Brannith Marius
Updated: 6 days ago
Duke of New Rome and Sergeant of the 8th Legion of the Imperial Reman Republic.
"An empire built on terror and shackles is not an empire worth defending. If New Rome is to survive with its honor intact, we must be the shield that protects the innocent, not the sword that enslaves them."
Brannith Marius was born in the heart of the Reman Empire, his childhood echoing with tales of valorous legionnaires and the grand traditions of New Rome. Driven by a fierce sense of duty and honor instilled by his family, he enlisted in the legion as a young man. Brannith quickly proved himself on the battlefield, earning swift promotion through the ranks for his tactical acumen, bravery, and mastery with the spear.
However, upon ascending to the rank of sergeant, Brannith began to deeply question the morality of New Rome's relentless conquest and the enslavement of conquered peoples. Experiencing the suffering on the front lines, he could not reconcile the noble ideals of the Reman Empire with the harsh realities of imperial expansion. Despite his severe reservations, Brannith remained a stalwart defender of the Senate and people of New Rome, resolving to fulfill his duties faithfully while advocating for the fair treatment of captives. He frequently clashed with bloodthirsty superiors who prioritized conquest over compassion, earning both admiration as a principled leader and suspicion as a potential threat to the established order. Rather than joining rebellions, Brannith walked a delicate tightrope between his conscience and his oath, striving to reform the empire from within.
Growing up in the Reman Empire, Brannith was surrounded by veneration for the traditional Reman deities. While he publicly respected the gods and visited shrines with his family, he never felt a personal connection to them. He was particularly disturbed by the creeping cult of Asmodeus among Reman nobles and legion officers, respecting the deity's emphasis on order but scorning its use as a tool for tyranny and power.
Brannith’s worldview shifted drastically in the fall season of 2812 (by the Dwarven Calendar) while stationed at the town of Hammer Home alongside his cousin, Vagus Marius. When an army of undead led by the dread Lich Queen besieged the town, all hope seemed lost. In that dark hour, the goddess Morrigan, the Raven Queen, manifested on the battlefield and bestowed her divine blessing upon the defenders. For the first time in his life, Brannith felt true fear and genuine divine reverence. Inspired by the Raven Queen's blessing, Brannith and Vagus rallied the Reman legionnaires and local townsfolk, turning the tide, driving off the Lich Queen, and saving Hammer Home.
The following spring, Sergeant Brannith was stationed in the small settlement of Sylvanus and tasked with protecting Count Orlock, a corrupt Reman noble appointed
as mayor to bring civilization to the frontier. Brannith embraced the duty whole-heartedly, believing in the civilizing mission of New Rome. Unbeknownst to Brannith, Orlock was abusing his post to acquire dark powers, making pacts with Tiss arms merchants, harbouring criminals, and feeding on the local populace. When Brannith marched out with Orlock to attack a supposed bandit stronghold, they were ambushed by local townsfolk led by a Paladin of the Seven Moons. Count Orlock was destroyed, and Brannith crawled away from the field bleeding and broken. Only during his recovery did Brannith discover the truth: Orlock had engineered a false operation intended to march the townsfolk into a trap to be slaughtered.
Determined to make amends, Brannith returned to aid the displaced people of Sylvanus, who had fled into the woods under the protection of the Lady of the Woods while the village fell to a ruthless Bandit Queen. Gathering a small contingent of loyal legionnaires and spending his own Reman gold, Brannith hired a company of Dwarven mercenaries, an Emerald Folk mage, and the Lady of the Woods to escort the surviving refugees to safety. Along their march, they were ambushed at the Battle of Flat Lick Falls by a coalition of Fae and "Freedom Fighters." The clash proved brutal until primordial nature itself turned against both sides, a miscast spell summoning a furious hornets' nest that halted the battle. Though some villagers reached safety, many perished along the road, a tragic loss that haunts Brannith to this day.
By the fall of 8213, Brannith returned to Sylvanus to see if the region could be salvaged. Under the guidance of The Lady, the village had transformed into a peaceful, thriving trade hub inhabited by non-Reman refugees. Brannith secured the services of the Wolves of Rivera to bolster the town's defenses alongside his trusted Dwarven mercenaries. Despite their efforts, dark omens plagued the town: two powerful vampires inquired about Orlock's fate, a demon roamed the perimeter, rumors circulated of the Staff of Orcus, and a marauding horde of Orcs was repelled at great cost. Late one night, a strange paladin's warnings came to pass as the Wild Hunt swept through Sylvanus, temporarily transforming several villagers into spectral hunting hounds before vanishing by morning, leaving Brannith and the locals with a profound respect for the primal forces of the world.
