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Arteh

We shall have peace

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Godric standing at the gates of Rubern

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TFVrOC8gOhU

 

We shall have Peace

 


 

 

    The orchestra of battle would roar about Godric as he wiped off his blood lathered boots. The cacophony of clashing blade and twanging bow filling the air, complimented by a choir of screams and snarls. Shards of shattered teeth littered the ground, as he’d watch a whimpering figure crawl away. The thing, once a man, was now wracked by a mixture of maddened laughter and sobbing. The back of its head bore the bloodied imprint of a boot heel, its mouth, shattered beyond repair. 

 

Godric grimaced, turning his eyes to the battle raging about him. Haense had sallied out as his men dragged the once Emperor from the cells below. The whimpering man had his teeth set against the stone stairs.There was almost a sense of poetic justice to it all, he mused to himself. To stomp the skull of a man who had threatened him with such a fate. The pathetic figure crawling away now could never rule humanity, despite its flaws, sin, pettiness, and depravity. The races of man would tear down any but the strongest. A beautiful reality that denied all pretensions to law and civilization. 

 

The pitch of the battle would lull as the last of the Haense soldiers were cut down for the third time that day. It never ceased to amaze the young duke how a faction with such a numerical advantage, so much experience in war could be so inept. He shook his head as the song of steel was replaced by one of death. Men begging for mercy, screaming for their mothers with bloodied hands outstretched to the sky. then silence as the cold faced warriors would plunge home their steel. 

 

Godric would spit, before motioning a hand to one of his men; A young member of the Martyrs who had fought himself bloody defending his Duke. “Bring me pen and paper,” he’d say curtly as he waved the man off on the errand. 

 

 


 

A Missive to the Wide Realms of Man

 

    Where is Peace? For I cannot seem to find it? Is it hidden under the endless law tomes and decorum of the southern courts? For all my far searching it seems to elude me. Despite what the ramblings of the scholars. It is not paper that preserves the law. Nor is it ink that preserves the peace. It is men of conviction, men of action, but most of all men of strength. All the paper in the world, all the fancy words and endless codices of law are entirely useless without the weight of the sword. So when shall we have peace?

 

    We shall have peace when the weakness of man is purged once and for all. For peace is the privilege of the strong. For too long have our thrones been plagued by the ineptitude of weaklings. A culture of mediocrity has infested the races of man. ‘Live and let live’ they mutter, chewing upon their cud like the fattened cattle they are. ‘An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind’ they whimper, sitting idly by in the face of injustice. Where are the great heroes and villains of our race? I look upon us now and see nought but those desperately clinging to the status quo. 

 

There are those among you who think me a barbarian. A man driven by his passions, his whims to acts of cruelty, to acts of savagery. They call me a warmonger as I defend those who assaulted and avenge those who are murdered. I am not a kind man. I am not a charitable man. I am a harsh man. I am a just man. For these are the qualities necessary to a lord, a lord must not be ‘good’ a lord must not be ‘nice’. A lord must be a lord. He must serve his people justly in all things, and defend them from all evils. I see far too many who call themselves ‘nobility’ who conduct themselves basely. 

 

Men of status who let insult pass them by, as if they were meek women. The Empress herself professes her ‘distance’ from her husband. Confessing to me that she prefers the bedchambers of other men. While her husband, the ‘Emperor’ pursues an Alf witch. Where has virtue gone from humanity? Where has the strength? How can we expect greatness and heroism as it was in the days of yore if the supposed best of us conduct themselves so basely. Is the church truly so weak? Is the canonist’s belief in their own religious law truly so fragile it is batted aside without comment? 

 

So how shall we have peace? When the rot is burnt out branch, trunk and root from the body of humanity. When the tongue twisters, toe suckers and brigands hang from the slats of my bridge. With the events of today, I know we cannot have peace. For Peter is too weak a man to deserve it. Too weak a man to force it. Haense will burn for their crimes. Andrik can only hide behind the skirts of his woman generals for so long before I root him out from his burrow. 

 

To those nobles of the wide realms of man: Know that today I trod upon the head of this ‘Emperor’, now rendered to little more than a shattered beast. Thrice the forces of Haense and Crown set upon the men of the AIS. Thrice they were slaughtered like cattle. Is this the man you would follow? 

 


 

Godric,

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WARCLAIM

 

TYPE OF WAR AND CBS

Claimant, Denouncement, Historical Grudge (two emperors, seahelm), Assault on an Ally, Murder of Citizens, Breaking Pacts (Western Alliance)

 

ATTACKERS

Alliance of Independent States + Allies

 

DEFENDERS

Haense and Allies

 

WARGOALS

Install Government

 

LOCATION AND PROPOSED TIME

TBD

 

CONTACT INFORMATION

Topman#6336

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Antonius prepares to roam the roads like his ancestors did.

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“We shall have peace” Godric would state as his pages would begin buckling his cuirass. 

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The Duchess of Morsgrad offers a little smile to her husband before making her way down to the training grounds, where she watched her daughter train excitedly alongside the Martyrs. 

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Seated within the temple devoted to Luara, Ailmar Velulaei’onn looked up towards the massive glass dome, smiling brightly. ”The crimes of the dogs of Haense shall be paid for at last. No longer shall they and the Orenian cattle threaten the sovereignty of any of us. Praise Luara, praise Renelia and praise the Alliance!” Ailmar left the temple, and began to prepare for the battles to come.

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“The substance seems to criticize the Emperor, yet the main target is Haense?” Reinhard would mutter, reading over the missive “sensibility is dead just like that Kogami merchant: spontaneous, convenient & just for the sake of it.” he would sip some wine like John de Balain constantly does when making comments “They might be good at fighting but boy do they lack in social skills. Can’t wait to defeat them only to see them randomly angry again in another sovereign state.”

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Ferran stands in a garden on the foothills of Mount Saint Catherine, feeling a cold southerly wind brush against his cheeks. He smiles, looking over fields that barbarians will die in.

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The Kezuhk of Mau'Madur sits upon his throne in the Lur District of the great swamp city. He looks down at his reports from his trusted birds. Among the report is many things, though some notable categories are written larger then others. Things like the death of Klovar from a Nottingham soldier, the arrival of many shipments to the city, and even that of War in the north. So he mutters to himself, "Leht theyr headz fahl off."

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"We shall have peace... they say this after murdering Hansetic soldiers then Imperial soldiers and then kill more Hansetic soldiers. They also fight with bandits. Sometimes I wish people knew how to use social skills to talk in diplomacy to resolve such bloodshed then again these are Norlanders who has no idea what diplomacy is... shame, I guess we’ll see where this goes.”

 

OOC:

We shall have peace! Scroll down and it’s a warclaim post, lol. That’s one funny title.

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“I remember the Emperor threatening to smash in his own Allies’ head; I do not believe that to be a social skill, nor is it diplomacy. Still the issues Godric had were not resolved before more problems came by way of Haense, thus the Emperor was criticized for his weakness and inability to control his own vassal. The man was so weak that his own threat got carried against him.” says Chadmyr

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Marlow packs a few belongings, departing from the human cities, having already had swords drawn on her from both sides.

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Prince Hadolph Tundrak II looks to the missive. “Here they go again...”

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