Declaration of War 1728

[Ioannis 1480]

 

The clash of bloodied steel and the screams of men pervaded the Grand Prince’s senses, drowning out his young son beside him- a youth of twelve tugging on his father’s sleeve. 

 

“Father! Father- are you even listening to me?”

 

Aelthos blinked, suddenly darting his head over to see his son. He saw the young prince, Aldred, peering back at him with concern, but also the curiosity that was characteristic of all children his age. 

 

“My apologies, son. I’ve just been preoccupied with business lately. Forgive me, for I don’t mean to ignore you,” he confessed, taking a few deep breaths as he turned his attention back to the fireplace before him. How long had he sat there, staring into the same flames he had seen so many times before? How long would these memories intrude his conscious at every waking moment, fill his mind at even something as mundane and routine as the Ivae’fenn sparring in the Citadel?

 

The War of the Two Emperors was no far-flung memory. Although Tahu’Lareh had avoided the wrath and bloodshed of the war, its people had not. Many still bore the scars of the conflict, whether external or, as was the case with Aelthos, internal. The Princedom had recovered miraculously in the decades after, but imprinted in its history and conscious was the folly of joining Joseph’s war.

 

“What’s wrong, father? I’m not a little kid anymore, you can tell me,” Prince Aldred insisted eagerly, habitually resting a hand on the hilt of the shortsword given to him just two Elven Years ago.

 

“Look at the young warrior you are,” Aelthos laughed, seeing so much of himself in the child. However, that self had been shattered upon the realization of what war truly was. Good leaders saved their people, allowed them to live in peace and prosperity. War was the opposite of any of that, thus it was the course of action no monarch should take. 

 

That said, a far greater duty of a monarch was to preserve the strength and pride of both himself and his people. Llyria, a decrepit state which had been on the verge of making peace with the powers aligned against it, had now decided to renegade on the treaty it had established not even a year prior. In this act, the Empyrion showed that he cared naught for the safety and pride of his people, only personal vanity. This weak, fledgling state would soon learn what it meant to trifle with Fenn and break sacred pacts on a whim.

 

“I won’t lie to you, Aldred. We are on the path of war once again. The Llyrian Concord has turned its back on the treaty that we had made not long ago, and thus spat on our very faces. I, as Prince, must fulfill my obligation to defend our honor before those who try and trod upon it,” he explained, ruffling his son’s hair. “Do you understand?”

 

Of course, a broken pact was not the sole reason for the war at hand. The Empyrion of Llyria had made many enemies in his short time as a ruler. The Sohaer of Haelun’or, Dimaethor Visaj, had so passionately decried the dark mages, demons, and degenerates that Llyria harbored within its walls. He had played a great role in helping convince Grand Prince Aelthos to declare war upon the Izalith-state and purge the world of the scourge that the descendants had fought against for so long. King Utak Ireheart has his own grievances as well- the Underking had accused the Llyrian Concord of holding several relics sacred to Urguan. 

 

“I think I do,” Prince Aldred said reluctantly, fidgeting with the hilt of his blade. “Will I fight?” he asked, puffing out his chest to try and make himself look stronger. The child was still idealistic, ignorant of the realities of war. All who marched to Helena were the same way- up until the first volley of arrows flew from the walls of the city.

 

“No,” Aelthos spat harshly, slamming a fist into the arm of his chair as he looked to his son. The boy had turned pale and begun to back away from his father, tears forming in his eyes. The young prince sputtered, trying to speak, but could only whimper a muffled “sorry”.

 

The Grand Prince’s gaze softened, and he rose from his chair. He had not meant to scare his son, but the thought of losing his youngest child to war struck an even greater fear into his heart. Walking over to Aldred, the Grand Prince embraced his son, patting the child on the back as he too apologized. The young prince, no longer near crying, stood silent, dutifully listening to his father as he spoke. 