Following his tenure in Sylvanus, Brannith served in the northern settlement of Skrattafell, where he successfully organized a historic summit between the rival factions of the Alliance of Dwarven Clans. When a horde of plague zombies assaulted the region, Brannith stayed behind to fortify and defend the village of Skrattafell itself, holding the town perimeter while the main battle raged nearby. Later, during the tragic Night of Embers, Brannith remained stationed in the sector but was so bogged down with urgent legion administrative duties that the engagement transpired without his knowledge.
Afterward, Brannith was dispatched to the coastal city of Aquitania, where he commanded legion units on the front lines to defend the port against the invading armada of pirate fleets and Norse sea-raiders. When the horrific Crimson Harvest at Lullin occurred, Brannith was stationed along the Western Road between New Rome and the Dwarven capital, receiving word of the massacre from a breathless messenger days after the event.
Most recently, Sergeant Brannith Marius has been stationed along the sensitive border of the Imperial Reman Republic, positioned where Reman territory touches both the northern Norse frontiers and the borders of the Emerald Folk near their capital of Lullin. There, he stands sentinel at his outpost, quietly using his authority to receive, protect, and shelter refugees fleeing the aftermath of the massacre at Lullin.
Background Information Soul Compass
Full Name/Alias: Brannith Marius Emotional Stability: The Unshakable Martyr
Culture & Origin: Reman Openness: The Visionary
Class: Spear Fighter Core Drive: Altruistic
Level: 8th Conscientiousness: The Duty-Bound Pillar
XP: 88 Extraversion: The Inspiring Crusader
Height/Weight: 6’2”, 223 Agreeableness: The Compassionate Caregiver
Hair/Eyes: Brown/gray, Hazel
Distinguishing Features: scare on left side of face
Primary Language(s): Latin, Dwarven, Western
Family History:
DOB/DOD: 8177 Mother: Portia Lurio
Place of Death/Current Rest: Father: Spurius Laelius Pachomius
Faith: Reman Pahtheon (former), The Morrigan
Political/Social Stats Spouse/Consort: NONE
Reign/Office Held: Sergeant
Title, Cultural: NONE
Title, Class: Vanguard Captain
Title, Royal: Duke
Title, Other:
The sundering of Sylvanus and the Aftermath
Valorous Day - Lyss Day, Month of Sparklin, 8213
Submitted by Sgt. Brannith Marius
By the power of her queen the Morrigan and my own iron will, I was able to drag myself off of the battlefield, having witnessed the death of the appointed Reman governor Count Orlock. Turns out he was in actuality some sort of undead the entire time. This is when I start to question the Reman Senate and their claims of bringing civilization to the wider world. But in this particular case I feel that the village of Sylvanus may be worse for its absence. I have fled the village, but from what I can tell the bandits and (former?) Reman allies, the Tiss, have occupied the town. Most good citizens have fled the village leaving on the bandits and their rebel queen. I will organize the survivors into a band and make for New Dawn, in hopes that we can find protection there. It was my duty to serve Count Orlock, but I secretly thank the Dark Crow that he is dead. One hopes this time he is dead once and for all. This, and I hear rumors of the “Wild Hunt” visiting the lands.
The plundering of Aquitania
Journal of Sergeant Brannith Marius, 8th Legion
18th day of Agonalia, 8218 DC
Location: Aquitania
Date: the 18th day of the month of Agonalia in the year of 8218 The stench of Aquitania still clings to my armor, a vile mix of salt, blood, and the sickly-sweet odor of decay. I write this entry not in the comfort of a proper barracks, but by the sputtering light of a guttering candle, the sounds of drunken Norsemen echoing in the distance. This campaign… this plundering… It was a challenge, but not without its triumphs.
From the outset, we were outnumbered, not just in steel, but in spirit. The lawless chaos of the pirates and the savage fury of the Norse raiders… it was like trying to hold back the tide with a broken shield. We saw good Reman blood spilled, but we also saw courage and resilience in the face of overwhelming odds.
I was involved in several skirmishes, each a desperate attempt to maintain order. We were forced to hire Norse mercenaries ourselves, a distasteful necessity. I thank Jupiter that Thordic Strongfellow proved a capable soldier. He is Auxilia, working towards citizenship, and married to Lucia Valeria Strongfellow. I have seen warriors in the Auxilia perform great deeds, and I have seen many that do not know what end of the sword to use, but Thordic held his own. Lucia Valeria Strongfellow is a true Reman citizen and soldier, a battle cleric with a fire in her eyes that rivals any warrior I have ever seen. She commanded her unit well, her first time leading Reman soldiers in battle.
