Simple ordinary men of the highlands have fought and bled for their country. The name Decentius had meant nothing until the reign of the Potentates. After the declaration of Martial Law in the Council of Bardmont 2E 283, the Emperor-Potentate Versidue Shaie warned his vassals to disband their armies or face his wrath. His warning was unanswered and the Cyrodiilic Empire was plunged into thirty-seven years of war. The Emperor-Potentate's rebellious vassals spread fighting all around the Empire's lands and though the Empire proved victorious in the end, it came at much cost. Spending three decades of his life in this war and rising through the ranks of the Imperial Legions, Vestrick Decentius was a military legend who scored many victories for the Empire. Upon the completion of the conflict and the service he provided for his Empire, Vestrick was created the Baron of Aspern and marked among the nobility of Cyrodiil bringing the name Decentius to history.
An able man with an able wife, Vestrick acquired his lands and set forth to establish traditions for his family. His sons after him served the Empire and their sons served the Empire. For two centuries the sons of House Decentius provided figures of innovation, leadership, and rank for the Imperial Legions. The families future secure, the house prospered.
In Character (IC)
House Decentius is an Imperial Noble House based in the Colovian Highlands. Many thought that with the ailing Baron Constans Decentius's death. The House would finally succumb to a fate that has befallen many. What was not known, was that the House had one last remaining male member left. Serving the Imperial Legions since his youth and having no time to experience life outside of combat the new head only learned of his house after his exile from his legion by those he once trusted closely.
Journeying away, Volund Decentius had learned of his families history and returned from obscurity to take what he believed was his. Fighting off potential rivals to his lands, the new Baron solidified his claim and began focusing his attention on his home province of Cyrodiil, his lands, and his inner ambitions.
Out of Character (OOC)
House Decentius is an 18+ Heavy Roleplaying Guild focused on Cyrodiil and the Gold Coast. We are actively recruiting and are immensely interested in characters who wish to partake in our stories. To those wishing to join House Decentius, we are currently accepting applications. Please fill out our form on our website and if you have any questions regarding the application contact @Raidriar171 or @adiscovery. This guild has a distinct flavor. Our flavor veneers towards realism, the difficulty of life, and a moderate acceptance of TES heavy amount of fantasy. Thus we are hesitant to recruit argonians or khajiit without a pre-defined reason. However, there are exceptions to such a rule with the amount of prior-rp or communication made to facilitate such a character. If you wish to have an argonian or khajiit brought into the guild, talk to us and we'll work something out.
Many come bringing with them honor and experience, many come bringing with them a sword that has spilled blood, all of them march forth with valor. The Guard of House Decentius is unique for its attitude towards those outside of the heartlands and highlands for it accepts all into its ranks. Bearing the colors of the House, trained in Legion tactics, and with a focus on quality over quantity the Guard of House Decentius is a force to be reckoned with. Infantry raised, supplied, and drilled by the Baron himself. House Decentius has a small force of loyal guardsmen willing to fight to the death. When the Guards are well deployed, the force can hold its ground against forces outnumbering it. Mercenaries, veterans of the provincial armies, former legionnaires, and those with a thirst for combat, camaraderie, and a desire for leadership would do well to seek a career in the Guard of House Decentius. The Guard is a fusion of contemporary Imperial tactics employed during the Tharn Regency and the values of the Old Cyrodiilic Empire of the Reman Dynasty.
An Empire is made laws, culture, and homes. A home is made of interests, families, and finances. House Decentius offers those a chance to embrace the family through work. The studies and pursuits of a mage are endorsed by the Baron for they often coincide with his goals. Ayleid ruins darting the landscape hold mysteries for those with a hunger for adventure, sanctuary and safety provide a respite away from the war-torn lands, open spaces to make coin be true to these lands. Be ye a merchant, a mage, or a refugee, the baron welcomes you to his lands should you compensate him with service.
