A 19-year-old man enters the palace. He wears baggy black trousers and a tight black shirt, over which are a black cape and hood. At his hip dangles a leather scabbard, inside which is his only posession: a plain steel sword, razon sharp, with its blued steel tinged red with the blood of his enemies. He is young, but has a look in his eyes that speek of pain and suffering. In those same eyes also reside the harsh stare of extreme motivation and the icy gaze of a youngster who has killed more than his share of his fellow man.
As he enters, the royal guards attempt to stop him.
Guard: An' who er you then?
GM: That is of no consequence. I am here to see your master. You will take me to him.
Guard: Well yer awful full of yerself, aren't ye? You'd best be goin' home son, the Good King disn't see the likes of you without an appointment,.
GM: Perhaps you misunderstood me. You will take me to him.
The look in the youth's cold, blue eyes could have stopped an axeblow. The guards are visibly shaken by his resolve.
Guard: Right then, if you'll please come with me, sir.... Now, if you'll kindly remove any weapons you may be carryin'...
With one fluid motion the newcomer draws his sword and places it against the guard's throat. The sing of the blade throw the air can be heard from the next room.
GM: Is that what you had in mind?
Guard: Erm... quite. You can put that away. Come along now.
The two guards and the young man enter the throne room of Despot Augustus Jade.
GM: Hello, m'lord. I hope this is not a bad time. I have come to speak with you about important land matters. Do you mind if I sit down? Thank you. Sire, I am here today to ask you for a grant of land. As you well know, we have been fighting a war against the Egyptians mongrels for quite some time now. Now, having a centralized army is all well and fine, but sometimes local defense calls for a local military. My liege, I ask of you a small parcel of land with which I may raise an army to serve you. It need not be anything great, just a few tiles which can feed and arm a small militia that will fight for you. I am no noble, nor am I a great general like your forebears were, but I have done my share of fighting on the borderlands against Egyptians, Barbarians, and Fanaticans alike. I can lead an army in your service as well as any man in this kingdom. Sire, I beg you to grant me this land, that I may forever serve the Crown of Fanatica.
CG: Tell me, lad, what is your name?
GM: I was born Julius Vesuvius, m'lord. But some call me Grandmaster.