Welcome to the official Remnant conclave. May the mad iron war-horse of Chesticlese guide your flight and the lance of Maeday the Hoplite smite your enemies.
There is a story of a time when heroes and demigods raised a nation under one banner and fought on a forgotten world known as “Stratia”. However, generations of warfare eventually rendered the planet inhospitable, bringing a halt to the people’s cultural practice of battle. Warring clans, under an uneasy alliance, merged their remaining technological resources in hopes of the future generations survival among the heavenly bodies.
Years became centuries and contact between the fleeing refugee groups as well as their home planet had long vanished. The last known sect of Stratian descendants cut out a living where they could.
Crossing paths with a Banu Merchantmen, a traveling bazaar offering rare oddities, possessed an artifact with inscriptions matching those from the book of their ancestors. Unknown to the Banu traders of the object’s origin, only an account could be given from a the mouth of a derelict drifter before dying from neglected wounds. A tale of a river planet that flourishes with wildlife among enigmatic ruins.
Devout followers received it as a sign, no, a call. The old forces have returned and their home world is reborn from dust, it must be reclaimed. Some remained skeptical as peculiar items are not rare among the universe. Why take the risk when living among the stars had proved lucrative for them?
Apostles, scholars of the Tome of Stratia, came forward. By using any newly found artifacts and the Tome of Stratia, they believed they could fashion a map of sorts leading to the home of the ancestors. The idea of a lost world filled with forgotten heritage and riches unimaginable now appealed to the faithful and greedy alike.
Thus, the sons and daughters of Stratia have once again united under their ancestral banner. A symbol displaying the “Severed Head of Tyranny”, her tears quenching the thirst of the devout. They now find themselves playing a desperate gambit, some for personal gain, others for a chance to rebuild what was lost. Can they reclaim their birth right or will they succumb to annihilation?
Who are the Remnants?
Soldiers, heroes, villains, scum; it matters not.
We were not made Remnants, we were chosen.
Hymn to Stratia
First Verse
Meadow glens round river bends,
Clear blue skies that never end,
Rays of sunshine that fall like gold,
Stratia’s a place called home.
Southern plains where traders reign,
Valour knights to protect their gain,
Scented oils and silks of gold,
Stratia’s a place called home.
Even the weak can live in peace,
Every man can peacefully sleep,
Heaven is a land I know,
Stratia my long lost home.
Second Verse
Blood soaked fields that mark the losses,
Bracken marshes flush with corpses,
The city docks where slaves are sold,
Stratia’s a place called home.
Endless deserts run by bandits,
Mercs and murderers that run rampant,
No ones safe, the young, the old,
Stratia’s a place called home.
Every man that wants a piece
Prays upon those that sleep,
Heaven is a land I know,
Stratia my long lost home.
The Remnants abide by an ancient code of conduct inscribed in the Tome of Stratia.