Sometimes it doesn't hurt to have someone watching your back. Trouble grows without vigilance, hiding in plain sight and indistinguishable from another, an agent is the Baron's eyes and ears. They see all and know all with backgrounds from all over. Marked by brand and conditioned to carry out his will, the agents are those that kill in cold-blood, silence without a voice, and disappear when seen. You never know if the guardsman, refugee, or simple servant is watching.
Our green oval represents the Decentius family estate. A location where court, intrigue, and the final decisions are made. The Estate is unique as it combines architecture of Colovia and Highrock in its design. Highrock's unique design of architecture with its grim walls and spires were quite tasteful among the previous rulers of House Decentius. The Barons that lived later earlier in the Second Era hired many of Highrock's masons to create a small manor in which the manor started as just a small castle where the barons would take residence. Made in the fashion of the Bretons.
The reachmen horde of the supposed "Black-Drake" were crushed in the past months of 586. The onslaught they wrecked brought forth great destruction as the Baron of Aspern had rejected their demand of allegiance, choosing to remain an independent son of the West. Battles and campaigning had begun in retaliation for the devastation of the highlands, with the black-drake's reachmen mauled across the vast expanses of open land in Colovia.
And so, they were beaten. The barbarians driven out of the highlands once more by the Decentii but their remnants remain scattered. Even one of the tribes that made this horde were subjugated as a federate of the House, the Bull-horn tribe led by Chieftain Thorngroth who swore fealty to Volund Decentius, Baron of Aspern, and Lord of House Decentius.
Settling them by the Brena river, the Bull-horn sacrificed much for their survival, losing their hagraven Grulka, who at the orders of the Baron was slain in front of them all and to further destroy their way of life, the Baron forced upon them to convert to the faith of the eight divines. Thus, the bull-horn have lost what has made them children of the reach, what their ancestors had believed in with pride, causing voices of hate to come towards the Decentii.
Now the time for campaigns are over, the winter comes where snow takes life and where many most come closer to the fire to stay warm. During the previous months battles, a gruesome one occurred in which the Bull-horn had begged for aid and the Argelli, a noble house allied to the Decentii had come to their rescue as the Decentii were too far to respond.
Folk living in the court of Moriens Stella, the revitalized manor of the Decenti had felt an ominous presence within the walls, shadow like. Whispers and dreams bringing them to the old tower of Kastav, where they tried to rip the barricades that had closed the tower to them. This habit persists, what can be done?
On the 6th of Evening Star, the town of Septimania, a town under the Barony of Aspern revolted. High taxes, a harsh winter, and the Reachmen tribe known as the Bull-Horn caused the townspeople to take up their pitchforks. Taking matters into their own hands the townspeople revolted, burning their own farmsteads, hanging the town's local prefect, and clamoring for a reduction in the taxes imposed on them. Such actions, observed by the local Reachmen tribe, the Bull-horn, who were settled by the Baron near Septimania as part of his own plan to force them to adhere and conform to culture of the West, joined in. Fraternizing and finding common cause with the villagers, the Bull-horn sought to return to their own faiths and wear the garments that their ancestors wore, once more. Committing their own ancient rituals openly in broad daylight and uninterrupted by the townspeople, word traveled fast to the Baron.
The Baron responded with amassing a force of the guard who journeyed with him to the rebellious town. Accompanied by Lady Medullinus, his guardsman Dionosio, and his Rector Ampiosus, they made their way to Septimania, gathering loyal townsmen repressed by the crowds onto his amassed column. As they came closer, the Rector, Lady Medullinus, and Dionosio were sent ahead of the column in order to investigate what appeared to be massive clouds of smoke rising to the skies.
Dionosio taking the lead, they journeyed forward ahead of the column. The lady, the Rector, and the guardsman went onto the Lenicci farm, where they found slaughtered cattle and what appeared to be a woman of the bull-horn feasting on a cow's heart. Invisible to her and aware of her breach of the conditions set by the Baron on her tribe, Dionosio arrested her, causing the Lenicci farm to have a chance of being saved before the fires burned everything to the ground.
