The Blades of the Banshee
Near the tongue of land bridging Upper and Lower Argyle, the Imperial Region of Zamollia was cut off from the Empire geographically and politically. The Emperor, Innue the Wise would spare none of his resources for a region or a regional Governor that would not support his mania. Zamollia's Governor, Cedric Lesporel, became king at about the same time the other governors took the mantle, but Cedric would rule well. Cedric's legacy would be a line of descendants who would rule at least as well for almost two hundred years.
Under the rule of the Lesporels, Zamollians flourished, living off of the rich farmland and off of the sea and mountains that embraced them. Cedric had established a free community that welcomed immigrants of any race, so it was not unthinkable for non-humans to work or trade together. Rare, but not unthinkable. Then, in 1043YP, the first of the Plague refugees began to arrive, and the region was decimated. Kendall Lesporel, king for only three years, sealed the borders and burned the bodies, gradually abating the spread of the plague. By the spring of 1048YP, the month of Actheros, the threat of plague had diminished, and Zamollians thought they might survive.
One night in the month of Innue, 1049YP, the plague fires burned as warmly as the hearth fires, tempering the chill in the air. The moon's sliver was high above. Few noticed the light show atop Windcleave Mountain until its glow outshone the moon. Blue lightning danced and green flames cavorted with shimmering spectral forms, but none could discern its cause or effect. When the gray winter light grew in the morning sky, the peak of Windcleave mountain was charred black down to Blood Eagle pass. Straddling the pass, glowing with the heat of still burning coals, was a vile black fortress that Zamollians would call Xetheron's Spike.
For another month the iron Spike would cool while an icy snow fell across the valley.
The king gathered his army, and was dismayed by its size. Fewer than ten thousand were left. Still, he deployed them between the villages and the mountain, determined to protect his people.
One frosty winter morning, Kendall watched from the flap of his command tent as black shapes began to pour from the Spike, a boiling swarm of fleas against the snow. The swarm continued through the day and, by torchlight, though the night until morning. The dark army of inhumans, semi-humans, and demons was triple the size of the Zamollians'. Kendall spoke to his Generals and to Sarkis, captain of Banshee Brigade, the king's personal guard. The fifty elite Banshees were each worth a hundred men -- they might turn the tide. Kendall ordered Sarkis to lead the Banshees into battle, leaving the king defenseless. Sarkis protested but lost the battle of wills, and when the armies clashed, the king was alone.
In the midst of fierce fighting, the Zamollians were losing ground, but it was not the devastating defeat that the dark army expected. The Banshees fought with skill and power beyond anything seen before or since, and Sarkis out fought them all. Then thunder rocked the battlefield as Xetheron rode in. For a moment, the field was hushed. Then Xetheron charged and the battle raged again. Xetheron and his steed cut through the opposing armies like a ship through fog, making for Kendall's camp. Sarkis followed in the demon's wake, but he was too late. Xetheron had skewered the king on his lance and was hoisting the body as a standard.
At this, the Zamollian army broke and was overrun, slaughtered to the last man. The remaining six Banshees rushed to Sarkis and drug him away, headed as fast as possible to the Eastern Pass and out of Zamollia forever.
The Banshees, true defenders, had failed. Sarkis was determined that they would atone. Quietly, he and the other Banshees founded a school of martial arts, the Academy of the Blade, to train elite guardsmen and other mercenaries. Graduates became members of the mercenaries' guild, the Brotherhood of the Banshee, and were hired out to worthy rulers at exorbitant prices. The fame of the Academy and its graduates grew, and by the time of the reckoning the Banshees were respected across the land.
For over five hundred years, the Academy of the Blade had taken exceptional novices into its apprentice program and trained them for war. Masters of each discipline oversaw the training of fighters, battle mages, rangers, rogues, clerics, monks, and paladin. Banshee divisions fought on the side of good in every major battle across the land of Argyle until just a few generations ago. The last was for the Allied Armies against the tyrannical Blackguard, Saluvius, and it was the Banshees who turned the tide. The conflict ended in Saluvius' defeat, but the Blackguard escaped. For three months he plotted with his demonic mentors to exact his revenge.
For the first time in its history, the school itself was attacked. Saluvius led a horde of demonic warriors into the Academy grounds while demon mages shattered its walls with devastating spells. Pennor, Grand Master of the Academy, gathered the apprenti, nearly a hundred in all, and ordered them out through a secret tunnel and into the hills. Once away from the compound, they were to scatter, in groups of no more than five or six, and seek a safe place to wait. News of the Academy's victory or defeat would certainly reach them wherever they were.
Unknown to the Banshees at the academy, similar demonic strike forces were attacking the Banshee divisions in the field at exactly the same moment, so reinforcements would never arrive. Few of the Banshees abroad survived those attacks, and those who did were broken and alone.
The Academy was destroyed. The battle raged for three days, and when it was done, not a single stone was left atop another. What could be burned was burned. The bodies of the fallen were violated, and the land that soaked up their blood was desecrated. The demons returned to Hell, taking Saluvius with them -- it was time to pay his debt.
At the exit from the escape tunnel, the apprenti watched, disobeying Pennor's command. Before they did as they were bid, they swore a blood oath to carry on the work of the Academy of the Blade and the Brotherhood of the Banshee, taking the name the Blades of the Banshee. As they split up, a troupe of the fiendish warriors poured out of the mouth of the tunnel and chased after the apprenti. The demon spawn were under a geas to hunt the Banshees to the last man, and would pursue their mission to its end or suffer an eternity of pain. Many of the apprenti got away thanks to the head start they were given. Some were caught years later by demons determined not to fail their master, and others were never discovered. None ever forgot that they were being hunted.
Now, more than seventy-five years after the fall of the Banshees, the children and grandchildren of the apprenti are finding clues to the truth of their history. A grandfather tells his grandson the story on his deathbed. An elf finds a Banshee emblem in her mother's old things. A young dwarf finds a Banshee tattooed on his father's shoulder, hidden until his death. One or two Banshee descendants discover old journals with an account of the Banshee history and the names of some of the apprenti. The sons and daughters of the Blades of the Banshee, the last connection to the ideals of a hero named Sarkis, begin looking for each other, resolved to pursue the oaths of their ancestors. They are looking out for themselves as well....some of the demons are still on the hunt.
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if it turns out that I will keep playing the game BotB is a great idea for a guild and I would really consider joining it. I know of atleast 1 who will play the game and probably many more, they might be interested in joining the BotB, I'm unsure as they do not frequent GB.