The War-Horns Sound

[MajesticOwyn 334]

 

In the valley's of the region known as Cisaltine Gaekrin, a faint booming can be heard echoing through the mountains. As one nears the village known as Cailean, the repeated blasts of Orvar war-horns can be heard closer yet. Within the hold, a sight of organized chaos rages on, clansmen running back and forth, each with their own sense of purpose.

 

War was coming.

 

Clan Orvar were a hardy bunch, the last survivors of an old peoples called the Gorundyr. They had survived Anthos, thrived in the Fringe, and now they found themselves fat and happy in Thales. Steeped in tradition and belief, they adhered to a code. That code had been broken.

 

Nearby sat Ard Kralek, the keep that housed the Adunian's under Eldaril Elendil. Eldaril had proven to be unsavoury, welcoming Orvar under the guise of friendship. A feast turned to duel, A duel turned to war. As the coward Daeglan fell to the axe of Orvar, so did the friendship that Eldaril had tried to build. He protected the man, even in his death, even in light of his cowardice. Clan Orvar left insulted, refused their proper right. Now some closest to Eldaril have harmed one of Cailean, seeking to provoke Orvarian wrath.

 

On the steps of Ard Kralek stands a hooded man, his face hidden by darkness. His footsteps echo in the hall of the keep as he enters, looking about the room for a sign of life. With a shrug, he flings his cloak open, revealing a simple iron axe. In one quick motion, the axe is unhooked and held in hand, ready for its purpose. With a yell, the man drives the axe into the feasting table, its hilt pointing to the Chieftain seat. To a Gorundyr, the message would be clear; War.

 

Upon the board of every settlement in the Cisaltine's, a parchment is firmly glued in place:

 

1st of The Deep Cold, 1466

 

"By Order of Morvan Orvar, war has come to all those who have sworn under the man named Eldaril Elendil. His keep finds its halls overrun with cowards and dishonest men. He has insulted my clansmen, harboured cowards and assaulted my people. Fire and steel will soon overrun his lands and all those within.

The Hundred Sons will not falter until the heads of Eldaril Elendil and Corbett VanCleef adorn our walls. All those who find themselves without home, food, and warmth are welcomed by Orvar, let not all of Adunia suffer for the crimes of their leaders.

 

Signed, Morvan Orvar,

Battlelord of the Hundred Sons,

Chieftain of Clan Orvar,

Patrician of the Empire,

Esteemed Friend of the Empire and its People,

 

*An assortment of runes end the document, their true meaning known to only a few.* 

 

[Monomakhos 1849]

"Kill the dirty adunijani!" Says random Adunian in Oren.

[Abeam 511]

 

 

Alberg Geirbjorn roars out various instructions to the multitude of clansmen and women scattered about, his mighty Dane-Axe being used as a device to broaden his ability to point.  The Lamellar armor he wears is heavy, made up of a chain suit, with folds of plate-metal attached to the chains.  The helmet made from burnished iron, in a traditional Gorundyr half chain-half plate design.

 

Alberg continues his cries, breaking in his instructions to give out a motivational battle-cry,

 

 

"Move Brothers and Sisters!  Ankou sings to us!  Hear his Dirge and let our enemies despair!"

 

 

            

[WuHanXianShi14 0]

"Well t'ere go my vacation plans." Mutters Quinlan.

[Rael 935]

Ehrick snorts.

 

"Eldaril did wrong to snub the Orvar. Now his actions will be repaid accordingly."

[Guest]

Daeglan MacCulloch looks down at what transpires in Thales from the seven skies of the Creator. He speaks soundly to himself, "T'ey start'd a war on behalf of me deat'. Cute. Wonder where the Orvars will go when t'ey die. Likely where'er their precious Odinbadgringrsvenvikrarbjorngeirsson gods are."

 

((My other Adunian's perspective:))

 

Bërich McLeod rolls his eyes as he catches word of this while in Oren. "'Dunia needs t' stop findin' trouble where it ain't strong 'nough to quell it. I'll make a visit, see more o' what t'is is 'bout."

[Hanrahan 2983]

Hamish itches his beard.

 

"Maybe you can also kill my 260 nieces and nephews so I might get a crack at being lord for once."

[Snake Plissken 637]

 

Hamish itches his beard.

 

"Maybe you can also kill my 260 nieces and nephews so I might get a crack at being lord for once."

 

 

Hamish's uncle does not approve. 

[dank 413]

"******* bastards." Corbett grunts.

