The World's Thane
|The World's Thane|
|Titles||The Risen Queen (defunct)|
"The ancient glory of Constantinople, the silent grandeur of Aachen, the wild joy of Mecca, the engines of Ctesiphon, I have seen it all, fought for it all. But now I fight for myself, my people!"
The World's Thane, at the moment of her ascension
A mercenary Hour and sellsword, she attempted to reach apotheosis and unite her people only to be struck down by her closest aides at the moment of her greatest triumph. Few know of this dead Hour, fewer yet know of what she has become, but many know of the face she wears now...
Once, during the Ancient War, there was a warrior-princess. She was heir to two things. The great city of Copenhagen and a proud mercenary tradition. While waiting for her inheritance of the former, she plied her trade at the latter along with the force of the war-brothers and sisters she brought with her. Sailing south across the Volga and the Don, she sold her blade in the service of the occult powers of the Mediterranean. The Islamic states allied with the Spirarch paid her to reave the coasts of Marseilles, the Byzantine Empire of the Monument heaped fortune upon her to fight their battles, she accepted the coin of the Carolingians loyal to the Rotted Ox to slay champions, she captured cities in the name of the Sassanian's patron of the Flint-and-Steel. But far more than coin, she amassed a vast hoard of occult knowledge and artefacts, and when she returned to assume the throne of Copenhagen, she was an independent Name, an immortal, a power center in her own right and a true power in the Ancient War. Rulership did not change her. With her new power and a nation behind her, she became a true power-broker of the Ancient War, more than just a mere mercenary but she who held the balance of power. This she parlayed into more power, more knowledge, better artefacts, deeper secrets, until one day she returned to Copenhagen for her triumph. She assembled the Jarls and petty kings of Scandinavia, the Norse Vikings all before her, experienced raiders and warriors and some Long themselves, to the man. They all knelt before her upon a bleak hill on the highest point in Denmark as the first rays of sun split the heavens as she invoked her power and ascended to the might of an Hour, honouring proudly she who would lead their people to a new age. But the great powers of the Ancient War had taken notice of her ambitions and grown wary of them. What they did not need was a new contender among them. They corrupted to their side her chief lieutenant and put aside their rivalries to create a great weapon capable of slaying a young Hour. And at that moment of apotheosis, as the Jarls and Long cheered and hailed their new High Queen, her chief lieutenant struck. But in betrayal, he himself was betrayed. The weapon he was supplied, the mechanism, it was not a blade, but a bomb. Copenhagen was levelled, the assembled flower of the Viking people slain, and the newly ascendant Hour dragged screaming to death. But she did not stay in Nowhere for long. The souls of the betrayed are the heart of Our Lady. And she became its mind...
The corpse of the youngest Hour. See Our Lady Betrayed for what she has become
Moth, for how she wandered and saw and yearned. Edge for the strength of her blade
As a dead god she is not worshipped. Nor is she worshipped in her Nowhere-form
(Eldritch Copenhagen think of a name later)