Mardur

Never speaking about his travels before arriving upon the shores of DarGarth he simply says “I was on a Holy Journey.”  After serving faithfully in the Explorers Guild for many seasons he was contacted by His Grace, the Abbot and promptly disappeared for some time.  Upon returning he spoke for the Abbot and of the Abbot.   He refused to show his face ever again as a sign of divine commitment to His Grace.

Gathering those of a similar mind the Holy Order of the Abbot was formed.

After serving as defenders in the incision war of the Knights of Solaris Lands he began to treat with Baroness Pow Pow; Goblin Queen of Mârdûr.  As it was seen that the creatures of Mardur were brethren in service to the Holy Abbot it was decide to merge the two lands and create The Holy Order of Mârdûr.

The Abbot said this was good. The Grand Inquisitor saw that this was good. It was, indeed, good.

But not for the opposition…

Cheers,

Mârdûr

On his 16th nameday by human reckoning, Andor wandered out of the Hundred Hectare forest in the land of Moot, upon the Western Continent of Darkon, endeavoring to join the Mootian Scouting Guild. He served with passion and reveled in the blessings given to him by the goddess Eris and the War deity Tirade. He was granted a lordship for his service to the realm of Darkon, which he parlayed into a ship to sail to the Southern reaches of the world. The ship wrecked on the shores of a lush and vast uncharted island, which he proclaimed to be Dargarth. He then slipped into a coma, presumably caused by hydrogen psychosis.

When he awoke it was as a changed man. He had lost his hatred of Dark Elves, and was intent on carving out Dargarth as a place for the vast drama of empires to unfold. He raved of great things, he buried himself in ancient prophesy, and he often forgot pants for months at a time, sometimes becoming the hermit, sometimes the frothing doomsayer. He wandered and wandered in search of the Gods. It was at this time rumored that Andor was half gnome, but few would say it to his face.

Andor left the settlements of the Explorer’s Guild which he loved so much, and sought the salvation offered by the Holy Order of the Abbot. He found it difficult to conform to the Abbot’s whim on details, but Brother Andor did his utmost, and was willing to suffer the consequences when he transgressed.

When the Abbot declared Mârdûr to be a divine protectorate, and when the monasteries became a haven for bandits and trolls, Andor knew what he must do. He humbly sought permission to be the ‘Minister of Truth and Seeker of That Which is Good’, where he could pass the tenements of wisdom onto the denizens of the Holy Lands: Positive Violence, Positive Violence, and Positive Speech.

Cheers,

Mârdûr

In the land of Brittania, Rebekah Froste wandered. In the dark caverns of Wind she found the ancient undead: the liches. At first she was alarmed like so many curious adventurers before. She raised her poisoned blade and readied magics to battle this new foe, yetshe noticed a profound sadness in their eyes. They had lost something precious. She halted her attack and listened.

The liches told the tale of betrayal at the hands of the mad king Lord British. Insanity had taken him and he conspired to have the entirety of the Council of Mages ruthlessly murdered. Yet they lived on… Thus the liches were created. Rebekah gave herself to their defense. She became a Guardian of the Undead Lords.

As time passed, the Lords became mightier. Years went by and soon the Lords were more than capable of their own defense. Rebekah’s duty was complete and she rested. Her death was welcome and her soul was finished in her work.

But eternal rest was to elude her.

Reborn into a land called Stygia. The soul had a new form, more monstrous than even the Undead Lords. No longer human, no longer feminine. This new form carried the old name…Froste.

Froste was an orc. Not lovely to look upon. Unkind in demeanor. Brutal in combat. The other orcs taught battle, and Froste learned. In this orc’s army, Froste rose in prowess and resonsibility. First as a Grunt, a front line warrior. Then he became Ravager, a mighty force on the battlefield, capabale of facing any and triumphing. He fought for the right to lead the Stygian Uruk-Hai on the field and defeated the Warleader Divit.

Soon Froste was bidden to leave Stygia. He travelled to distant lands and arrived upon the shores of Dargarth, accompanied by the Goblin Queen Pow Pow, his beloved companion. They determined to make a nation based on freedom and virtue. They named this nation Mârdûr, which in the Black Speech means Freedom.

That is how it started…

Cheers,

Mârdûr

A shadow elf is not a common sight; a shadow elf druid is even rarer. But a shadow elf druid in Dargarth? That’s something that even the most seasoned adventurers or most worldly scholars could live an eternity without seeing.

Tyrian Zybalt III, who happens to play the role of our shadow elf druid, is far from the tropical Isle of Shakuras where he had once thought to spend the rest of his life and further still from his homeland, the rocky, wet lands of Ahk-Aseah.

He is a being who cares not for the latest gossip about town, or prominent political struggles about the realm, or even for his own personal safety. This ‘mer’ seeks only enlightenment and to follow the natural forces of the world.

Tyrian has witnessed many great events and many grand tragedies through the years of his travels, he has braved many previously unexplored regions, traced and collected relics of the ancient eras of his forefathers and also raised his blade against many foes.

His adventurous spirit and the ‘vibes’ that it follows have now led him to the distant realm of Dargarth, where he has temporarily joined the ranks of the free monsters Kingdom of Mârdûr as he continues towards the pinnacle of his travels.