With the culprit arrested and the Baron's column coming closer, knowing all to well that if the Baron and his column made it to Septimania, blood would follow. And so, Rector Ampiosus sent Lady Medullinus to the Baron to alert him of what was to occur, in which the Rector and Dionosio would negotiate with the rebellious crowd. Time pressed and with a bit of luck on their side, they negotiated without bloodshed, leading to promises of cuts and clemency to the perpetrators of the rebellion. The column of death led by the Baron was disbanded, leaving him furious at the concessions granted towards them. His anger taking in the form of him yelling a single word as he rode back to Moriens Stella.
The twilight festered in the skies as the black legionnaires marched on the roads. They passed by an ancient tree, stepping over the extended roots that rooted itself into the stone road ahead. In the late hours of the night, the winds were strong and while they shrieked against the tree, the soldiering men saw them. Their fellow sons and daughters of Cyrodiil hanged and gibbeted on the trees, rocking back and forth gently as the wind pushed them. Their bodies making a slight rattling and clanging as they collided with their chains. As the soldiers passed on by a few were nothing more but bone at this point, rattling even further.
Telrav, the youngest and most recent addition among the group paled at the sight. He truly was the youngest as the rest of the soldiers looked seasoned and older compared to him. And as they crossed by the hangman's tree the sigh of the bones shook him to his core and with great effort, he croaked out "Why?" to his commanding officer. A small respite occurred before his Quaestor spoke, a man or more a grizzled veteran of five years spoke, all the man said with his guttural tone was "Because the Baron wills it. They're up there because he had us all tie them up. The lot of them." And so, the legionnaires moved forward, a nagging feeling began to grow in Telrav's stomach as they moved on forward. He looked back, every now and then to the tree that they had passed, crow's began to descend onto it, to pick the flesh of the more recently dead. After what felt like forever, he spilled his thoughts out and asked again more frantically "Why does he will it? Why?" Another pause and the commanding officer said with a more agitated tone "Telrav, how about you shut the fuck up and keep moving. I want to get home and sleep. We don't have time for talking, keep moving."
A short respite occurred once more, silence permeating throughout the thick of dusk. Hangman's tree began to gradually fall behind the legionnaires as they rounded up their patrol.
Yet as they progressed, the patrol marching forward and only pausing to take breaks as needed. Telrav lagged behind in the back, the rest of them all ahead of him as they moved back to Fort Regilus. Trekking through the path of cobblestone, curiosity was getting the better of him, he ran forward to the guy ahead of him, it was making his head itch to not ask a question. His thoughts were buzzing in his head like a hive of bees and being unfamiliar with
how things worked, he asked the one he kept up with a question "Do you know why this happened? Why would he put them up on the tree? Why did they go like that?"
Knowing full well that Telrav was one of the levied boys put in their force, his compatriot, a veteran responded neutrally with "Breathe and grab some of the night's fresh air. I hear it comes from the abecean boyo and before you go off talking your head off and getting the Quaestor's boot up your ass, you best shut your mouth and listen because I won't repeat myself twice. He already told you it's cause the baron will's it but I'll tell you what I know and what I saw." he said giving the younger levy a time to listen and to prepare for a flashback.
They moved forward and dusk changed to day. A surprisingly warmer day in the Colovian Highlands while it was in the arm of winter, it had a meaning to it. The fort with it's usual tranquil activity, had an eerily silence to it. The baron of course cooping himself up as always but there wasn't the same activities as usual there. He came out, a surprise. It was even more of a surprise that they were ordered to march out to the Alderoot, an ancient tree a few miles away from Fort Regilus, and it was even more of a surprise that they saw a few of their own countrymen chained together around the tree.
