Crispin de la Rochefoucauld

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Midrealm Crown Tournament, 2022.
Heraldry

Sable, a lion statant within an orle of chain Or.

The Ballad of Sir Crispin de la Rochefoucauld

In the damp and bloodied fields of Flanders, in the year of our Lord 1317, Guy VII, Baron de la Rochefoucauld, did stray from hearth and honor. There, amidst the clangor of campaign, a woman bore him a son—a child named Crispin, born of noble blood but bastard fate. The mother, cloistered at the Couvent des Carmes for her “maintenance,” faded from record, while the boy was left to the quiet shadows of a monastery in Hospitael.

Though the Baron gave the boy his name, no inheritance followed—only whispers, glances, and the long reach of shame. The Bishop of Angoulême, Aiguelin de Blaye, struck with righteous fury, and Guy’s open sin was added to the list that led to his excommunication. He died as he lived—loyal to king if not to wife—at the side of Jean II on the bloodied ground of Poitiers in 1356.

Crispin, unacknowledged by his nine half-siblings, grew in cloistered halls among ink and iron. He studied scripture, learned the clerk’s quill, and tempered his spirit with quiet resolve. But fate is a hunter with a keen nose, and in 1332, knights of the Order of Saint John darkened the monastery’s door. Some saw promise in the boy and offered him steel in hand. And so began his education in arms—whenever duty and devotion allowed.

In 1337, as France rang with the call of the arrière-ban, and England's blockade choked the lifeblood of Flanders’ wool trade, Crispin took up his satchel, his sword, and his name—and walked into the world to make his fortune, or be broken by it.

In This Current Middle Age

Long centuries passed—or perhaps only a dream—and the same Crispin was born again in the Middle Kingdom, where history and imagination dance.

He took first to the rapier, nimble and quick, before the weight of mail and plate called him to the field of armored combat. In time, he was squired to Count Alaric le Fevre, and under his banner, began to shape not only his skill, but his path. He rose in service: standard bearer to the Cleftlands, then armored champion, then commander of the Northern Oaken war host for three full turns of the sun.

In those years, he was not only warrior but steward—master of events both great and small. He brewed meads that warmed the soul, painted scrolls that honored the worthy, and shaped wood with patient hand and practiced eye. He served as quartermaster, keeper of the Cleftlands’ stores; and later as Minister of Arts and Sciences for both barony and region—gathering, guiding, and guarding the spark of creativity.

In times of war, he stood tall: as Lieutenant General of the Midrealm host and later as its General, leading warriors into the Pennsic fray beneath the Dragon's banner. In peace, he bent his will to the care of the realm, holding office as Seneschal of the Cleftlands and Deputy for Hamlets within the Kingdom, tending the roots of the Dream that it might grow strong.

Honors have come, as such things do—not sought, but earned. He was named to the Order of the Red Company and bore the Dragon’s Tooth for valor. He received the Evergreen and Silver Oak for his art and craft, the Gold Mace and Dragon’s Heart for his service, and the Purple Fret for steady hands long at work. In AS 48, he was called forth by Their Majesties Lucien and Catarina and made a Knight of the realm—the 227th of the Midrealm. In time, the Crown also named him Baron, and Lady Gianna Vettori stood beside him as they became the fifth fief-holders of the Barony of the Cleftlands, bearing the mantle of Landed Nobility from AS 52 to AS 56.

He has served queens, kings, and community alike—Queen’s Champion once, and always a champion of others. Whether stewarding a feast or tallying faire scores in quiet corners, he remains a knight not only of sword, but of service.

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Stewardship