Common Folk
The Common Folk are weak and feeble soldiers.
Their role on the battlefield is to act as a sacrificial distraction.
Deployed alongside another class, their presence causes the rival throne to lose one soldier (or decrease the power of a Legendary by 1) - this is irrespective of class and the vanquishes list - but the peasant dies in the process.
All deployed peasants - and - any lost rival soldier(s) are immediately discarded and may not be replaced - irrespective of who wins. Their successful sacrifice also acts as a penalty, preventing the use of the rival's spoils, should they win the deployment.
The only time a throne may discard and re-draw with a peasant is if it is the only card they hold.
Peasant
Strength Score: 0
Vanquishes List:
CANNOT VANQUISH
Advantages:
DISTRACT: KILL 1 DEPLOYED RIVAL OR REDUCE LEGENDARY POWER TO 1 & RIVAL GAINS NO SPOILS
Additional:
IMMEDIATE DISCARD (NO RE-DRAW); CAN ONLY RE-DRAW IF THIS IS YOUR FINAL CARD
Peter of Bebbington
COMMON FOLK - PEASANT
In the peaceful village of Bebbington, nestled amidst rolling fields and verdant meadows, Peter knew a life of simple joys and honest toil. Born to humble farmers, he grew up tending the land alongside his family, his days filled with the rhythmic tasks of planting, harvesting, and caring for the livestock. It was a life of wide-open freedoms, where the sun-warmed earth beneath his feet and the gentle whispers of the wind through the fields were his constant companions.
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But all that changed when war came crawling across the fells and down through the dales.
In the dead of night, as flames danced upon the distant horizon and the sounds of battle echoed ever nearer, Peter's peaceful existence was shattered.
Conscripted from the very fields in which he toiled, he could only glance anxiously back towards home where his family would be waiting his return, would live on in confused wonder as to where he had go to. With only his trembling pitchfork in his trembling hands, he as forced onwards into the monarch's army, thrust into a world of chaos and uncertainty.
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For Peter, the acrid tang of war was a stark contrast to the sweet scent of the earth he once knew. In the midst of blood-soaked battlefields and the shattering screeches of pain, he clutched that pitchfork tightly, a crude and woefully inadequate weapon against the horrors that now plagued him. He had no skill in fighting beyond the rough-and-tumble brawls of his youth, no training to prepare him for the grim realities of war.
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As he trudged wearily through the mud and mire of the battlefield, Peter was certain that his life would soon come to a bitter end. Each struggling step he took was a step closer to the looming spectre of death, his heart heavy with the weight of fear and uncertainty.
If there was a God, he prayed for mercy, for solace in the face of imminent peril, and for a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness that engulfed him.
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Engulfed by the clash of steel and the roar of cannons, Peter of Bebbington quivered, a humble farmer thrust into the crucible of war now a reluctant soldier. His fate was certain, his future: no future at all, but within the chaos and carnage, he clung to the flickering flame of hope, praying for deliverance from the abyss of despair.