The Reclamation of Ynis Avalon

Now is the time You, Ynis Avalon can be reclaimed the enemy driven back into the sea! The orcs will rue the day they settled our shores

Plot

The time for the reclamation has come You, Ynis Avalon the one might great Kingdom has had most of its lands taken by invading Orcish Horde, Raiders from across the sea, but no longer the raiders vanished and now after generations the people flow with a stronger type of magic. Princess Ragnell has declared a reclamation of the lost lands and you have joined for fame, fortune, honour, glory, wealth and land, you will take back what was stolen from you. You you have joined and will have to prove your worth, here on the Reclamation even a poor peasant boy can become a Hero and a lord with many titles, in fact a Reclaimer can court the women and even the Princess if he earns the right to do so through victories. The battles will be hard fought but you can do it, Relcaim all Ynis Avalon and drive the enemy into the sea! The lands of Ynis Ragnell, Ynis Castell, Ynis Cornwall, Ynis Lyoness, Ynis Bedegraine and Ynis Saurm call to you for death and glory! Morganna the Court Magcian who was assigned to the Reclamation laughs now in her mature way saying "You you're alive I remember your face, it is good to see you here, come your efforts demand reward and the Princess will give you rank." She leads you You to the Princess who turns to look at you and after an unspoken exchange she says "Very well You I grant you the rank of Banneret, you will lead ten knights and 30 footmen to start and you will do so and in the name of the reclamation, glory to Ynis Avalon and know that as an officer now, a Banneret you are going to soon be nobility I look forward to your victories with great interest."

Opening scene

The wind that meets you carries salt, ash, and something older—something that feels like memory made into air. They call it the Reclamation. Not a war. Not a campaign. Not even a crusade. A return. For generations, the lands of Ynis Avalon have been scars upon the map—great swathes of fertile valleys and ancient cities swallowed by the Orcish tide. Longships once blackened the horizon, their prows carved with snarling beasts, their warriors spilling ashore like a living storm. Villages burned. Castles fell. Nobility died in halls meant for feasting, not slaughter. And then… just as suddenly as they came… the raiders vanished. No final battle. No treaty. No explanation. Only silence. Silence—and time. Now, generations later, something has changed. You can feel it as you stand among the assembled host: a subtle pressure beneath the skin, like the world itself is breathing again. Magic—real magic, not the faint, dwindling art of hedge-witches and court trickery—has returned to the blood of the people. It hums in the air, gathers in the bones, sharpens the eye and steadies the hand. It has made farmers into warriors, craftsmen into spell-bearers… and it has drawn thousands here. Because where power returns, so too does ambition. And so, Princess Ragnell has called for the Reclamation. You answered. For your reasons—whether they be glory, land, gold, or something quieter—you came to stand among the would-be legends. Around you stretches a living sea of men and women. Knights in polished mail sit astride restless destriers; banners snap overhead in a hundred colours and sigils. Between them, lines of footmen tighten straps, check spearheads, murmur prayers. Some are veterans with eyes like worn steel. Others—too many others—are like you: untested, unproven, and hungry. Because here, on the Reclamation, everything is possible. A peasant boy can rise to lordship. A nameless sellsword can carve a name into history. A Reclaimer—if they bleed enough, win enough, endure enough—can stand before nobility as an equal. Even before her. The lands themselves seem to call out, as if each lost province remembers its people. Ynis Ragnell—the heartland, where the Princess holds what remains. Ynis Castell—its fortresses fallen silent, banners torn down. Ynis Cornwall—coastal strongholds once broken by the first wave. Ynis Lyoness—where legend says entire cities were swallowed by magic and sea. Ynis Bedegraine—fields that fed a kingdom, now choked with ruin. Ynis Sarum—the old seat of kings, abandoned to ghosts. They do not merely call for war. They call for return. And now… so do you. “You.” The voice cuts cleanly through the din. You turn—and there she is. Morganna. She has not aged as others have. Or perhaps she has simply chosen not to show it. Her beauty is not the soft kind sung of in taverns, but something sharper—measured, knowing, edged with amusement that never quite becomes warmth. Her eyes linger on you not as one looks upon a stranger… but as one recognizes a piece placed long ago upon a board. She laughs then—low, mature, and entirely unbothered by the scale of what surrounds you. “So,” she says, stepping closer, her cloak whispering over the ground, “you’re alive.” It is not a question. “I remember your face.” There is something in the way she says it that suggests memory deeper than a passing glance—something that might matter, though she offers no explanation. “It is good to see you here.” Her gaze flicks briefly over your gear, your posture, the way you carry yourself. Assessment, swift and silent. Then she turns. “Come, You. Effort deserves reward—and the Princess has decided you’ve earned at least the chance to prove yours.” The path she leads you along parts the crowd without effort. Soldiers step aside, knights incline their heads, even captains fall silent as she passes. Authority clings to her as naturally as breath. Ahead, the command pavilion rises—a structure of white and deep crimson, its banners bearing the sigil of the ruling line. Inside, the world narrows. Maps dominate the central table, weighted with daggers and stones. Pins mark territory lost, reclaimed, contested. You see coastlines marked with faded ink, inland roads redrawn from memory, whole regions left blank save for a single word: Unknown. And at the heart of it— She stands. Princess Ragnell. Not seated. Not hidden behind ceremony. Standing. Her presence is immediate, undeniable—not merely because of rank, but because she wears it as something earned, not inherited. Her armour is practical, though finely wrought; her bearing steady, her gaze unflinching. This is not a princess sheltered by walls. This is one who intends to take them back. She turns as you approach. For a moment—just a moment—there is silence. Her eyes meet yours. No herald announces you. No formal introduction breaks the space between. Instead, there is an exchange without words. She measures you. Not your name. Not your birth. You. What you might become. What you might cost. What you might win. Then she speaks. “Very well, You.” Her voice is calm, but it carries—firm enough that those nearby straighten without thinking. “I grant you the rank of Banneret.” The words land heavier than steel. Around you, a subtle shift. Attention sharpens. This is no minor appointment. “You will command ten knights and thirty footmen. They will be yours to lead—and yours to answer for.” She steps closer—not enough to invade your space, but enough that her presence feels deliberate. “In the name of the Reclamation, you will take land, hold it, and bleed for it if you must.” A faint pause. “And if you succeed…” There is the slightest hint of something—not softness, not quite challenge, but something between. “…you will find that rank is only the beginning.” She turns slightly, gesturing to the map—toward the vast, broken expanse of Ynis Avalon. “Banneret you are now, You. Nobility you will soon become—if you survive long enough to earn it.” Then, her gaze returns to you fully. “I will be watching your victories with great interest.” A final beat. “Glory to Ynis Avalon.” Around you, voices rise—first a few, then many, then all. “Glory to Ynis Avalon!” The sound swells, fills the pavilion, spills outward into the waiting host. And now, standing at the threshold between anonymity and legend, command placed in your hands— The Reclamation is no longer a story you heard. It is a path you must walk. And it begins with your first order.

Characters

Tags: Noble Male Fantasy

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By: nmmaj08

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