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The Routing of the Northguard


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"God save Oren." would state an Imperial Prince.

 

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Josephine Augusta celebrates with her sister. Her first combat! @Fie

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"I reckon today was the day that the Nordlings realize how much they're in trouble." The Basrid concluded from his desk as he folded the paper. He glanced around to the nearby servant and motioned them forward with his hand. "Go summon my daughter and sons - I suppose I can spare some time from the war."

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Joseph d'Azor stood with several others at the front of the Vanguard, the young man removing his slightly dented helmet holding it under his arm as he held his bloodied sword at his side watching as the tabards of black and red scurry hurriedly in the direction of Varhelm. "They thought us weak, we outnumbered them. They thought us fools and we outsmarted them. Now they stand meekly inside their borders and think we will spare them, the Nordling will be wiped from the face of the realm." The man remarks placing his helmet back over his head as he turned from the brow of the hill. 

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Captain Ruthern scans the battlefield following the slaughter, “They asked for this war, and we shall end it.”

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Sir Ledicort d’Azor would smile as he raised his blade to his comrades, pagan blood dripping from it snd his chest plate. “One God, One Empire, One Emperor!”

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Amelia Margaret’s first words were then “Victory to Oren!” 
 

Perhaps not but if she could speak- it surely would be.

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A bloody and battered Edwin Henry de Sarkozy returns home, moving to sit by the fireplace in the Sarkozy estate as he breathed an exhale of relief. "Oswald, get me a tea, if you would be so kind. Every soldier deserves tea after that slaughter."

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Garret Darkwood returns from the battle wiping blood off of his blade "Next stop, Norland the heathens den" 

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Leon d'Azor goes to raise his head briefly. He stood within the streets of Haelun'or, looking up to the hung Ferry Men. A bird brought forth the missive down before him, it landed upon his shoulder and delievered the parchment. As he read over the speech he had heard aloud, a smile crossed his face. "Such is life, when one marches against the sleeping giant, the Empire. Such is life, when one is repulsed from the fields of the borderlands."

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Aaron scoffs as he hears the news at Haense.

”Those Northmen started the war and they’ve been pummeled ever since over and over, evident karma.”

He shrugs with a grin, then recounts the words of a wise hermit:

”Do shite, get hit.”

Edited by Herod
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A lost d'Arkent seemed to be calmed at the news, perhaps it was time for her return... now that the war was over.

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Richard Harver would sit, cleaning his sword "they had it coming for them. we were minding our own busyness but no, you were mad and threw a tantrum. Guess well just teach you lesson after lesson."

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Ezekiel Moores roared as raised his bloodied blade in victory as he looked over the corpses of his enemies. 

 

"Well, at least I didn't kill Jack." He mumbled, as a slight wave of guilt overcame him. He wiped his blade down with a rag and placed it back in its scabbard.

 

"Still won though." The man sighed, before thrusting his fist in the air and letting out another fearsome cry of victory, "OREN AUT MORTEM!"

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