The Rocherre Dynasty

The Rocherre family ruled over the eastern half of Therimore for centuries. The family controlled the Rocherran Empire, which reached its zenith under their reign. At its height, the Rocherran Empire stretched from the Pass of Brothers to the empire’s capital of Concordia and across the Verlecent Sea into the islands of the Broken Chain. However, as the ancient yet painfully accurate aphorism is said, “the bigger they come, the harder they fall.”

The Rocherre line began with a coup. The grand-patriarch of the Rocherre Dynasty, Montford Rocherre, had schemed with several Barons and Baronesses of the High Court to overthrow their ruler, Norran Mawnell. The Mawnell lineage had declined ungracefully, as every successive leader of the Mawnellian people failed to live up to the standards of the realm’s initiator. The Kingdom of Mawnellia was named for King Jacame Mawnell, the wise warrior and bringer of peace at a time of great bloodshed. Traits of wisdom, compassion, and integrity apparently died out with Jacame. For generations the realm coasted on the enormous amount of goodwill and profits Jacame had amassed in his lifetime, but this was to come crashing to an end.

In the 184th year of the Mawnell reign, Norran’s father Eleyan had died after suffering an injury during a sparring match with the court’s swordsman. The funeral procession wound through the streets of Concordia, and throughout the event the spirit of the people was a mixture of both relief and apprehension. Eleyan had been an ineffective and irresponsible ruler, abusing the benefits of his lofty position and relying heavily on assistance from his advisors, and for these reasons the denizens of Mawnellia were not sorry to see him go. However, they were trepidatious about the ascension of his first-born, the Prince Norran Mawnell, who throughout his formative years in Concordia had truly proven himself to be his father’s son. There was a popular maxim which echoed through the kingdom’s capital: if anybody had a need for something to be whisked or stirred, the world’s largest silver spoon was to be found nestled snug in the arse of the Prince.

Thus, with his accession to the seat of power, Norran Mawnell had unwittingly sealed the fate of his bloodline. His deposition was slow and calculated, as within two years of the installment Montford Rocherre, along with a cabal of his peers, relinquished the King of his position and his head.

Montford Rocherre was a Baron of the High Court of Concordia. The son of a Baroness and an advisor to King Cangrid Mawnell (the grand-father of Norran Mawnell), Montford Rocherre had grown up within the walls of the palace and was well-accustomed to the workings of the administration. He was quite intuitive, intelligent, and self-motivated, characteristics of someone destined to gravitate towards a place of power. By the time his parents died, Montford had distanced himself from their influence and established himself as King Eleyan’s most diligent and trusted aide. In fact, many who were familiar with the goings-on of the court would have been quite justified in stating that the man who ruled Mawnellia was not the man sitting on the throne.

A week after Rocherre celebrated his thirty-third year, he was present for the birth of Norran Mawnell. After the infant had become acquainted with his mother, father, and several other relatives, the Empress handed the little Prince over to Montford, so as he could gaze upon the face of the future ruler of the kingdom. As Montford held Norran in his arms and looked into his eyes, the Prince screamed and pissed on him. Rocherre had hated him ever since.

From the moment Montford Rocherre had laid his eyes upon the destined King of the Kingdom of Mawnellia, he had detested him with a passion. It was a variety of loathing generally reserved for when someone stumbles upon a cat too voluminous to move or feed itself. As the whining, privileged, and snotty toddler grew into a whining, privileged, and snotty adolescent, Rocherre became increasingly disillusioned with the fate of the kingdom. The development of the youth was overlooked by a collection of court advisors, of which Rocherre was one. However, after spending several years attempting to teach Norran the values befitting that of a ruler, namely tolerance and patience, Rocherre eventually took the path of the hypocrite and gave up, handing Norran off to a less fortunate subordinate. The younger Mawnell simply had no resolve for his studies, and was frequently absent during lessons in favor of torturing the servants and chasing rats with a stick. Montford was of the mind that his skills would be of more use to the realm by way of its current leader, and thus he devoted his time and effort counseling Eleyan Mawnell in all matters of governance.

