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Geast I Ve Fitsker (Extended)


gavyn
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Scribed in remembrance of those fallen in the defensive effort against the Scyfling forces.

 

Geast I Ve Fitsker


 

As the smoke clears and the casualties are counted, a lone fighter hangs high in the sky. His comrades gather their wounded and rest their lost, trekking along a beaten path to their home of New Reza. As they venture through the lush and lively Haeseni countryside the fighter follows along, shortly behind his brothers as they return to the walls of the city.

 

The fighter hangs his head as he knows his time is up and he no longer can walk with his men, with one final look over New Reza he nods and makes his leave. The fighter retreats over the sky scraping Steel Hills and into the dense and quiet Wick Wood. He is at peace with what has come of him and knows it was for the better of his country and people.

 

As the fighter slowly closes his eyes looking over the land he called home, one final thought fled his mind and escaped his lips in a soft mutter “Krusae Zwy Kongzem”. With this he was ready, his soul being claimed and returned to the Seven Skies.

 

But behind he left, a single mortal possession. One he could not take with him and was forced to leave behind.


 

Sojoernaal I Ve Fitsker


 

The shouting begins and the screaming is heard, as the Haeseni holds their ground strong and true. A flood of Scyfling scum rushing out towards the stout walls of the Fort at Metterden, this would be the true test of strength. Javelin quickly flew overhead, shattering shields of the Crows one by one, sending ballista fire back in response.

 

Their motive to take this land remains unclear to most, but this will not stop the men of gold and black as we fight until our last breath, and in response “Krause Zwy Kongzem” we shout until our voice cannot be heard any longer. We fight for the spirit of Haense and the protection of our heritage, this land gifted to us by Godani and protected by the soldiers of those who inherited it.

 

It was not long though until the Scyfling horde began creeping in on the ravine that held our brave cavalrymen. They through everything at us, but we prevailed even lost in a daze of confusion and pain simply because the fight was not over. 

 

As javelin continued to fly towards the proud Haeseni men, we gave a constant fight back until the moment we break. Our men falling one by one and there was no telling how this would end, so what could we do but fight. My life before theres, I will not not this kingdom fall under some barbarian claiming this is his land. Bralt I pity you, thinking we will fall so easily. So hear this in fear “Krusae Zwy Kongzem”.

 

 

 

Ser Siegmund Wick

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Brandt Bharclay smiles for a moment as he sees the newer publication of the short literary piece he read some months ago. His smile then stretches into a straight line as he reads the first sentence of the parchment. With his head dipped down and eyes closed, the young man remembers the recent battles against the heathens. "Mögen sie in Frieden ruhen!" he whispers to himself, wishing the bravely fallen a rest in peace as he then prepares to read the extended version of the story excitedly, though not too happily.

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