Mother Mercatore Loves Her Sons

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Mother Mercatore Loves Her Sons

Ama Mercatorrek Bere Semeak Maite Ditu

 

Spoiler

 

 

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The MRA March to the Battle of Outer Arentania, 25 S.A.

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The Mercatorii Revolutionary Army is a steadfast defender of Canonism, Democracy, and the Mercatorii people abroad. From its creation at the infantish start of the Second Age, and its unconventional war against the Orenian Empire, to its present day incarnation, of which it currently fights on the side of Canonism in the Orenian-Norland Conflict, committing to both the front-lines, and its guerilla war against the Norlandic homefront. 

 

The Mercatorii are without homeland, without families to return, though this is needn't, for the Mercatore need only of which is essential to them, steel, and faith. Steel of which they sharpen after dulling it on the enemy. Faith of which they have, have in GOD, have in Mother Mercatore, have in the Clock, and have in the promise of Homeland. They have marched eternal as traitors, though they know one day, they shall be heard singing their anthems once more:

 

Mother Mercatore Loves Her Sons.

The Sun began to peak on the fateful day for the MRA.  Six men, clad in the stripes of Red and Black, walked along the empty road of Urguan.  Not a single soul encountered them, a perfect position to gain some leverage and take something dear to Urguan.  They walked in unison, a perfect formation as the flag bearer of the small platoon walked with the MRA’s flag risen high.  With such desolate roads, they entered the capital unseen, unheard and unknown to the Dwarvish Pagans. 

 

They entered the tavern, three with firebombs and another 3 with lanterns.  They huddled close, away from the door to speak their plan once more.  “We burn it to the ground, if it collapses in on itself we’ve done our job, if it stands unusable we’ve done our job.”  One proclaimed ‘leader’ of the group would remark to the rest as they turned to take their positions.

One stood upon the withered planks of the highest room in the inn, lantern and firebomb at the ready.  Two went further down, to the bottommost area they could find in the tavern.  They readied themselves for their first major attack of the war giddily, smiles seen beneath their skull like masks except for two clad in all armor.  The order was given by the one at the very top.  “Burn it!” Glass shattered, fire scattered, Men began withdrawing. 

All six men left the tavern unscaved, as they began rejoicing their actions upon withdrawal.  “We hate the pagans, We hate the pagans!” They chanted in unison, Men, Brothers, Comrades, Friends, Terrorists, All under one banner and one cause rejoiced for the actions done that night.  Their first major attack of the war with many more planned to come.  Upon their retreat home, that damned anthem drilled into their God forsaken minds begun to sing to itself:

Mother Mercatore Loves Her Sons.

 

Night was upon the MRA agent scouting out Leumont for the attack on the following day. The bright moonlight simmering on the cold Norlandic water as he boated around, all was peaceful until a cry for help was heard, a man was drowning in the Death Trap of Varhelm. The MRA operative, uniformed in the red and black stripes, rescuing the infidel from its own death trap.

Having pulled the man from the water and seeing that he was clearly of pagan origins, the operative dragged the man across the roads of Norland.  The Unprotected, Desolate roads to Elysium.  He threw the man into the snow, the rightful treatment of a pagan.  The Mercatore would have had the genius idea of that of his friends, to brand a pagan.

The Branding Iron would begin to heat up in the fire, turning orange from the immense heat.  The Lorrarine’s Cross now a bright orange, standing out against the flames it sat in.  The operative would take the branding iron, glowing and look to the man’s head.  Branding the Lorraine’s Cross to the man’s forehead, the only way to show the pagan it’s fault.  Pagans are simple yet barbaric minded people, and don’t accept their faults unless their own kind is forced to look at their faults. First of many brandings, first of many to come. And that is why, when returning to their beloved homes, the Mercatorii sung once again:

 

Mother Mercatore Loves Her Sons.

And with the dusk’s peak arriving, the Mercatorii saw opportunity.  Taking the late dusk’s fading advantage they rode in slowly through the Norlandic harbors. 3 Small rowboats with Five MRA agents.  Two landed, then another two, and the final one docked at the shore of the Pagan’s Harbor, with feeble infrastructure laid before them.  The small Pagan Town of Leumont.