Baron Rocherre was an administrative genius, as the guidance and tutelage from his stately parents shone forth in the sheer civil brilliance he brought to the court. However, in spite of all the Baron’s skillful bureaucratic maneuvers and proposals, the king was of a particularly stubborn behavior, often choosing to pursue his own executive course of action. It was only through sheer manipulation that Rocherre was able to convince the Elder Mawnell that the visions he had conceived were of the King’s own design. Decades passed and Rocherre’s determination began to wear extremely thin, as appreciation for his assistance in the palace had gone awfully unrecognized.

Still, ever the loyal subject, the man continued to dutifully give guidance, right up until that pivotal moment when the King drunkenly stumbled and impaled himself with his own rapier in the course of training with Horace, the Blademaster of the High Court. As fate would have it, Montford Rocherre’s breaking point would ultimately present itself at the coronation of the new King Norran Mawnell, who was not the youngest to ascend to the throne, but may certainly have been in recent memory the least qualified. After the ceremony had concluded, Rocherre approached Norran so as to offer some words of wisdom and inspiration, in spite of his loathing of the boy. In a stunning display of ineptitude and naivety, as his first Crown’s Decree Mawnell relinquished the Baron Rocherre of his long-standing position as Prime Counsel, stating that “the Kingdom no longer had any need for him”, and he would be “better off on a farm somewhere advising pigs on how to take a shit.” Apparently Norran had enjoyed receiving Rocherre’s past tutelage equally as much as Rocherre had enjoyed administering it.

The last twenty-five years of Rocherre’s life, sleepless nights and endless hours devoted to the kingdom, were tossed to the side with the same amount of respect one might pay to a moldy loaf of bread. No amount of reasoning or arguing (even begging, which came from the fellow court Counsel) resulted in an alternative judgment, as Mawnell had regrettably inherited his father’s obstinance. Rocherre was given a paltry severance and relocated from his residence within the Crest’s District to a cottage burrowed within the bowels of Concordia.

The ex-Counsel was not especially put off by his new environment, for he was in possession of a well-guarded secret: from the moment Eleyan Mawnell fell upon his sword, Montford Rocherre had been planning his own ascension to the throne of the Kingdom of Mawnellia. While his current surroundings were a minor setback, Rocherre chose to focus on the silver lining. Although his scheme involved the other members of the Counsel, there was freedom from surveillance in his nearby exile. Over an extended period, Montford met with several of his closest allies from within the Palace, all Barons and Baronesses who had served with him on the Counsel. During this time, the kingdom fell into a state of chaos, thanks partially to the innate incompetence of Norran Mawnell. The remainder of the blame fell upon Rocherre’s aforementioned allies, who had begun to cripple the kingdom from the inside.

Among those trusted few was Baron Aluitius Cradlen, Baron Kuyo Ta’frey, Baroness Jarona Satina Maol, Baroness Nuobe Flerrderon, and Baroness Lai’ti Zhonteca. Their methods ranged from subtle to significant. Baron Cradlen reallocated a portion of Mawnellia’s funds into securing the Ashfell Forest on the opposite side of the Oakenstone Cascades from bandits (of which there were none). Baroness Jarona Satina Maol had more of a flair for the dramatic, choosing her methods of subterfuge to be more public. She embarked on a diplomatic mission to the Elves of the Greenscar in the west and managed to insult their Sovereign Aelowynth Reyv’elensa, her family, the Elders of the entire tribe, and even the trees in the forest, all on the behalf of the King. The Elves, understandably, cut off all relations with Mawnellia henceforth. This news, coming back to the capital, drove the King into fits of rage and panic, which incited further bureaucratic mishandlings. Without the proper advisory support, Norran Mawnell floundered in this terrifically unfamiliar position, much like a trout that had suddenly found itself atop a pine tree. Small acts of treachery accumulated into greater and more dire affairs. The realm soon faced impending disaster, as the wealthy took advantage of the confusion in Concordia to expand their own capital via exploitation of the farming families who could not afford to own their land. The debtors prisons were filled to bursting. The absence of crop-workers resulted in fields left uncultivated, and thus food shortages throughout the kingdom.

