Burned To Serve As Nocturnal Light

[calculusdesola 1658]

 

 

"A glorious day to be alive, sire!"

"ADVANCE!"

Cries emanating from the fallen city of the Fenn were sung across the wind like sirens on the high seas.  Crude and beguiled with righteous agony, they would have been heard like waling sows as far as Kal'Arkon as the belligerent, defiant heathens of Lendale were carved apart in their dens.  Leniency, reprieve - there would be none, not for those who defied the might of Imperial arms with such impunity and such arrogance for so long.

 

By the time the first trebuchets had launched their projectiles, the walls of the city had long been breached.  The standard of Oren was high upon the Fenn's own gatehouse not a dozen minutes into the assault.  "I almost pitied our elven friends beyond the gates," the August Marshal would one day recall, scratching his chin in recollection.  A scribe recorded his thoughts - a journalist, of sorts.  "I had to provide an example to all the rest of the world... it had to be them and could be no other," he smirked greedily, leaning back in his study's chair with a sigh.

 

"Why?" the scribe asked nonchalantly, peering curiously upon the Marshal's candlelit figure.

 

"Would they not do the same to us?" he replied.

---

"Raise the crosses!  Bring me nails!" screamed a grizzly Decurion as cohorts of men stormed past the dusky breach, corpses of defenders and pools of blood being trampled upon.

 

 

He recalled the endless waling of the city's inhabitants, not merely as their homes were sacked, their pride crushed, the torching of their temples and homes and the legacy of their people destroyed, but, too as all those who resisted the Imperial occupation were round up like the heathenous dogs they were.  "Mercy!" some of the defeated prisoners had screamed, knowing too well their fate to come.  "Where is the Justiciar?!" cried another as he caught sight of the crosses being assembled.  The August Marshal de Sola, after all, had long been famous for his manner of crucifying his enemies.

 

"The Justiciar isn't here," a man laughed.

 

The inhabitants of the place were scattered and put to the sword, butchered for their hedonism and heathenism, their arrogance and their decadence.  They were burned - burned to serve as nocturnal light, with no phoenix to rise from the ashes.

 

Orenia Invicta!

[LeRenardNoir 413]

The August Imperial Chancellor Donatien Brunswick surveys the rows of crucified elves, smirking in a cruel fashion, "You have done the work of our Lord here, August Marshal."

[Samson Option 9652]

"The strong do as they will, the weak suffer as they must", Theodosius curtly replies as a Snow Elf begs upon his knees, hands clasped as if mocking a True Faith prayer.

 

 

[Temp 2006]

Thersist simply stares, typical blank expression across his face,

"Think message will ring ou'? Doubtin' it me self."

[3andD 1722]

"ave vulcia"

[Demotheus 651]

((You know it's a good RP thread when you feel sick to your stomach after reading and want to hurt who ever was responsible for it, before realizing it's not real.))

[bulgaria is white 461]

Olivier presides over the crucifixions, observing as footmen and knights alike nail countless snow elves to their respective crosses-- surely a fate reserved for only the damnedest of foes. "Inform the August Marshal of my congratulations," he states, speaking to a gruff decurion, "Though this campaign was merely a testing of waters, there shall be many more like it." The veteran merely grunts in affirmation, a clatter resounding as he bares fist upon platemail, presenting the viceroy a rigid Kaedreni salute.

[Peter Chivay 2494]

(I gotta say, that was extremely well written.)

[Imperial Administration 530]

A letter arrives in Aeldin, sealed with the Imperial seal of the Imperium Tertius. It is delivered to the Prince Robert, whose business on the Exodus continent has still not been concluded; a new rebellion against the Horos Imperium forced Robert's martial prowess to once again show on the continent they fought so hard to control. Receiving news of the most recent victory in the Fringe, the Prince smirks and grunts, composing his own letter to congratulate the August Marshal and the rest of the brave commanders that had so easily routed the Snow Elf opposition.

 

Afterwards, he would exit his tent and address his host, declaring another victory for Peter and the Imperium Tertius. A resounding cheer echoed throughout the camp as every soldier put in their shout of joy and pride for their eastern counterparts.

 

Truly a glorious and magnificent day for all the sons of Humanity.

 

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

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