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Location: Edmond, Oklahoma

Practice: 1 to 4 Sundays and 12 to 4 Saturdays at fink park

Gradmasters: Niall O'Connor and Garth Kendrune



Colors: Red, White, Dark Blue, and Silver

Founded: October 2010

Background story

A tattered flag appeared over the crest of a hill, followed by a warrior in gleaming armor with thick red hair. He surveyed the land with mild dismay, then turned and beckoned to someone invisible behind the hill. A girl with shining blue eyes and an arm full of javelins joined him, slipping her free hand into his.
"Welcome home, Niall," she murmured.
The warrior snorted bitterly. "This is no home yet. Not for anyone. I'm not blind." He looked out over everything. "It's a wasteland."
As they spoke, several others clinking in armor joined them on the top of the hill. Before long, an army had formed behind the pair. One of them, a barrel-chested fighter with a tangle of dark curly hair looked distastefully at the land before them.
"We're fighting your father for this?" he asked. "Why do we not simply leave and find a new land for you to rule?"
"Because this land is his blood," growled a voice from behind the questioning soldier, and a dark-skinned, brooding warrior stepped forth, holding a massive greatsword. "And we will defend his destiny to rule."
The soldier bowed his head and stepped back. "As you say, Garth."
There was an air about the Garth's voice that commanded respect and obedience from the men without shouting or barking. He went to Niall, putting a hand on his shoulder. "It is time," he said. "Are you ready?"
The redheaded warrior nodded. "Let's rid this land of that tyrant."

Within the castle that rose high above the wasteland, the tyrant king sighed from his throne at the guards that stood before him holding a shivering peasant between them.
"And what is this man's crime?" the king asked boredly.
"He was heard speaking the name of your son," the guard replied.
"Me?" asked a thin, pale man from a smaller throne beside the king in a high, whining voice.
The guard rolled his eyes and sighed. "Your other son, Majesty."
"Niall?" the king clarified.
"Yes," affirmed the guard.
The king's fists tightened. He turned pale with rage, then flushed. "Niall is banished!" he shouted at the peasant. "He murdered my two other sons! He vows to steal my throne from me; his name will NEVER be spoken within these borders!" the tyrant raged. "Take him to the dungeon and put him on the rack," he ordered the guards. "Brand that name into his skin with hot irons!"
The man was dragged away screaming, and the king relaxed into his throne, rubbing his temples underneath his crown.
Suddenly, the sound of shouting outside in the hall floated into the throne room, followed by a resounding BANG on the oaken doors. The king and his scrawny both sat bolt upright and looked with surprise at the doors. One more BANG and the doors swung open and an army burst through, led by the dark-haired woman who flung a javelin directly at the throne. It missed the king's face by inches, burying itself into the upholstery of the chair.
"GUARDS!" the tyrant shouted, and soldiers poured into the room. The captain of the guard was met by a smaller man with a short beard and a sword so large it could have been the sail on a small boat, and the two of them locked in combat. The woman with the javelins hung back, picking off guards with deadly accuracy. A blonde man rushed in and darted around stabbing men in the back with a tiny dirk while they fought the rest of the army as it pushed its way into the room.
Two warriors, however, did not join in the fray. Niall and Garth strode straight through the room, ignoring the combat around them, right to the throne and the two terrified rulers still standing there. Father and son drew their swords and Niall came at the kind blade singing. The two locked in combat while Garth and the sniveling prince flew at each other.
The battle was fierce, and the first to drop to his knees in defeat was the king's favored son, brought to the ground and held there at bladepoint by the dark warrior. Beside them, the tyrant king and his banished son strove with each other with heavy swings and quick jabs until finally the king swung at Niall too hard, the redhead ducked, recovered, and knocked his father's sword away, forcing him to his knees with a sword at his throat. The battle around them ceased as one by one the guards realized that their master had been defeated and dropped their weapons.
"Go on, then," the king spat. "Do it. I ain't king anymore," he removed his crown and threw it aside. "Kill us. End our misery."
Niall glared at him for a moment, then lowered his sword. "No, Father," he said. "I'm not like you. Take your son and leave this place. Leave this kingdom and never be seen within these borders again." He stood aside as the two of them rose to their feet and began to trudge, humiliated, to the door. After a moment of silence, the throng of warriors broke into a victorious cheer and began to chase them out of the castle. They chased them through the village and the fields, peasants joining in the parade as it went. The army chased the two men all the way to the border of the kingdom.
"I'll be back!" the old man screamed as he disappeared into the forest. "You'll be sorry!"

Still within the castle, the woman and Garth both came to Niall, who stood panting, staring at the door. Garth picked up the crown from the floor and placed it on Niall's head. "This kingdom is yours now," he said.
Niall looked at both of them, and a smile spread over this place. "From this moment forth, this land, the land of Soluna, of the sun and moon, shall forever be free! We shall rule it together, peacefully, and by honor." He grinned at Garth and patted his shoulder.

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