It was at the king’s next birthday celebration when Rocherre finally made his move. Almost two full years had passed since Norran expelled him from the Palace. The King was turning twenty-three, yet to most who engaged with him, his behavior had not changed in nearly a decade. His penchant for impulsivity and decadence was of such impressive consistency that it was almost admirable. Despite the rapid draining of the kingdom’s coffers, the Royal Gala was shaping up to be a lavish and magnificent display of wealth and regal vigor. The upper echelon of Concordian society were looking to revel in the affluence and the prosperity enjoyed only by themselves. Meanwhile, the rest of the city could barely afford to feed their families, let alone celebrate the birthday of a ruler who was literally taking money out of their pockets by supporting the nobles. Dissent amongst the populace had been steadily mounting against the Mawnellian monarchy, and on the day of King Mawnell’s birthday celebration, it had ultimately come to a head.

Rumors began to spread around Concordia as the celebration continued into the evening. News of riots breaking out in the Eastern Quadrant did not reach the King until the those at the Gala was well into their cups. By the time he learned of the crowd marching upon the palace, it was far too late. With the throngs of people hammering upon the gates of the Royal Compound, the majority of the King’s protection was ordered to quell the insurrection as quickly as possible, with whatever force deemed necessary. Concurrently, Montford Rocherre and a small group of mercenaries infiltrated the Compound via a gate in the rear, let in by Baron Cradlen. Within minutes, knowing the Palace as well as anyone in Concordia, Montford Rocherre led his crew up through the kitchens, past the servants quarters, up the stairs in the main hall and around into the ballroom, overcoming many of the guards who had remained behind to watch over the King. Several of his men were lost, but Rocherre’s attention was not on the lives of his companions. The dark piercing eyes of the once second-most powerful man in the kingdom were affixed to the drunken and befuddled figure of King Norran Mawnell, who was struggling to unsheathe his blade from its ceremonial scabbard while fleeing back out of the ballroom, shouting at his guards to save him. The incursion advanced out through the ballroom and into the hallway, past streams of fleeing partygoers. Brief interludes of combat ensued, as the guards came forward to engage with Rocherre’s forces. Dodging blows and screaming guests, Rocherre advanced menacingly towards Norran Mawnell, who had fled, panicked, into the throne room. Backed against the stairs leading up to the seat of power, the King managed to finally free his weapon from the sheath’s grasp and took a defensive stance, his façade of preparedness betrayed by his involuntary swaying, due to his inebriation. Rocherre took no pause in pressing forward. A futile effort at defense was given by the monarch, during which the King’s abysmal excuse for swordplay stood no chance against the intense approach of Montford Rocherre. A parry to the side was all that was needed to disarm Mawnell, and a swift blow across his jaw finished the exchange, much to Rocherre’s pleasure. He had been waiting to do that for twenty-three years. The King hit the floor, and the remainder of Rocherre’s forces blocked the entrance of the throne room.

Like a lion making off with the body of large prey, Rocherre grasped Mawnell by the back of the neck and dragged him forcefully towards the balcony. Overlooking the main gates to the Palace, Rocherre gazed out upon the hungry and enraged populace of Concordia, battering and shaking the large iron fences. Upon noticing the figures emerge out from within the Palace, a brief hush came over the mob; then a roar of cheers and excitement as the half-conscious body of King Norran Mawnell was held up by his hair for all the world to see. Without a word, and as swift as his own judgment had been carried out those two years ago, Montford Rocherre slit the King’s throat, and slung him over the side of the balcony, sending the last of the Mawnell monarchy plummeting to the cold hard stones below. The body landed in a crumpled heap, and remained still. Thus was the end of the Kingdom of Mawnellia, and the rise of the Rocherre Dynasty and the Rocherran Empire.

With no seemingly legitimate heirs to contend with and the support of all members of the High Court, it was fairly simple for Rocherre to install himself as the new leader of Concordia. Gaining control of Mawnell’s lands proved to be somewhat more difficult. As the word spread of the King’s death, territories held loosely by the previous ruler fell into chaos, resulting in divisions of the Kingdom into many smaller factions. Rocherre spent years centralizing his power before he began his expansion to reclaim those rogue territories.