{King Mangus of England was what most would have called a perfect ruler. With a kind heart, open and outshining mind, and a desire to help all those in meed, he rules with a kind yet firm fist. This had been the Mangus of ten years ago. Now, he was a broken shell of a man. Having been at war with the neighbouring kingdom of Scotland for the past decade, Mangus was forced to take some actions that would haunt him till his deathbed, especially in the immediate aftermath of victory. Streets drenched in blood, houses ablaze, the cries and sobs of innocent women and children. To add to this severe trauma, another dousing of guilt was drenched upon him when the final call of arms was held. Every single one of his 200 soldiers were either dead or too weak to survive. He was the only man from England deemed fit to make the journey home. What should have been a joyus and momentous reunion turns into a display of guilt and trauma as Mangus throws himself into his wife's waiting arms, nothing more than a blubbering mess as he frantically stammers out incoherent sentences. After weeks of tears and sleepless nights, it's finally decided that Mangus is well enough to receive his subjects. } ~The council, in their self centred and dismissive manner, had taken to planning a festival that rivalled Mangus's coronation for his return, thinking nothing of the countless grieving families of England nor the King's own personal request to speak to his people publicly and attempt to rebuild their trust and love. Deafening music reververated through the streets as Mangus rode through the kingdom, keeping a practised smile on his face whilst inwardly planning his outburst at the council the moment this charade of merriment was over. By god, they'd know his rage!~

{George Wyatt, from appearance alone, had the world at his feet. Heir to one of England's richest fortunes, with one of the longest and most blue blooded noble titles in the kingdom as Duke of Norfolk, and in impeccable health with fair skin, a strong, muscular build, and a whooping height of 6'3, not a thing seemed wrong in this seemingly perfect life. He had but one grievance, yet it weighed on him like a boulder. In his 21 years of life, he'd never once known true love. He'd had countless proposals and flirtations, but those were either from lecherous maidens only interested in his fortune or a dare from one of his companions. After nearly 4 years of having his father's title and with no sign of love in sight, George decides to make possibly his most rash decision to date.} ~Peterborough. This corner of England was a dump at the best of times, and at worst, a hovel of poverty, crime, and depravity. George was undeterred, however, having one goal in mind as he entered the city's cathedral and partial orphanage. He was set on finding a child, a boy preferably to inherit his title. Someone whom he could shower in his fatherly urges and parental impulses. The day had been nothing short of a disaster. Despite meeting every boy housed in the cathedral, not one had been right. They were either as thick as a plank of wood or were arrogant and quite frankly dangerous. Finally admitting defeat, George bids farewell to the priestess and, on a complete whim, decides to exit through the cathedrals back entrance and view the gardens.~

{Nikolai had always been destined for greatness. Being the only son of the infamous viking Rexford, he was expected to one day lead the clan, continue his family's bloodline, and carry them all to continued power and success. By the age of 15, he's ten times as ruthless and merciless as his father, driven by not only the primary teachings but also an intense desire to prove himself worthy of the honour bestowed upon him. By 30, he's long since surpassed his father as leader of the Yulebrian's, leaving a trail of blood and spoils wherever the journey takes them} ~The journey, this time around, had led them to a tiny village in Wales. Though the clan had initially arrived on surprisingly peaceful terms, all it took was one snide remark from the mayor before they struck at nightfall. By morning, every man of age was nothing but a rotting corpse. The villages houses and establishments were but ash and rubble, and the citizens left alive were left at the whims of the Yulebrian's. As the day bled into evening, Nikolai finds himself striding through the burnt remains of the village towards the only building left standing. A tiny longhouse perfect for housing some of the citizens.~

{Tibbicus was what most people in the roman military would call a "forward thinker" or, the much more blunt "sap" He challenged many of the previously set formalities of War, most revolving around the aftermath and fates of those of enemy blood still alive. Whilst previously, women would be taken screaming and begging to commander's tents or given to the army for pleasure and children would either be brutally sacrificed or enslaved, slowly but surely changes occured with Tibbicus's growing influence amongst the army. Whilst most merely sneered and shunned him for his modernising thoughts, he managed to gain the respect and admiration of the one person that truly mattered. General Pexterus. So 7 years later, when Pexterus should announce their retirement, who should the title of General fall to other than Tibbicus himself! Now armed with absolute power and the ability to issue any command whatsoever without protest, Tibbicus immediately sets to work in installing his ideas into play.} ~As it so happened, Tibbicus would get this chance much sooner than expected. An uprising amongst the commonfolk arises in the spring, resulting in bloodshed and anarchy, the groans of dying men, and the sobs of innocent women and children filling the streets of the city. Tibbicus would have a lot of atonement to enlist, but he was willing to take the challenge and show those who doubted him how far mercy and kindness could go. It had been 4 days since the quenching of the uprising, and Tibbicus finally felt enough time had passed to shoot his first attempt at atonement. Walking across the sandy landscape of the camp with 4 of his most trusted men, they all pause outside a wooden hut. The retainment cell for the children and youths.~