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The First Crusade - 1805, 358 ES


Draeris
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Episcopus Otho Valwick would cry out "GODANI VULT!"

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Holy Sir Philip De Beaumont looked up from his farm house far away from any city state or village where he and his family lived out their days the man frowning as the retired Knight snorted "A crusade? may God guide my brothers" before he put on a hat and went to tend to his farm through which his children were dashing 

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"The death of Man's peace shall soon incite the death of heathenry. Let us watch, now, as the once-pacifist Church of the Modern Age deigns to battle the seed of its former frailty.

. . . Until then, we march in solemn vow to scourge the Godless."

 

The Vicar of the Aemesh speaks to those who would hear, and concusively forms the old mark of Lorraine.

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"By the Titan, it's finally happened." Haskir remarks in awe at the missive settled on his desk. 

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The armoured man glides one hand across the parchment, his successful infiltration into the ranks of the Canonist Church giving him the proper opportunity to scuffle with the Xannites. A young Aldric del Riviere smiles the Titan’s smile - eventually muttering under his breath -  tone as frivolous as his actions to come. “God bless us and stuff, you know?”

 

His lips curled into a wide simper - veiled by his visor - suited in plates of the Holy Canonist Church provided by their sacred order!

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"Through GOD, we will be redeemed," decreed the Holy Mother, prostrated in prayer.

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Avern'dionne would read the missive in her home, enjoying some tea "Ah yes, launch a 'crusade' against those who helped save us from corrupt Aengudaemons, clearly heathens, certainly."

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"And so, with gilded steel shall we debate. The tongues of yore - exchanged for ire-ridden maces and blades. May it be just. May it be fruitful. May it be righteous."

 

A man muttered amidst the retrieve of a campfire. There, his hands cradled an old-rusted weapon. There's work to be done.

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Albert de Falstaff stood among the smoldering ruins of the throne room, watching silently as the final remnants of the meteorite were plucked from the ashen remains of vibrant tapestries. He watched the frantic efforts of the servants, the panic amongst the present nobility. He remembered how the Paladins had summoned that meteor, how from it had crawled the girl he had once so admired, the girl he knew to be dead. He had watched the bronze-masked Lich insult him, his Empire, and her memory from the safety of the other side of the burning crater that had been the throne.

 

The aging Count of Leuven began penning missives, calling favors; the Paladins would pay.

 

 

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Elias' brow raised as he watched his nephew Alexander come bursting from his tent. As the man made a b-line for the armory Elias stood and called to him. Alexander looked over, his eyes holding an emotion Elias couldn't quite pin down.

"The Song has been sung, Uncle."

Elias stood for a moment, confused. Then blood ran cold as the meaning dawned on him. Alexander, although having left the church's Holy Knights, still believed in GOD and protecting the flock. Alexander started walking again for the armory, adjusting his shirt.

"What will you do?" Elias called out

"Serve, one way or another." Alexander disappeared without another word before returning with a bundled package. The tunic that lay on the outside was an unfamiliar pattern of black and green...

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Baroness of Carrington was read the news by her dear husband, Charles, as she was feeding her youngest child, Caroline, at the dinner table. After fixing the babes bib she huffed. “Of course the fraud Pruvia would issue more chaos than needed. Absolutely absurd. This would have never been established under James II. He had issued peace. Not this fool hearted claim for a blood bath of our good ISA.” @Blanchables

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"Literally nobody likes you- is this what Cannonists do? what they follow?," comments an unknown woman of eastern descent, long missing from the realm. She'd huff, rolling her eyes before dutifully moving to reach over for a clear parchment, starting to pen.

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Charles Augustus reads aloud the missive as his wife cradles the young child against her. Thinking a moment, he'd tap his chin with a pondering expression spreading across his countenance. "It matters not right or wrong. I have been called to war for GOD and Empire, and must heed said call. Only history may tell if such a choice was wise or foolhardy." 

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"Aren't you like.. dead or something?" Asked Ser Lukas.

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