On my Honor, this Solemn Oath:
I will never betray my duty to the Corps, or my integrity to the law and the public trust.
I will obey lawful orders, cleaving to the Corps’ traditions and authority.
I will do good and promote that which is good.
I will commit no evil and prevent that which is evil.
I will look forward and never return to my first life nor seek its remembrance.
-Oath of the Farrani Corps


It is the Fourth Age.

Only a generation ago, a third advent of Argenta’s Gifted came to the faraway kingdom of Paratorna. They were storm-cast from the Silver Islands, through the Sea of Storms, and onto the shores of the world of men. Their coming was foretold by the Knights of the White Mountain and by the White Pilgrims. But the Kingdom of Paratorna was no haven for any servants of Argenta; they found friends and foes alike, and it was their foes whose will won through.

Before the new Farrani could establish their power, they fell afoul of the infernal machinations of the Galaraan and their agents. At the moment of their plot’s revelation, agents of Queen Anna-Marie herself struck with alacrity. Farrani friends and allies died in their cups and in their luncheon trenchers, killed without warning. The queen, with the support of the Church, charged King Henri with high crimes.

But the greatest intrigues of the Galaraan plot had not yet had time to root themselves fully. The people were not ready to hear so dark a sheaf of accusations laid at the feet of their monarch, nor sufficiently indebted to the Church to silence their rebellious inclinations. A bloody revolt followed. The whole of Tricilve burned, aflame with war as well as fire. The conflict has thus far lasted a generation, with no side able to fully seize power across Paratorna.

The remnant of Argenta’s Gifted fled the city ahead of the sacking and re-burning of the Farrani Corps’ holdings and manor house. It is said they used a magical ship that vanished from the harbor, just as the Duke of November turned broadside to rake it with a hundred guns. The Galaraan agents never trailed them. They never took full control of Tricilve and so were never free to pursue Argenta’s own.

The exiled Gifted, perhaps through providence, came to settle in the distant kingdom of Betraland. There they found a people still invested in the Old Gods, a people who still maintained the ancient traditions and outposts of the Farrani Corps. Many of those from Silver Islands had to this point experienced a sort of walking slumber. But they awoke fully to the need of them, and quickly set about to restore the Farrani Corps’ honor and strength, even in neighboring kingdoms. Farrani fleets, backed by Aphelion arcana, rose to power on the high seas, easily casting down pirate flotillas and royal navies much greater in size. It seemed for a time that peace and security would prevail in the northeast of the Old Empire, under a green flag.

But with awakening of the sleepers and the rise of the Corps came a resurgence of magic. The Pact of the Gods lay broken like a great damn, it was said, and all the nightmares it held at bay flooded over the world of man. Goblin rats, ghost ships, and a dragon’s shadow have terrorized nearby lands. Famine and plague take their ravages too. But none of these things are so frightening as the news from the southwest, the news that the Galaraan have finally taken Paratorna and have turned their attentions outward, seeking to unite all of the Old Empire under their crimson banner.

The Farrani Corps

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