A Missive from the Duke

[sophiaa 778]

 

 

A Missive from the Duke

Issued Winter 1735

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          The unblooded man is always he who thirsts most for blood. Once more we stand on the precipice of disaster. Once more we, leaders of the mortal realms commit untold thousands to die. The sky is filled with the missives of war, promises of bloodshed and conquest, threats and boasts. Their senders, unblooded, untested in war. Yet assured of their victory and dominance in the arts of war. The fae eldar. Savages to a one. So primitive they still lay amongst the beasts, cloth themselves in rough fur and leaves. So craven they burn their own homes rather than face their foe. The Fenn, a race with the unmatched record for most losses in war, not to mention their proclivity for sexual degeneracy. 

 

          My own nation is one of the few who have known war. Known her harsh humours as one comes to know the humours of a lover. Endless days spent sleeping under a foreign sky, dreaming dreams of men about to die, screaming in fear as their fate unmanned them. Witnessed the tides of blood flowing from the gates and walls of Helena after that most brutal of sieges. We, children of Morsgrad have known war more than any who know beat their chest as apes. We Morsen, of both Renatian and Nordish descent fled the Heartlands to avoid further war. As a boy I watched the corpses of my uncles, my fathers, my brothers, my friends all pass me by. Each carried to the pyre upon their shield. The Great war bled my people dry. Yet you are all so eagre to run headfirst into the butchers maw. Not knowing what lurks beyond.

 

          The savage elves killed an Orenian envoy in cold blood. I have no knowledge of affection for the man. But by my oaths I am obliged to once more send my precious citizenry to war, as my forebears have done so many times before. For this, most grievous of crimes. There shall be no forgiveness. There shall be no peace, no surrender, should the lands of man lie destitute. The last imperial dead on the field. Then I welcome the savages to come and die on the cliffs. Your cities will burn as they have burned before. I shall put your filthy people to the sword. I shall salt your fields, fell your trees. Only when death finally takes you will you know peace.

 

Before us lies only victory. The nation of war marches.

 

          To those seeking refuge from war. Seeking peace in times of chaos. Who fear for their lives, for their security. To you I open my gates. Within Morsgrad you shall find shelter, food, and warm clothing. My soldiers. Greatest in the world shall protect you. And within my walls you shall come to no harm. I am a peaceful man forced to war, but where we may. Let us preserve peace, and the sanctity of life. May the lord have mercy on us all.

 

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[Ixli 1472]

@iMattyz

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