Cheers,

Mârdûr

The country of Mârdûr is proud to present the tale of Tyrent who is the captain of our fleet.

“I was born into a scene of violence and greed, dominance and persecution.
My mother was a queen, my dad I’ve never seen, I was never meant to be.
And now I spend my time looking all around,
For a man that’s nowhere to be found.
Until I find him I’m never gonna stop searching,
I’m gonna find my old man, gonna travel around”
—————-

For 28 years I’ve searched, these words leave a foul copper taste in my mouth even as I speak them now… 28 years.
Is he even still alive? Should I find him, would I embrace him as a father?
Or slit his throat for the unjust hatred I have bestowed upon his memory.
A father I never knew? Or a father who never knew he was a father?
But I digress, perhaps I should start at the beginning.

My mother, a princess of a small country to the west of Dellgaurd, where this story takes place, was betrothed to his Lord Majesty King Harold of Dellgaurd as was the custom of those lands. The binding of two kingdoms, with the end hope of siring an heir to the throne.

For a year and a half they tried with no positive result, and as each day passed the king grew more resentful and withdrawn from his queen, and at times seemed to prefer the company of the queen’s handmaidens. Still three times a week at the end of the king’s court as night fell they met to try to conceive a child, an heir.

It is at this point that the ‘hands of fate’ first touched my head, This was to be the first of many.
My father’s ship was a pirate ship by the name of “The Silent” and he the Captain of this frigate filled stem to stern with several month’s worth of booty from murderous plunder and pillage. Now bound for the eastern shores of Dargarth, the crew found themselves unable to navigate a tropical typhoon and after altering their course were blown by unnatural winds to the docks of Dellgaurd.
The pirates quickly took to selling and trading their ill-begotten wares, as well as tending to the minor repairs of their ship. The king, pleased with the pirates new and exotic fare, proclaimed a grand feast was to be held that night.

From what I am told the attraction was instant and before the night had passed
with the help of her second handmaiden my mother, the queen and my father, the pirate Captain found themselves in carnal embrace. With it came my conception.

“The Silent” left port 2 days later, never to be seen upon these shores again, my mother now with child and her king elated, believing this child to be his own.
And for 6 months I was to be king! But the hands of fates had other plans,
and the queen’s second handmaiden, chastised by the queen this day for an act of clumsiness, sought revenge and turned her thoughts to ones of usurping. With the knowledge of the queen’s indiscretion and an inflated sense of courage based on the king’s praise of her ‘help’ in his royal chambers, she sought an audience with the king.
I am told he took it well… for about four ticks of a time piece, he then rose from his throne and in a cacophony of a bellow, drew his sword and cleaved the hand maiden’s head from her neck so furiously that it flew half way through the grand hall before it fell and spun to a stop. Apparently speaking of one’s Lord or Lady in such a manner is tantamount to treason, and treason in my experience has always been met with death.
He then turned his gaze, full of hatred, to the queen. She was pulled from her chambers in the dead of night and brought before the king, his verdict was swift and cruel. The queen was to remain in the royal prison until such a time as the child’s birth, at which point she would be forced to watch her newborn child executed, afterwards she was to be put to the same fate.

From the heir to a victim of infanticide in mere minutes! But once again the fates placed their hands upon me.
The queen’s first handmaiden, loyal to her lady, helped hatch a plan for escape.
On the night of my birth three hired assassins were to free my mother and myself from the king’s guard and spirit us away to a farm on the far east coast of Dellgaurd. The details of the escape are not known to me. But this I know, not all went as planned.
I was freed but my mother fell to the king’s guard. Now orphaned, I remained on the farm for 13 years and was raised by a foster family of sorts, never knowing that any of this had transpired. On the eve of my 14th birthday, the queen’s first handmaiden came to the farm to visit me as she always did on my birthdays, but this time she took me aside and told me everything.

I left the farm the next day and joined up with the crew of the first ship that would have me as cabin boy. Only now in my later years do I recognize the ironic humor of that ship’s name, “The Four Fates”, a pirate ship. As I grew in years and experience I came to captain my own ship, a man-o-war, the “Wrathchild”.

28 years, and I would chase him another 28 to the very gates of Hades and back.
I will never stop my search.
I am Tyrent, I am the Wrathchild!

Cheers,

Mârdûr

“Tama D. Flameheart: Nobody ask what the middle initial means. It’s just there to be mysterious. The last name…well, he made that up, too! He quite literally made a name for himself. An adventurer of rogueish good looks (at least in his eyes, but don’t disagree or you won’t HAVE eyes), he’s born from the impossibility of a beautiful halfling mage woman getting it on with a dashing human adventurer. (Always with the wizards and the crossbreeding) Equipped with his father’s love of adventure, sharp wit, good looks, and his mother’s minor kleptomania, slighty twisted mind, and love of “cool stuff”. He keeps a sword around that he never uses just because he likes it’s cool factor. He might just stab you the back for your nice hat and cloak.”

This is our newest-ish member of Mardur.  All hail Tama the queens personal thief.

Cheers,

Mârdûr