[cruzazul 2815]

-= 12th of the Deep Cold, 1466=-

The winter winds were bitter. More bitter than they had been in a long while. Pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders, Boris Carrion, Grand Prince of Raev and Justicar of the Holy Oren Empire made his way through the freshly fallen snow, towards the thick stone walls of the Sevstrad, the home of both House Carrion and the Decterum forces.

He stopped to watch a volley of arrows thump into the straw dummies that were lined up against the inside of the barracks courtyard, praising one of the younger and newer Decterum Converts, who smiled in appreciation. Nodding to the officer in charge, Boris gradually made his way up to officer's, smiling politely at those who greeted him along the way.

"At ease, men." He said to the two soldiers stationed outside the officer's lounge, their clenched fists pressed to their hearts in salute. Nodding they stepped to the side, allowing Boris to enter the room. The conversation that had been going on came to an abrupt halt, the sound of chairs being shoved aside and fists thumping against leather filled the room. "At ease, men." Boris said simply, shuffling past the warm fire on his way towards the large, round table in the middle of the room. The officers quickly followed, taking up positions around the map covered table. Boris coughed into the crook of his elbow, before speaking.

"As you may or niet have heard, Clan Orvar has declared open warfare against the remaining Adunians, niet ten days ago. Being one of our vassals, I ordered a few Ruskans to find this Clan, and try and conduct peace talks. They did niet return." He remains silent, scanning the faces of the soldiers assembled. "I've niet heard any word from them. It pains me, but I must assume they were killed. Men of Raev, slaughtered by the hands of these...brutes. This affront to Principality shall niet go unanswered." A low chorus of mumbling spread across the assembly of officers, while others since simply nodded, resting their hands near their weapon belts.

"Am ordering  full mobilization of our forces against brutes of Orvar. Objections?"

A resounding chorus of "Nay" echoed throughout the room. Nodding, Boris straightened up.

"Good. Make fast work, then." The officers quickly saluted, before making their way towards the exit. Within minutes, the sound of bells echoed through Severski and the surrounding lands, calling for the of military forces to rally.

*Notices are spread through the Principality, to all of the Raevir military forces.*

12th of the Deep Cold, 1466

On this day, forces of the Principality of Raev are mobilizing in defense of their Adunian vassals, against the Clan of Orvar. The Clan of Orvar has attacked and killed Raevir men, and has declared war upon Raev's vassals. In retaliation of these crimes against Raev and her people, those sworn to the Grand Prince are to mobilize their forces immediately.

Carry On Carrion.

-Boris Carrion, Lord Justicar of the Holy Oren Empire, Grand Prince of Raev

Credits to Taylor Stir Fry

Oy vey for 4000th post

[MajesticOwyn 334]

Morvan sat in his long house, a lone parchment sitting in his hands. A small smile spread on his face as he read over the note. The Adunians, the dishonourable swine that they were, had to bring in others to fight their war? He laughed at that, his face full of fury.

 

With a nod towards his brother Aeron, he begins to speak.

 

"Tell these Raevir that we received no one wishing to speak of peace, Clan Orvar was unaware that the Elendil man was under anyone. We have shown all those of Oren kindness, offering them food and hearth in our hold. No Raevir blood has been spilled as of yet, someone is lying to them."

Slowly, Morvan begins to rise from his seat, his shield and bearded axe in hand. If Orvar were to stand alone in this, they would remain steadfast. It was not the first time that destruction stared them in the face, they would survive as they always have. Be it cold, scourge, or man, Orvar would fight until the very last drop of blood stained the earth.

[Aedan The Bard 350]

Drakkar sat by a lonely stream, holding his sword in his hands with satisfaction and respect. The blade's runes glowed a bloody shade of red as its master ran his fingers tenderly over its back. 

"Soon," he whispered soothingly to the blade with an eerie air about him.
"You shall feast on the souls of worthy foes, not the blood of base-court vermin..." he smiles grimly.
"Besides..." he adds, "A war against dishonorable esceors is not worth fighting," he says with unnerving peace. "They are not worthy of dying in battle," he mutters as he sheathes Dyrnwyn, "They are unworthy of meeting the edge of our blades..."

[Snake Plissken 637]

The Adunians, the dishonourable swine that they were, had to bring in others to fight their war? 

 

Atlas drags the palm of his hand down his face as he feels his ancestors

frowning upon his fellow Ryme'Val Adunians from above.

[Glyc 234]

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