Thrashing Birds

[Slic3man 484]

 

Sariants prepared themselves for the days to come, with machines of war wrought in a waking of what may be called a rebellion. Each day called for another meeting, and an eventual side to be taken. At one point two wolves held each other with gnashing jaws. One of nigh archaic origin, and another of new and sprawling corruption. Choices offered their hardened hands out, to which the Hochmeister took one.

 

 

Shouts were heard back and forth from within Kreuzberg, where it seemed the cold never dulled any second spent there. Swords were being hammered against anvils of steel, where as some began notching their bows. Sariants marched one by one to line the courtyard with stern stances. Before long, each stood on their own, one hand on the pommel of their blade with the other at their side. Seconds turned to spare minutes before the Hochmeister stepped out from within the depths of the fortress, and began to speak.

 

"Today we gather for another seeking to test their merit in the game of not intrigue, but battle. We band together, for the need of many but what few desire. The world is but a man himself, plagued with its own wretched illnesses. Now we watch as it puts its hands forth in pleading fashion, tears coursing from its lakes and rivers. One hand lays blackened, decrepit and devoid of life. The other seethes light, eager for the grip of a blade. To this day, we as the Teutonic Order shall give this hand its blade, and it will amputate the plague that seeks to tarnish the world's blessed body. Leave no mongrel alive, not for your own good, but for the Creator and his land's right to remain unscathed! Let the Tarus begone the days of Carrion deceit and toss them into the pits of the Nether where they belong!"

 

Each Sariant then raised their blade repeating the remembered words at the top of their lungs. They had no need for such breath anymore, now was the time of action.

 

"Meinae veri beliae doe Orden,

Meinae veri beliae doe King,

Meinae veri beliae doe usielligen!"

 

 

The voice of each Sariant rang out as one deep symphony of unhinged lust for purification. Long had the chosen of the Creator awaited their chance to redeem what their enemy had done to the Creator's land. Now their blades were held tight, and each thirsted for the blood of corruption. For too long had the vultures swept in and stole what was not theirs. For too long had the birds prospered from the remains of others, now was the time to thrash these birds into submission, send them back to their graves. What decaying flesh, Carrion, remained in the mighty beast of Oren was to be swept away with one quick slash of a blade; the rebellion its surgeon.

 

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[Vekrus 396]

Slade nods in approval.

[osumanduas 1442]

"Meinae veri belaie doe Orden, Meinae veri belaie doe King, Meinae veri belaie doe usielligen!"

[Swgrclan 2682]

..and tucked within the stone confines of brick and mortar stood the Holy Sakral at his pedastle; the resounding boom of a speech reberated through the tunnels of Kreuzberg, leading to it's depths where the Savric chapel had been carved. The Sakral, unfortunately, could not attend this battle of ages -- God wills him to remain in the depths to pray for the (true) sons of God in their trek toward victory against the Carrion regime.

The Sakral draws a Sariant cross in the air, uttering a Savric prayer under his breath:

"Meinae veri beliae doe King,

Asere eru seine Svaerd,

Tvoraue segnen unsere Stahl." 

[Kickstarted and Running 965]

May Carrion be consumed by their namesake!
 
Meinae veri beliae doe Orden,

Meinae veri beliae doe King,

Meinae veri beliae doe usielligen!

[Galendar 631]

"Meinae veri beliae doe Orden,

Meinae veri beliae doe King,

Meinae veri beliae doe usielligen!"

Says the hardened plebeian. His past years in the order led him I become one with the order, finally separated from his old life. He saw the Hochmeister as a father, and, since he was family, he kind of was. Grant followed Edric up to the emplacements, nodding as he took orders, he then ran out to do such. All of a sudden, over the intercom, one thing is heard...

"Since their lost and alone, and they're sinking like stones, how will they carrion~ hahaha... Ting dink!" The intercom went off with the typical ringing of bells.

[Zezimus 1523]

Morgrim stands in silence, his shadowed silhouette cast across the ground as he peers out from over the battlements of Kreuzberg. It had been almost a year since his arrival from the lands of Urguan. Yet, in the short time he had been with the Order, he had come to know them as brothers. For that, he would fight with them to the bitter end. With a great roar, he raises his war axe into the air, booming from within his lungs the same words. 
 

"Meinae verih beliae do' O'den,

Meinae verih beliae do' King,

Meinae verih beliae do' usiel'igen!"

[Lefty 1696]

Igor screams in his native tongue

 

"PÓG MÉ HÓN CARRION SCUM!"

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.