Les Éclairs

When Carovingia fell to the allied forces of Elbid and Lemuria, more than two-thirds of its children were left orphaned. Their parents had perished - either at the hands of the Cult of the Leviathan or as soldiers serving it. Others lost their families after the war, as parents were executed for war crimes and blasphemy, or fled the executioners, abandoning their children in the process.

The country itself was shattered, divided into four regions, and placed under the rule of its former enemies. The northwestern portion, renamed Arvoringia, was granted to the Empire of Albion. In response to the orphan crisis, the Empire established vast institutional orphanages across Arvoringia to house the thousands of displaced children. It is within these walls that an entire generation of Carovingian youth has now been raised.

Tainted Youth

The caretakers in the orphanages were sometimes kind, and sometimes cruel - but all regarded their charges with wariness. Their parents had committed atrocities unlike any the world had seen before, and many believed the sins of the previous generation had stained the children as well. The oldest among them had lived, however briefly, under the rule of the Cult - some had surely witnessed, or even participated in, its rituals. But even those who had been infants when the war ended were viewed as potentially dangerous, and in need of firm, unyielding correction.

At first, the children were too young and too frightened to rebel. Many had witnessed horrors in the final years of the war - on both sides. They bore the guilt heaped upon them for their ancestry and, for a time, believed it was theirs to carry. But it was too much. The discipline was relentless, the shame unending. As they grew older, they faced a choice: be crushed beneath the weight of the past - or break free of it.

Break the Chains

As they grew older, they chose to break the chains of the past - spectacularly. At night, they slipped from the orphanages and gathered in ruined manors and ancient graveyards, filling those hollowed places with light and music. They danced until dawn and made love beneath the moon. Surrounded by the remnants of history, they shed its weight, turning the trappings of antiquity into costume and bawdy display. Their parties became legend. They lived for the moment - not for a past that others used to brand them, nor for a future in which they saw no place for themselves. They embraced pleasure, and love, and beauty in the dark. They laughed, they drank, and left behind nothing but scorch marks and scattered debris to mark where they had been.

It is unknown who first coined the term Les Éclairs - the Lightning - but it became their name almost as soon as it was spoken. They seek brilliance: to burn so brightly that the entire world takes notice, even if they are destroyed in the flash. They reject moderation and restraint, choosing instead to be as loud, as lewd, and as bold as they can bear.

The rules of society are shackles. The laws of the nation are chains. The past offers only anchors and pain, and the future is an empty dream. Drink the wine - forget the bottle. Love fiercely today, for the past is suffering and the future is void. Save nothing for tomorrow, for there is no tomorrow - you will never be there. There is only today, and today, and today in endless succession - and only today matters.

The Coming Storm

The youth of Carovingia are angry. They are livid at the past and refuse to carry its weight. They despise the powers that rule them in the present - the self-righteous and the pious who try to brand them with their parents' sins. That anger has become a fierce and defiant pleasure: a revel that burns with light and sound and joy until it sears the landscape and blinds onlookers.

And when the sun rises - when they rise from the ruins they've scorched and the graves they've danced on - they are still angry. Incandescently so.

They will hurl themselves into another party when night falls. But some have already begun to speak of more than parties. So far, the whispers are quiet. So far, most will not listen - they want no goal larger than the next good thing they can feel. But the whispers remain. And when they are tired, aching, and sick from their own pleasures, the words are still there.

With lightning comes the storm.