Official Statement on the MRA

[SortedJarhead 817]

 

AN OFFICIAL STATEMENT FROM

THE IMPERIAL CHANCELLERY OF THE HOLY ORENIAN EMPIRE

12th of Harren’s Folly, Year of 1824

 

Too long have the radical terrorists known as the "MRA" plagued our lands and caused irreparable damage for His Imperial Majesty’s denizens. These extremists targeted too the State of Vortice, a port city whom have faces similar destruction at the hands of radicals. Their actions are unforgivable and their cause erroneous.

 

Most recently the "MRA" terrorists dishonorably ambushed a MoJ patrol in the Western region of the Empire.

 

Be it enforced that the d’Azor Ministry condemns all actions performed by the terrorist group known as the MRA. They are to 

be branded outlaws, arrested on sight within His Imperial Majesty’s realm and brought to justice.

 

There is no place for violent extremists in the Holy Orenian Empire.

 

 

Signed,

 

His Imperial Excellency, the Vice Chancellor, Sir Keaghen J. Armas

[Taketheshot 3834]

Joseph d'Azor nods firmly as he reads the missive pinning it to the wall in his office "A reminder of who we must combat in this day and age, our war over, a new struggle begins. These terrorists must be stopped.."

[Frisket 4539]

*Frisket a norlander curiously picks up a new paper as she walks around in oren visiting she sees this in the frontal headlines* "About damn time."

[growingivy 3382]

Athri Onfroi Belrose nodded, seeing the statement she pushed for has finally been made.

[Malta 2811]

Shouts and cheers erupted from the tavern, the statement from the Orenian government being passed around from celebrating Mercatore to celebrating Mercatore, laughter and joy caught in their words. Rearing his head upward, one among the bunch would call out to the rest of his comrades.

"This is what they make of us, do they? Bah, we've been fighting them for tens of years! I say it's about time they put their mitts on!"

Into the night they sang and danced, liquor sloshing about in mugs as they slung them back and forth in fervent dance. The noise in the countryside continued into the early hours of the morning, copies of the statement left soaked in alcohol, burning as fuel for the growing fire in which they now sat around.

[makeitsoyoucandeleteaccounts 610]

6 minutes ago, mosscowi said:

Shouts and cheers erupted from the tavern, the statement from the Orenian government being passed around from celebrating Mercatore to celebrating Mercatore, laughter and joy caught in their words. Rearing his head upward, one among the bunch would call out to the rest of his comrades.

"This is what they make of us, do they? Bah, we've been fighting them for tens of years! I say it's about time they put their mitts on!"

Into the night they sang and danced, liquor sloshing about in mugs as they slung them back and forth in fervent dance. The noise in the countryside continued into the early hours of the morning, copies of the statement left soaked in alcohol, burning as fuel for the growing fire in which they now sat around.

 

As the Mercatorii jeered and drank, the pamphlets moved around as the celebrations erupted in the tavern, the missive would find itself to a certain Mercatorii Veteran. The man, on the drunk and half away, couldn't stop himself to lift both his arms in celebration! 

 

The joyous Veteran would soon join his brothers, knowing very well that the real fights were soon to come. They drank and they danced, for the first time in decades the Mercatorii enjoyed of their own personal peace; atop namecalling by bureaucratic encyclopedias with no merit of their own!

[NouveauChateau 248]

The insane man dubbed Moskau now sat in his lonely room, changing his identity to fit with the hour.  His hand picked up the missive as he read it over.  Nothing new was made, it only confirmed what he already knew.  They had been stabbed in the back.  It was official.  His shaking hands lifted the page so he could see it better by the lantern in his room.  His face would lower, to a faint frown.  His mind would revert back to prior, the same scenario when he read over the missive of his and Petrovich's successful ambush.

"And so it is official.  They've done it, they've discarded the men who laid down the lives for their Holy See.  All for what?  All in the name of Justice?  All in the name of Godan?  We did our best to redeem ourselves, we were welcomed in Orenia.  We were soldiers, We were men, We were respected.  Kosomov, I ask to you this.  Why have they done this to us?  What have we done that has yet to be redeemed?  The bombings, The brandings, The murders?  Do the Orenians truly fear our potential so much that this has become a war?  Another series of battles I must fight not because I hate what is in front of me, but because I love what is behind me?"

The missive would slip from Moskau's hands, slithering its way across his floorboards to the shadows beneath his desk.  He would place his elbows on his old yet trustworthy desk.  Letting his face sink into his dirty palms, not from the dust or dirt, but from everything that laid upon him.  All of his past actions had caught up to him now, this was the burden to heavy for him to lift alone.  Another one of his nightmares that kept him up, deprived of life.

"Kosomov.."  He'd speak slowly, to the air around him, as if his brother sat there before him.  At the opposite end of his desk, his deprived brain forced him to look into his brother's eyes.  He couldn't finish his statement as a knock came to his door, disrupting his brother and removing the burden temporarily.  And Moskau promptly stood up from his seat, to go join the others in their celebrations.  He slowly opened the door, leaving the room into the fresh outside breeze.  His hands continued to quake as he slowly shut the door behind him, leaving his past, leaving his brother behind him.

Viva Mercatore.

[Viraj Dobrial 321]

Another missive reached the resting man. Antoine Darkwraith would quickly look over the missive, groaning as he crumpled it and threw it off of his loft into the fire below - where it did nae catch for a while, as the once roaring fire had died down to a few hot coals.

 

"...It's war they want, then. Good," he wheezed out, finding the strength to pull himself from his covers - and writings.

[sergisala 3451]

The Solicitor-General would prepare to enforce this policy from the D'Azor Ministry post-haste. "It shall be done immediately, Your Imperial Excellencies."

[bugbytes21 790]

Garret Darkwood reads the missive from his Hospital Bed, after writing too many condolence letters to families than he could count, he nods with approval "There will be blood, we'll hunt down every last one of these terrorists and send them to the void of which they have came, OREN AUT MORTEM"