 

The Mercatorii once more took advantage of the slightly withered walls, climbing up them with ease.  Reaching the top, they would whisper among themselves.  “Make sure everyone takes a firebomb, burn it to the ground.”  They all did so in unison, each taking their own bottles and rags.  The smell of Pine Tar filled the air around the bottles for mere moments.  Then two men stole lanterns to light the infamous weapons of the Mercatore.  The light would bounce off the chest pieces of those holding them as they walked.  

 

As they all rushed the lanterns, lighting fuze next to fuze, brothers in arms, they all shouted in unison.  “Viva la Mercatorii, Erlojuak Mesede egiten Digu, Mercatore!”  The sounds of broken glass and fire sparking were all that could be heard as bottles shattered, the brave men withdrew from their positions. Backing away from their scenes one by one till no more wall was left for them to follow.

 

They jumped, some into the Pagan Settlement, others into the water where they retrieved the boats.  Those inside began to light the seawall, wishing it destroyed post haste.  Those in the boats awaited under the seawall, for those inside to jump into the contraptions. As the Agents left the scene, shouts of victory, of celebration could be heard - as did the anthem time immemorial:

 

Mother Mercatore Loves Her Sons.

 

And with all the joy of Mercatore, the brothers of the MRA stand at the edges of victory once more. The brothers of the MRA, with steady footing, march towards the Inferno of the new Age of Terror. The Second Hour of the MRA is hereby declared. 

 

And all fools who dare stand in its way shall suffer the consequences, shall all suffer the fiery inferno of the Mercatorii Clock. For we are potent, by the banners we rise. For we are potent, for the anthems we sing. And the Mercatorii could be heard, for the first time in ages, sing their folk songs at the doors of destiny:

 

Mother Mercatore loves her sons, 

Mother Mercatore does not forgive, 

With raging fire she shall punish the pagans, 

Mother Mercatore loves her sons! 

 

We shall baptize them with fire, 

As soon as let them come nearer;

Mother Mercatore loves her sons! 

Mother Mercatore loves her sons!

Mother Mercatore loves her sons!

Mother Mercatore loves her sons!

 

Humbly,

 

Ro-Agentea Handia "Waltz"

Ro-Agentea "Brick"

RO-Agentea "Morado"

RO-Agentea "Petrovich"

RO-Agentea "Rokossovksy"

 

Spoiler

Special thanks to @mosscowi , @Gambit, @chacmul and @KindOfToast for helping me write this document.

 

Edited May 24, 2021 by Nouveau-Chapeau

[Bigman31 90]

"Give us four years to teach the pagans and the seed we have sown will never be uprooted." Remarked Taboritsky as he finished the missive. 

[bugbytes21 790]

Agent Garret Darkwood looks at the missive nodding and chuckling "To think I would be working alongside them even 5 years prior to this would be inconceivable, GOD is the true healer and uniter." 

[Sham404 464]

Edric observes the perfectly intact walls of Leumont, the flames now extinguished.

 

"It seems they can't even burn a wall properly."

Edited May 24, 2021 by Sham404

[Gandhi 2658]

Just now, Sham404 said:

Edric observes the perfectly intact walls of Leumont, the flames now extinguished.

 

"It seems they can't even burn a wall properly."

 

Luka Bishop remembers watching the walls of Leumont burn in the name of Godan himself. He then proceeded to pray for the souls of the pagans. “Viva Mercatore...“

[Arashiha 294]

"And they call us the barbarians. How twisted ones mind must be to think that attacking innocernts on roads and branding them is a noble cause. Only the sickest beings be they human, elf, dwed or orc would inflict such horrors against the innocents of any realm. But we are the barbarians." shakes her head as she wanders off. "That oren would throw in their lot with this kind of scum is surprising even for them."

[Gambit 964]

3 hours ago, Arashiha said:

"And they call us the barbarians. How twisted ones mind must be to think that attacking innocernts on roads and branding them is a noble cause. Only the sickest beings be they human, elf, dwed or orc would inflict such horrors against the innocents of any realm. But we are the barbarians." shakes her head as she wanders off. "That oren would throw in their lot with this kind of scum is surprising even for them."

"No Pagan is innocent, they have committed the sin, the crime, of belief in another, another who is a barbaric heretical verse of our GOD."