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To The Heartland Crowns


sophiaa

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1 hour ago, ARCHITECUS said:

 

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—-

 

To Duke Godric,

 

It is true, you have delivered Us a number of defeats. Bruised and bloody, We take Our wounds with vigor, each blow refreshening that indomitable spirit; that burning flame which drove Our predecessors to victory. The blood of the Empire is a singular red, and shall never deplete so as long as We live.

 

You will recall, perhaps familiarly, of the state in which John Frederick found his country. Ravaged and ransacked by years of aggression with a host of Urguanites at his gates, any lesser man would have cowed in to the submission you desire. But this is not the conduct of an Emperor! An Emperor does not abandon his faithful subjects. From the brink of devastation, John Frederick would conquer the world.

 

Our countrymen, renewed by the taste of spilt blood and sweat, enlist in defense of their beloved country. Both lines of ancient renown and lines of promising beginnings flock to the banners, ready to fill the ranks against your chaotic assault. Indeed, your forces have picked and pried at the titan; but it is Our faith and courage that shall wake him from his slumber.

 

We shall meet you again on the field of battle, again, and again, for Ours is one great spirit, and yours many disparate plots.

 

HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY, Peter III Anthony, Emperor of the Holy Orenian Empire, King of Renatus, Salvus, and Seventis, Duke of Helena, Lorraine, and Roden, Baron of Sedan, Protector of the Heartlanders, Highlanders, and Farfolk, etcetera.

 

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“Your ineptitude is unfathomable, you condemn your people to die.” Alaric would say upon hearing of the supposed Emperors response. “Though your ability to  still write despite having your skull crushed is commendable.”  

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46 minutes ago, sophiaa said:

The Duchess scribbles a letter and sends it off as quickly as possible, 

 

“After eight large field battles and countless small bouts of violence, with the A.I.S. winning all of them if you’ve forgotten, I fear nothing. And, in the rarest instances that I feel butterflies within my stomach, I say a prayer and make an offering using the teeth I collected from the curb where your Emperor’s skull was stomped by my husband’s boot.

Good eve and Good luck,
Eleanor Helena”

“Wise words for the Town Matress of Norsgrad surely we MUST heed her.........” signed Ben Ethil of the Ethil family renowned butler of skill and importance.

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“Fight us with your own soldiers, Godric. Not your Renatian puppets.” Tybis says as he drives his blade through Jeremiah Oran.

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1 hour ago, ARCHITECUS said:

 

VQkz93EdrG7MO0jCFkzkMe8FIhAwsbH-UjJs364gn4h6nDPrycTfN3ZXdyekbbaBVhKl01GbKkDVHZqdiDQGqLHwurDTx41a4E_pnhfrx5YQRtkZ_ucyWRsiBhHhS-A2H42v5nl8

 

—-

 

To Duke Godric,

 

It is true, you have delivered Us a number of defeats. Bruised and bloody, We take Our wounds with vigor, each blow refreshening that indomitable spirit; that burning flame which drove Our predecessors to victory. The blood of the Empire is a singular red, and shall never deplete so as long as We live.

 

You will recall, perhaps familiarly, of the state in which John Frederick found his country. Ravaged and ransacked by years of aggression with a host of Urguanites at his gates, any lesser man would have cowed in to the submission you desire. But this is not the conduct of an Emperor! An Emperor does not abandon his faithful subjects. From the brink of devastation, John Frederick would conquer the world.

 

Our countrymen, renewed by the taste of spilt blood and sweat, enlist in defense of their beloved country. Both lines of ancient renown and lines of promising beginnings flock to the banners, ready to fill the ranks against your chaotic assault. Indeed, your forces have picked and pried at the titan; but it is Our faith and courage that shall wake him from his slumber.

 

We shall meet you again on the field of battle, again, and again, for Ours is one great spirit, and yours many disparate plots.

 

HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY, Peter III Anthony, Emperor of the Holy Orenian Empire, King of Renatus, Salvus, and Seventis, Duke of Helena, Lorraine, and Roden, Baron of Sedan, Protector of the Heartlanders, Highlanders, and Farfolk, etcetera.

 

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*Desmond feels the hype in his bones, the seasons have changed... tis the comeback season.*
 

”Ave Oren.  Rally.”

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"To arms, Men of Haense, Men of the Empire! We shall fight to the bitter end, these filthy Morsgradian puppets shall be repelled from our lands!" *Marcus would say in the square, encouraging enlistment whilst preparing for the defence of the Haense*

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Aedan reads this, hoping he can return to combat shortly and put the tiny men in their place.

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Karl simply says “Negative.” then prepares himself to fight

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Ailmar Velulaei'onn shudders as he recalls the Orenian troops flying at the speed of light, warping around the battlefield and fleeing as soon as they laid eyes upon the Alliance forces. “Quite bold of this Emperor to turn down an offer which will end the suffering of his citizens and soldiers. Surely they too see they are outnumbered and suffering crippling defeats daily. Even at the steps of their own capital do they fail to repell our forces. Still bloodied from the recent fight, the Elf began cleaning his blade, knowing it would spill much more Orenian blood in the coming days.

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“Small skirmishes... we haven’t had a proper battle yet. Still, time for Oren to get rid of dividers and bring the lands of Arcas and humanity at peace once more.”

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“Ok bigman.” Says a proud Ænglish dark elf, called Æthelwulf af Wessex.

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