Somewhere far, far away, a wayward son of Leonid 'The Martyr' Vilac patiently awaited the day he would be enthroned his father's honouraries.
"Can't wait!" Laszlo, a true-born of his line, exclaimed with a devilish grin.
Vasily, the last of his line, rejoiced that day.
"Blessed Saint Arpad smiles upon us, upon our victory, and upon the mountains of dead Haense-men littering Middelan's blood-soaked fields."