 

“I won’t have you carry the burdens that I do with every step I take. Learn to laugh, learn to love, learn to live, for once you make the first step towards the descent into violence, these are all you will have to keep from succumbing to the draw of battle,” Aelthos muttered, as much to himself as to his son. He then let his son go, patting the boy’s head as he began to stride away. “Go to bed now, Aldred. We will speak again in the morning.” The boy obeyed, waving ‘goodnight’ as he trudged up to his room.

 

For the Grand Prince, however, the night was still not over, for he had a letter to pen:

 

“To the Empyrion of Llyria,

 

Your pathetic attempts to turn your back on the treaty we made but a few Elven Days ago have not gone unnoticed by myself. We demanded that you cede the tract of land occupied by the spider cultists, a term that your council agreed to. Now, in autocratic fashion, you have turned against their good judgement and are trying to placate us with a paltry sum of minae. It is now clear that you do not seek a resolution to this conflict, thus it falls upon us to bring one to you. Your vile, malevolent citizens will fall by the blades of our united front, and I will personally mount your head atop a spike in the middle of your square. The malformations you harbor will be slaughtered to extinction, and you city will be returned to the mire from whence it came. 

 

There will be no negotiations this time, you have already seen to that.”

 

HIS SERENE HIGHNESS, Aelthos of the Tundrak Bloodline, third of his name,

Grand Prince of the Princedom of Fenn and Mali’Fenn, Patriarch of the Tundrak Bloodline, Protector of the Idhren’tirn, Hesin’fin, Commander of the Citadel of Acael, Protector of Tahu’lareh, the chosen of Wyrvun, etc.

 

[Vindicant 642]

“Not seeking resolution my ass you war-hungry blaggarts.” remarks red man. “You beg for war, for nothing else shall sustain your bloodthirst. To think I aided you in war.”

[Ducklingator 795]

“Well, ****.” Lilach says upon hearing of this.

[Orinoken 52]

*Huntek M’Buni sniffs the air the cold running through his body, him drinking booze outside*  “Wah a beautiful day eh?”

[Ballentine 218]

Chrom’ilvya smiles faintly from her bed in the clinic, winching as she reads the declaration “Am I pulling rank now, Magnus?” 

[mmat 7460]

Slightly to the south, Prince Avius narrows his eyes upon looking at the declaration. Though, it seems that his antipathy was not due to any sense of passivity, instead he spoke to himself.

 

“How I yearn for battle.”

[GodmodeGolem 146]

GOLEMS WILL SMASHHH EDGY WIZARD PEOPLE

[Ankan 2875]

Sohaer Dimaethor Visaj summoned the Silver Host, rows and rows of white steeds left the Haelunorian stables, heading east, to then ride south. The time had come for the Dark Mages to be cleansed from the realm.

[Monkee 7369]

“They make obvious the fact that they intended on simply returning the cultists to their land. It is lamentable that they went back on their word,” states Vytrek.

[ABruhMoment 609]

2 minutes ago, Vindicant said:

“Not seeking resolution my ass you war-hungry blaggarts.” remarks red man. “You beg for war, for nothing else shall sustain your bloodthirst. To think I aided you in war.”

“Your Empyrion harbors spider cultists and casts aside treaties already set forth by our nations. We will not stand for slights against our glorious Princedom.” A certain Snow Elven Commandant would comment.

[Gustando 1990]

Jeff prepares his pitchfork and torch

[UmbreScye 535]

Uppori Visaj would stare at the declaration, frowning deeply. “War.. Again.. When will we ever find peace?” She would stride back home, an apparent sigh escaping her.

[Nectorist 12869]

Prince Aldred starts making a fake beard so he can pretend to be a grown adult who can go to war

[Punkinator919 116]

Datura Ithil sighs at the idea of war, “Something tells me we might need to stock up extra for the tavern soon...”

[Mickaelhz 4300]

Utak Ireheart, King of the Dwarves, makes his way over to Fenn, whistling a fine tune on the way.