The baron, clad without his helm, showed his spiteful gaze towards to the men and women of the tree. In a cold and uncompromising tone, he ranted "Those that betray what our empire stands for, have no longer a right to live if they support a mer on the ruby throne. Those caught in Aspern or by any of us don't deserve mercy, they deserve death. Treason must be punished." He pointed to the first of the chained, a young woman with golden locks and commanded with a voice of spite and authority "Hang her." The soldiers obeyed, any doubts any reaches to conflict with their master's order never surfaced. It was silent as they had spun the noose around her neck and cut her off from breathing. The only sounds that could be heard were her dying gasps and feeble attempts to live. She tried so hard, to breathe as they could all see her hanging and sputtering, tears welling down her eyes onto the moment of death.
When she died, her silence was interrupted by the baron's words again, he stated "This is the price that must be paid, treason must be punished." he exclaimed again as they had begun to prepare a man this time for the tree. Tying the noose and setting him off a slightly higher branch, he begged and begged to be released. Proclaiming that it was the thought of keeping his children and family safe, that spurned him onto his mistake to join them. His cries and pleas fell on deaf ears as he too was set to hang on the tree. But alas, he was lucky, for the rope that he had was old and well worn. Within seconds of his hanging, it snapped and he dropped to the ground. The divines had made their decision on him clear, Arkay says it not be his time yet. The baron didn't listen as he was tied up once more, only for the rope to snap once again.
Was it luck or was it the divines favoring this man? As when two instances of the hanging had failed, it saved this sole man from sharing the fate of the woman before him. Embarrassed and irritated by the luck traitor had, the baron had them all hanged and thus by the luck of one man, an unceremonious end occurred for them all.
Telrav heard the reminiscence and stared eerily forward, the rest of the patrol remained steadfast and quiet, they listened but did not input their thoughts. They carried on past what was once the Alderoot, now the Hangman's Tree.
The soft scraping of boots on the ground, the early dawn light, these woods haunted and terrible. Both a man and mer stalking the forests, and with eight eyes on them. Eight eyes awaiting the order, eight eyes staring. Vincete had only remembered hunting once with his uncle when he was a child. A vacation, while we go sell the hard work we all did. You earned it son. Vincete only remembered that he was shown how to gut the elk, and deer. He wasn't strong enough at the time to use the bow, and his uncle always forgot to make one. Walking behind the smaller man, the bosmer his lord had hired he couldn't help but smirk a bit; thinking about his little pit-pocket friend, and wondering if she was alright.
The soft huff in the distance stopped the elf, glancing back toward the man, Quaestor to Lord of this land...and of course Feroxus wasn't impressed, well he never was impressed with nobles but he did have to admit. Vincete wasn't all bad, offering drink, and food. Vincete wasn't one of the types that frowned upon the fact that Feroxus wasn't an Imperial, he seemed friendly enough. Feroxus made a motion to the bow in the man's hand whispering softly. "Notch an arrow, and get ready, it will be an easy target....you know how to fire a bow..."
"Yeah." speaking quietly. "Just do what you need Bosmer..." muttering a bit, watching as Feroxus began to slowly move forward toward the source of the noise. The silence was deafening and for all that watched and waited. With the sun slowly creeping further and further up on the horizon, and there was the quarry. There stood an elk, and though Vincete could see it better now, drawing his arm back, and then the quick yipping noise came. The beast moving away in a panic had made probably its only and final error.
With a wail of pain, there was a bugling cry that filled the forest; arrow hitting the beast in the lungs forcing it to quickly collapsed on the ground panting trying to catch its breath. Feroxus sighed a bit as he took a look around as he emerged from the brush, waving Vincete around. As the Imperial made his way toward the Bosmer he noted that the mer held a bundle of bones in his had. "Trolls.....damned trolls are in the forest." sighing as he shook his head. "Poor guy probably got chased down....and...well yeah." handing over a femur to Vincete, Deep gouges from teeth and claws riddled the bone, it looked as if that the leg was mangled and torn apart. The mental image of the running, well limping man enduring such pain and the horror to follow.
Feroxus sighed petting the elk with his left hand for a while, Vincete's eyes caught the glint of a blade before it swiftly plunged into the throat of the beast. Eight eyes came closer as four wolves came fourth behind Vincete, giving him the sense that this forest was more alive than one let on.