That Elf, "Bunny of the Woods"... I almost had her. The bandit slipped through my fingers like smoke. She's a slippery one, I'll grant her that. And Vixey Oakthorn, the escaped slave? I never even saw her. She moved in the shadows, a ghost leading a rebellion. One has to respect that kind of dedication, even if she fights against the Imperial Republic and the people of New Rome.
The city itself was a mire of corruption. I saw the Priestess of Neptune wield a fearsome power, a testament to the sea god's reach. Yet, witnessing such displays does little to restore my faith in the old Reman deities. They seem fickle, their blessings as unpredictable and treacherous as the tides themselves. My faith lies elsewhere now.
Valeria Domitia Aemiliana... She is a force of nature, a true Reman. Her methods are direct, and some might call them harsh. But she gets results. She's strong, but I wonder if her strength, like that of tempered steel, is not always the best tool. For every tax collected we made an enemy.
And Marcus Aemilius Severus... a seasoned commander. He carries the weight of command, yes, and he's seen more battles than any man should. But he's not broken. He's weary, but resolute. I feel that I understand him better now. A brother in this, both of us forced down a path that we cannot walk off of. My hope is that he can find peace now that he is gone. Then there was the theft. An Elf Paladin stole the Crown of Pluto from the temple. Sacrilege, they call it. I confess, I felt little. My faith in Jupiter and the old gods died a slow death years ago. I respect the traditions of New Rome, but my path now lies with the Morrigan. But the loss of that artifact... that does worry me. Not for its religious significance, but for its potential power.
That poor tax lady never did find her husband. I wish her, and him, and their family well. It is always heartbreaking to me to see a family torn apart by war and chaos.
To the Dock Master, I am truly sorry i could not protect you better. But the Pirates and Norse attack at the same time, it was just too much, even for me to fight off.
And, after all of that loss of blood and treasure, what did we gain? Nothing it seems, we have returned to the same state of affairs as before, but with just a little less of our souls intact. There were sparks of light: the bravery of our legionaries, the skill of the Auxilia, and the unyielding spirit of the Reman people. I know that we will endure, but sometimes I wonder if it is best to simply “not”.
The Long Road of Reman Guilt
Journal Entry from Sgt. Brannith Marius
of the 8th Legion of the Imperial Reman Republic
Silvan Day of Autumna, 8218 DC
Location: The Western Road, Lower Ravines near the Alliance Border
The falling season of the Crimson Harvest has brought little cheer to the 8th Legion of the Imperial Reman Republic. While the Court of Lullin enjoys its autumn celebrations hundreds of miles away, my detached cohort has been left to rot on this desolate stretch of the Western Road, guarding the deep ravines where our trade convoys constantly vanish into thin air.
My duty, as always, comes before festivals or personal leave. To be frank, I have no desire to attend their abstract luxuries anyway. My short hair and beard grow grayer with every passing season, matching this grim horizon. My mind remains deeply troubled by the moral rot eating away at the heart of the Republic, but out here, I must remain rigidly focused on the iron-clad Law of the Legion: Protect the Supply Line, Ensure Free Trade.
Our absence from the festivities was driven by sheer necessity. A sudden surge in border raids had the air thick with the scent of pine and unwashed barbarians. Two days ago, my patrol finally ran the source to ground. A desperate coalition of Norse raiders and hulking Orc bandits had established a crude forward camp near the borderlands, explicitly intent on ambushing the next dwarven shipment of steel.
I did not hesitate. My tactical mind, honed by years of conflict I can no longer fully believe in, took cold command. Using the fog and the narrow passes to our advantage, I led a swift, disciplined Reman assault. The fighting was brutal and brief—less a glorious battle and more a calculated execution of applied tactics. I wielded my spear with the grim efficiency expected of my rank, focusing entirely on minimizing the loss of my own men. The Norse fought with their usual berserker fury, and the Orcs with pure brute strength, but they lacked the organization and Law that makes our war machine so deadly. The bandits were shattered, their makeshift camp burned to ash, and the immediate threat to the Western Road was neutralized.
It was three days later—just this morning, as I sat exhausted, scrubbing the drying blood from my leatherwork—that the official dispatch runner finally caught up to our cohort. The boy was pale, breathless, and trembling as he handed over the grim news from the Court of Lullin.
