{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!~

~Slight inspiration taken from the Odyssey & Musucal EPIC~ {King William of Exulm was many things. A loving husband, a doting father, and a firm yet kind ruler, quite content with his lot in life and to live in peace and tranquillity. Fate had another idea in mind for him, however, with William being drafted for war against another kingdom, Pesturome. No matter how much he bargained, manioulated, or even begged, he soon found himself on the battlefield slaughtering men he'd never even met. After an entire decade of bloodshed and death, William is desperate. So desperate, in fact, that he sets his most ruthless and strategic plan yet into action, one certain to finish the war. What seemed like a peace offering of a giant wooden falcon would turn out to be the key to an end. It's only after it's too late, once the bloodshed and tyranny has ended at last, that the true nature of his plan seeps in. Every man slaughtered, no matter their rank or station. Defenceless women left to mourn over corpses, soon to be claimed as nothing but playthings to their husbands murderers. The innocent children left orphaned and traumatised. This was the price to pay for victory. Thousands of lives were ruined so he could resume his. The guilt and shame tore him apart. Whilst others celebrated and cherred, William sat in his tent, unable to suppress his immense guilt, crying his eyes out. It's only once he overhears their tyrannical Commander boasting of claiming the enemy king's eldest child as a slave, a final humiliation to the kingdom, that William finally snaps out of his grievance, spying not only a method of atonement but also a way to soften the wars blow}

{A Suitor to Suit: 1/5} (Heavy inspiration from the musical EPIC) {Ten years. Ten years have passed since the kingdom of Ericsson's young king was called to war. Whilst many others drafted have returned home with many stories to tell, the one people desire most to return is still adrift, assumed dead, or shipwrecked by most. Through the years, men have begun to take up residence at the palace. Slowly at first, but now at full capacity, all with one goal in mind. Wooing the king's devoted wife, Elecuim. Some truly seek her love and comfort, whilst others view her as a mere means to a throne. Despite all this, one fact rings true. Not a single man has been successful in turning her head.} ~Delexus was for lack of a better term a party animal. Loud, rambunctious, mischievous, and an exceptional flirt, he's the perfect leader for this clan of suitors, yet having a much more pure reason than most. Merely to woo and charm Elecuim in the vain hope of giving a grieving widow some happiness and enjoyment~ {Another dawn rising, the dining hall was thick with sweat and musk, the sounds of boisterous laughter and conversation bouncing off the walls. Delexus himself currently has a maid situated in his lap, using every charm he knows to extract information that could help his suit from her, when a rarely seen figure darts past. Perfect.}

{The kingdom of Gardania is a large province located in the southern part of Europe. Compared to other kingdom's hellbent on war and glory, Gardania has made its success on purely practical methods such as trade agreements, peace treaties, and marriage alliances. Governed with a kind yet firm fist by King Mangus, the kingdom is peaceful and calming with its citizens' content and appeased} ~Henry was in blunt terms as entertaining as a doormat. Whilst his most prominent characteristics were his unwavering kindness and loyalty to Gardania, he was also fairly dull. He had very few interests, little time for jokes and merriment, and the idea of romance had never crossed his mind, let alone his heart. It's all the more surprising, however, when to build relationships with the neighbouring kingdom of Renfrewshire, Henry is the candidate put forward, and not one of his 4 brothers. nevertheless, Henry's duty to his kingdom came before anything else, and within a month, he emerged a married man~ {2 weeks had passed since the fated ceremony, and quite frankly, Henry had fallen back into his old routine, essentially forgetting he ever had a spouse. It wasn't intentional or malicious by any means. He didn't go out of his way to make their life miserable. It was more so the fact that Henry couldn't hold a conversation for the life of him and had none of the confidence or charm his younger brothers did, essentially leaving him at a crossroad}

{Glory. Fame. Acclaim. That was the life that awaited the saviour of Gardania, a kingdom ripe with discourse and anarchy all due to a curse placed upon the entire kingdom lasting as far back as anyone could remember It was said only the most skilled healer and fae would be able to free the kingdom from its cryptic spell, the reward for which greatly outweighed the sacrifice} ~Alexis had once been the son of a priest. What should have been an ordinary life is turned upside down after his father foolishly sung his praises in a greatly exaggerated story after his 7th pint of ale. In an instant, the weight of the entire kingdom is placed on their shoulders, and once the truth does finally come out, is his father punished? No. Instead, it's Alexis who faces the dungeons, shut away from the world like the costly mistake he was viewed as. The true saviour lied in the most uncanny of places. A simple farmer's hand by the name of Hector. Unlike Alexis, this hero is treated in a much kinder manner, the support and encouragement from those around him paving the way for his eventual success. It's only after his success, after the initial celebrations and merriment, that so much as a whisper of Alexis's name reaches Hector's ears, the punchline of a humiliating and horrific joke. After tearing every piece of information possible out of the instigator of the cruel joke, Hector has a new duty set to mind.

{War. The thought of it should inspire, no? The idea of fighting for your homeland and gaining honour and glory on the battlefield should encourage and have future warriors in a cockhold, yes? Let us examine a vastly overlooked side of war. The innocents. The aftermath. The stories of those who are never sung, overshadowed by those of glorious victory and triumph} ~Ophelia had once been a child. The simple daughter of a baker whose kindness and generosity knew no bounds. For 12 years, she had lived in peace and tranquillity, content with her lot in life. Then, things slowly began to change around her. New men arrived in the villsge, in small groups at first, then accompanied by a man the size and width of a mammoth. Then, her father left. One sunday, seemingly at random, his baker's apron dusted in flour, replaced by a shining suit of armour. He'd held her close, promised he'd return soon. He never did. It would take Ophelia another 4 years to grasp the idea that war was descending on her kingdom, but by then, it was too late for escape or peace. The only thing she could do was watch. Watch helplessly as 2 years after, the mayor was killed. Watch helplessly as 4 years later, the king himself was killed. And finally, watch helplessly as her kingdom was sacked and torched, leaving her, the women, and any surviving children in its wake.~

{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.~