, the two armies would meet each other at Blood Dell, where they had all those years ago.
However, behind the Numinoriarns, a messenger rides, baring ill news indeed. The King is dead.
Alright folks, Irish Wolf here and I’ve been cookin this up for a few days now. The Role Play will kick off with a pitched battle between the Numinorians, who are of a culture much like the Normans when they conquered England and the Men of the North, who are cultured like the Nose. The best armor of the day is a hauberk, a long chain-mail tunic that reached down to the knees and covered the arms to the elbows. Slits were cut in the front and back to facilitate riding on a horse. In some cases, the hauberk may have included a mail hood (called a coif). On top of this, every knight or Jarl would have a conical helmet that covered the top of the head. Most were also equipped with a nose-guard or a bronze face piece. There is no such thing as plate armor at this point in time.
From there, we will be going about the political (and often physical) process of choosing a new king.
Oh I wanted to do a little bit about the nobility right now. I will list various ranks of nobles, from least to greatest.
Count or Earl
1.No ninjas. NONE. Don't bother explaining your martial arts skills to me, or how they fit into the story, or how it will enhance the story or whatever. The answer is a simple, clean cut NO. This is a knight game, so you will either be playing a knight or a soldier of some sort. No ninjas.
2.Obey the basic rules of RPing. No Godmodding (controlling another player's character without permission from them), respect your fellow players, have fun and whatnot.
3.You MUST read the posts before yours. Don't skim or you could miss something important.
4. This is a pet peeve of mine, if you put Long Sword or Broad Sword, I will ask you what you mean. A Long Sword is a two handed weapon who's name is mistakenly used to describe the Arming/Knightly Sword. A Broad Sword is a Basket-hilted sword (not time period) but is also mistakenly used to name an Arming/Knightly Sword or Dao.
5.Request permission to join either by PMing me or by posting here, in the OOC thread. Don't do it on the IC thread.
6.Absolutely no OOC in the IC thread. If you slip up, you will be requested to alter your post. Slip up a lot, and I might begin to think that you just didn't read the rules. So you'll probably be kicked
7.If you go 7 days without posting (without first giving a reasonable excuse, such as vacation, super busy schedule at school, death), you will be kicked from the game.
8.Keep a reasonable amount of realism in your posts. There is a fantasy element here, but it still takes place in a time period near the 1000s. So no time traveling machine gun wielding Amazons running around in bikinis and whatnot.
9.Don't try to force the plot forward. What makes a game work well is if we all work together to push forward the storyline...but don't go from sitting in a tavern to you being brutalized by an Australian king's pet naga that has decided to sweep you away to be his bride. Or anything odd like that.
Name: Crispian the Third
Rank: defacto duke of Essyer
Appearance: a solid man, of lean muscled gained from training for war nearly every year of life. He stands near six feet tall with neatly trimmed black hair on the back and sides of his head. The crown of his skull is covered with angry red burn scars, with a few patches of long hair daring to creep towards the back. Steely gray eyes glint around a thin roman nose, with a heavy jaw. He dresses in white braies, black chauses, black leather ankle boots and blue linen shirt. When going into battle he covers his clothing with a mail hauberk, conical helmet with nasal bar and a dark blue sleeveless surcoat with a red, rearing horse on his chest. That design also is painted on his kit shield.
Weapon(s): arming sword, lance, dagger
Bio: When Crispian was a boy of five, his father (Crispian the Younger) rode off with the great army of King Gregor and was slain charging the shield wall of Konungr Agnarr's Housecarls. When the news reached the family castle in the duchy of Essyer, both his grandfather and mother were decimated. Duchess Keara was left to rule, as Crispian the Elder slipped between ill heath and bouts of depression or madness. She hired riding teachers and sword masters to teach her young son in the ways of war and spent the nights whispering pledges of revenge for him to repeat.
When he reached the age of sixteen, Crispain took a contingent of his grandfather troops north to help raid the holdings of Konungr Agnarr, though Essyer was far from the northern boarder. Things went smoothly when they reached an unplundered village. The local peasants scattered and fled, with no help racing from the nearby fortifications of the their Jarl. As his men split up to clean out any valuables they could find, the young duke-to-be rode alone through a series of barns.
As he passed one of them, a farmer popped out of nowhere and smashed him in the chest with a rake. The blow knocked him back but not off the house and sent his helm flying. A second farmer clubbed him over the head with a torch, setting his hair on fire. The only reason Crispain survived was the arrival of a trio of his archers, who shot both farmers and smothered the flames. They were too late to prevent the permanent loss of his hair or the scarring however.
For the next eleven years, he has waited for the call to battle to sound and raiding deeper and deeper into enemy territory.
Its easy to be brave behind a castle wall
Twelve highlanders and a bagpipe make a rebellion
A king's son is no nobler then the food he eats