Fly the Red, Hoist the Flame

[Anisgar 585]

Fly the Red, Hoist the Flame

*A letter is sent to the Nordish chieftains and their ilk en masse sent forth from the Eyrie of Pinemarch. Upon it the sigil of the Edvardssons would be imprinted

 

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         To all the broad children of the Father. Those who bear the Father’s flame in their hearts. Those whose veins flow with the blood of the Rurikid, the Nordish. I call all of the blood and the flame to the halls of Pinemarch. You may not know of me so I shall speak of myself. I am Godric, a son of Edvard, by way of Thoromir II. A 2 scholar of our history and student of the Father’s teachings. Yet most of all I am Nordish. The Nordish realms have fallen to disrepair, the clans are scattered, the Hearth scattered and lacking leadership. 

 

         Thus I call this Folkmoot, this gathering of all Nordish peoples, of all Fatherists. We shall meet in Pinemarch and discuss the future path of our peoples. Around the Holy fire shall all chieftains gather. And we shall discuss the following.

 

Topics of Discussion

-Blood Feuds, between the Nordish and with Foreigners

-Nordish laws

-The Nordish clans

-Dealing with traitors and apostates

-The Future of the Faith

-Grievances of the Rurikid

-Grievances of the clans and the freemen

-The Future of the Realm

-The Future of Pinemarch

 

         For too long have I stood idly by and watched the fate of our people meander down the dark roads of the future. For too long have I been engaged in travel and study. Their exist slights to our noble people that cannot go unanswered. Amongst our people remains bad blood, foul feud. The Fire of the Hearth burns low, unkept and lacking a keeper. For the last century we have moved from hovel to hovel. From tiny wooden village to tiny wooden village. Seeking to avoid the ails of the world not with our grand walls and strength of arm. But rather with our simple lives. Trusting that our smallness of scale would keep us safe from those who would destroy us. Once more the Red shall fly from the high hall. Once more the pyres shall be lit. Arrive at dusk on the morrow. Hark, come the Nordish.

(8pm est tonight)

 

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Writ en Namen de

Godric,

 

 

[ferdaboy 3472]

‘I’ll be there to claim my father’s armour’, says a Fiscere man.