A massacre. Vampires. A shocking depth of corruption and chaos tearing right through the heart of the festival.
As I read the parchment, confirming the names of the dead and detailing the unbridled disorder that occurred, I felt the chill of these mountains seep straight into my bones. I missed the slaughter, yet the dispatch brings a cold, crushing weight of failure that settles deeper than any mountain snow. Lullin, a proud city of the Emerald Folk, has suffered a monstrous betrayal—a tragedy that took place just outside the formal rule of our Legion.
Sitting here in the quiet of the ravine, I see the bitter truth clearly: the sickness is rooted in our own moral decay. The Empire's brutal history, the abuses permitted under monsters like Count Orlock, and the long shadow of Reman conquest have completely poisoned the well of trust, driving the other cultures away from us. If only our legions had not sown such hatred across the continent. If only our presence could be accepted as genuine protection, and not a prelude to enslavement, we might have been positioned to prevent this chaos before it ever took root.
I have won a small victory for Free Trade today against common bandits, yet the bloody news from Lullin confirms the ultimate cost of our failures. As a man who secretly reveres the final trust of The Morrigan, I understand that my lonely victory means nothing against the scale of the debt we now owe to the dead. My internal conflict deepens by the hour. The Law was saved on the road today, but the people were sacrificed because the Reman Republic can no longer be trusted to protect them.
The Unlit Campfire of Port Aethelgard
Valorous-day, 26th day of Druidia, 8219 DC
The salt-laden wind sweeping across the docks of Port Aethelgard carried more than just the usual stench of rotting kelp and distant bilge water; it carried the metallic tang of smoke and the lingering dread of a harbor torn apart by war. Sitting alone on a weathered crate just beyond the tree line, Sergeant Brannith Marius of the 8th Legion of the Imperial Reman Republic stared blankly into the dying embers of a small campfire.
Brannith was a soldier forged in the brutal fires of the northern Jotun campaigns and the bloody trenches of the Reman Civil War, a man who lived by the rigid codes of duty, honor, and imperial discipline. Yet, the mission that had brought him to this damp, isolated island was unlike any he had undertaken before.
He had been dispatched on a covert, highly sensitive decree from New Rome to meet with Lady Katherine Crawly, a woman whispered of among the common folk as the "Princess" of Tiss. In truth, Katherine held no royal blood; she was simply a high-ranking noblewoman of the island. But on an isle where the shadow of Asmodeus stretched long and deep, the high noble ladies were grimly dubbed "princesses" because they were said to be spiritually "wed" to the Lord of the Ruby Rod himself.
The purpose of Brannith’s mission was as delicate as it was dangerous. The current Emperor of the Reman Republic, a man who had fought for the losing faction during the bitter Reman Civil War, had been placed upon the throne by the Senate as a calculated overture of peace and unity to heal the fractured empire. But power in New Rome came with hidden chains, and the Emperor had quietly turned his devotion toward Asmodeus. To solidify a secret political alliance and appease the dark infernal influences creeping through the upper echelons of power, a clandestine marriage had been arranged between the Emperor and Lady Katherine. Brannith’s orders were absolute: rendezvous with her in Port Aethelgard, secure her person, and escort her safely back to New Rome.
Hours bled into the night, the crackle of the wood snapping quietly in the damp air as the red coals slowly turned to gray ash.
Lady Katherine never showed up.
As the first pale light of dawn broke over the blood-streaked harbor, the horrifying reason for her absence finally reached Brannith's ears. The port had not been a quiet rendezvous point; it had been ground zero for a devastating naval assault. Pirate armadas raiders had descended upon the coast, followed swiftly by the explosive chaos of ship-to-ship battles between Tissian warships and pirate vessels, plunging Port Aethelgard into absolute carnage.
Staring down at his unbuckled greaves, Brannith gripped the haft of his spear, a heavy, familiar knot twisting in his chest. The secret bride of the Emperor had vanished into the smoke of a burning harbor, and the fragile, bleeding peace of New Rome had just been pushed one step closer to the edge.
Alignment | Lawful Good |
Current Status | Sergeant of the 8th Legion |
Royal Rank | Prince |
Class Title | |
Age | 45 |
Date of Birth | 8173 DC |
Household | House Marius |
Eyes | Brown |
Hair | Salt and pepper, mostly gray |
Belief/Faith | Grew up as a follower of the Reman pantheon, but has come to know the embrace of the Morrigan |
Culture | Reman |
Class | Spear Fighter |
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