The Legend of the Laughing Prince

"This story was found in a small wooden chest, slightly burnt under rubble of a small temple in Fendor. Its other contents were too damage to identify, this is the only scroll to survive the journey, it was taken to Arlessa and translated into the new language."

Long ago, when the Empire was nothing more than the dream of an ambitious prince, that prince had a talented court bard, a man named Micah. Micah was a beacon of great jest and zeal for life, and the parties held by Tarvala were said to be among them greatest in the world, not least because of his Jester.

Time went on, and Tarvala went to war, and the parties dimmed as the world fell under his fist, but still the Bard laughed, and played his songs, and wooed the women, calling for a return to laughter and merriment, for the raising of full flagons, rather than swords. But he was ignored, and ridiculed. Tarvala's generals called for songs of great deeds and war victories rather than tales of merriment, they wanted marching tunes and dirges played at the feasting table rather than silly songs and laughter. Tarvala alone remembered Micah, the only one who had ever made him laugh, and kept him in the palace, though he was only rarely called upon to perform for the court. Then, when the Empire finally ruled over all lands, Tarvala saw all that he had conquered, but found he could not enjoy it. He wept, instead, and seeking to be entertained he called for a song of merriment and celebration. Micah came as he was summoned, but refused to play. The Lords of the Land cried out for his head, to refuse the great Emperor, but Tarvala paused, and asked for the reason. Micah bowed, and answered: “My Lord, you have driven the laughter from the eyes of the people, you have replaced merriment with slaughter and warfare, played songs with the sergeant's bark, and games with the sounds of steel. You are Emperor, yes,none can deny the world is united, but your lands are stark, cold, and cruel. So shall be your lot, until the laughter returns.”

Micah stood his ground, and likely would have found death in that hall, but the weary Emperor died that very night. But it was then something strange happened. Something that had never happened before. Markoth came down to the Mortals. He visited the dungeons of Arlessa and granted Micah four gifts; a cloak, a book, a flask, and a lute. The cloak was from Markoth, and marked the wildness of the bard, so that wherever he slept, in a palace, inn, barn or along the road, he would feel rested and at home. The Book was of Vance, bound in the bark of the Irontrees in the far South isles of Andevin. In it Micah was to hold all the stories and songs he learned, and save them from being stamped out by those who feared revelry. The flask was from Bran and contained a firewhiskey that would never run out and could drive men and women to passionate madness. And lastly was the lute, made of moonsilver and strung with hairs from Asha 's head, which would never lose their tune and with which he could grant dreams, sleeping or waking, to amuse and inspire. “Go now, Micah of the Road,” Markoth said when the gifts had been given. “Go, Laughing Prince. Return the laughter to the land, as you must, before the God-Emperor can return.” In the centuries of war since the collapse of the Empire, the Cult of the Laughing Prince has come and gone repeatedly, to rise in one Imperial city, flourish, and be put down all in short order. Viciously opposed by the Order of the Sacred Flame as heretical and dangerous, the Cult has nonetheless survived the centuries. While each different uprising is unique in many ways, they always have certain things in common; Cultists tend to be bards, jesters, whores, fortunetellers, and other varieties of entertainers, with a focus on liberation of the people through song.

Cultists are also notorious pranksters, their existence in various cities having often been revealed through elaborate practical jokes played upon the local nobility and clergy and then either be put down (or vanish) just as quickly. One tale tells of an ambitious Imperial Noble who was planning to use his fathers fortress to launch attacks into the countryside, burning freeholds and farms so that the people would come to him for protection, and then serve in his smithys and armies. The night before the troops first left, the Cultists arrived, spiking their wine so they all slept. When the noble and his men at arms awoke, their fortress was burning, nearly destroyed, and they in turn were required to scatter for aid, leading to peace on that border for decades. They are also, always, led by the Laughing Prince.

Some claim that this is just an impostor, that patchwork cloaks, flasks, notebooks and even shiny lutes are not hard to come by. Others say that it is Micah himself, blessed by Markoth with immortality until his quest is brought to completion, inspiring the Cultists in their tasks. Either way, he is always there, and the priests of the Order of the Sacred Flame had a standing bounty for any man foolish enough to garb himself in such a way. In recent years, as warfare between the Empire and the Alliance begins to frequent, numerous groups have reported seeing a man matching Micah's description throughout the land, not only in Imperial cities, as is his wont, but amongst the Alliance as well, singing silly songs mocking the warlords of both sides, gathering followers both of his ordinary ilk and mercenaries as well. They say he has returned to fulfill his quest at last, and to lead the Laughing Armies. To what cause, no one knows. But Imperials and Allied Nobles alike are preparing for the worst.