The return of Tyrr

The Return of the King

August 3rd, 2020

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The Wild hunt

England is reeling from a invasion led by Scottish freedom. Defeated by the Return of Tyrr, the founder of England.

Tyrr had been absent from England, busying himself with other pursuits. He returned and England rejoiced. But his return was not for long. The old King had heard that the Wild Hunt
was seen again in Wistmans wood. The old enemy and a portent of ruin for the nation.

Tyrr together with His majesty turned and went North to follow the wild hunt. They went into the mists of Wistmans wood, never to be seen again.
The Chronicler of the old ages Rhanukhan has said that Tyrr was mortally wounded fighting the Wild hunt, and went to The Isle of Avalon to be cured of his wounds. Some say that they will return to save his people.

Slowly the age of Tyrr and his loyal subject, His Majesty disappeared from memory. The Wild Hunt was indeed a portent of Doom for England.

Saturday 31st December, 2022

The Court at Lanmouth Castle of the Isle of Westland is busy. Servents and courtiers file past the High Steward of England, Richard Scott 12th Duke of Westland.

"Reports from the borders, raiders spotted!" cries a knave. England is yet again under attack. The High Steward isn't suprised. England is a high prize for raiders. Just a few nations defend its borders, all too easy for just a few
raiders to slip over the border and take down the fledgling government that Isle of Westland is trying to hold together.

Richard Scott is war weary. How long can he continue to hear of raiders at his gates? The map sprawled out in front of him at his desk, the crown slipping from his forehead as he leans over.
It clatters to the ground. England is much depleted and he can't even find a Jeweller to resize the Stewards crown. On the wall, a grand tapestry of Tyrr and the legendary His Majesty is rather threadbare. He's heard of the legends.
Thats all they are, legends. To his subjects, they are objects of hope. To Sir Richard, they remind him of how far England has fallen. The official Crown of England has been long lost, tales of the Wild Hunt taking it away the night Tyrr ceased to exist.

Sir Richard is disturbed by a small stout fellow. He recognises him immediately as Æthelwealh, leader of Suth Seaxe. A once grand and jovial man, now reduced to a paranoid wreck. Æthelwealh's nation has been at the front line of the merciless raiders for years.
Being the gateway to England, Æthelwealh has become increasingly cautious and mistrusful.

"I bring you news, Sir Richard" Æthelwealh bellows. "I bring you news of a insider plot against England! One of your most trusted lietenants, The british boy has a pension from Thaecia! He is in league with The Ambis and will surely plot against us!"

Sir Richard is sure that Æthelwealh is correct. But, would The British boy actually plot against England? With England being governed by so few, he needs every hand he can get. So what if a few of his officers have their pockets lined by other regions?

Sir Richard is more worried about the reports of raiders. He reaches for the Lord Stewarts crown. Plain, its gemstones long removed to pay Englands debts in years past. Just the tarnished outlines of the gems set against the silver remain to show the former glory.

Rhanukhan did say that the founder would return. But the council at Lanmouth would have to do today. "Ready my men! Send forth patrols to check the borders". For now, Westland and Suth Seaxe would have to wait for the report.

They did not have to wait long. A grand army approached off the coast. More boats and men then they could possibly see off. Perhaps this was it. The raiders gathering for a new years raid.

Sir Richard went up to the lookout post on the coast. Indeed, there they were, many ships of the Line approach. But they looked strange, far too old to be raiders. A flag was running up the mast. Sir Richard and Æthelwealh looked out. Who's would it be? Thaecian? Was Æthelwealh correct? Or perhaps the return of the Black Hawks. But it was neither. Lo and behold, it was the Cross of St George!

Return of the King

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.

Tyrr and His majesty have returned to England! Let this be a time of renewal and rejoicing. Happy new year England!