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The First Strike


TheNobleTitans

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The First Strike


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[!] Public letters had been ushered to the Orenian Capital of Providence, fliers pushed into the hands of those whom would take them and the papers stapled to almost every street corner.


 

“Behold, the denizens of the revered Empire - to the acts of charity offered unto the vile peoples found
amongst your streets this afternoon. Those whom weep for the replaceable souls of the poor, do not deserve
a place amongst our polished society, for those chosen to be birthed into the ilk of poverty and labour are those
whom allow disease to run rampant, that dirty our air with each pathetic breath they draw.

Let this be known, the acts of today are the first of our kind and certainly not the last.
Oh no, for there will be many more of their nature and we shall not cease until our air is made clean,
until there are no longer those of poverty that seek to wiggle their way from the existence they are most
undeserving of.

We are men and women of revered status,  birthed into entitlement by the choice of our Lord GOD and
there will no longer be an age where bloodlines are sullied by the ilk of common folk.

This will be a most interesting age upon our Empire,  for we are not strangers - many of
us are fond friends, allies, brothers, sisters. One’s chosen to uphold the serene peerage gifted unto us by our most gracious Sovereign.

May the poor return to the depth they crawled from.”


 

Yours Humbly, 

The Noble Titans

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The undying husk of Ostromir Carrion claps from the depth, watching earnestly.

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          "Well people are welcome to leave Oren and go somewhere else. I know I would if I was in danger from living there." Sofyania mischeviously giggled at the thought of more customers coming to live in Haense. She gently swirls a small bamboo stick in her tea, using it to mix the cream and sugar she worked for. "Even the common folk can work hard to become a knight." Sofyania sits alone, in the empty and desolate balcony tables of the Haense tavern.

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Joseph d'Azor visibly cringed as he read the letters "Goodness GOD, who let the Nordling refugees start picking up the pen and writing such godawfully edge ridden words." He threw the missive into the fire with a shrug. 

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Leopoldine of Roussard reads the missive with a disgusted expression. Soon thereafter, she balled it together and threw it into the flames of her fireplace. "Killing children and spreading terror for such selfish designs - it makes me feel sick to the stomache! May GODAN let their victims rest easy."

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37 minutes ago, TheNobleTitans said:

 



“Behold, the denizens of the revered Empire - to the acts of charity offered unto the vile peoples found
amongst your streets this afternoon. Those whom weep for the replaceable souls of the poor, do not deserve
a place amongst our polished society, for those chosen to be birthed into the ilk of poverty and labour are those
whom allow disease to run rampant, that dirty our air with each pathetic breath they draw.

Let this be known, the acts of today are the first of our kind and certainly not the last.
Oh no, for there will be many more of their nature and we shall not cease until our air is made clean,
until there are no longer those of poverty that seek to wiggle their way from the existence they are most
undeserving of.

We are men and women of revered status,  birthed into entitlement by the choice of our Lord GOD and
there will no longer be an age where bloodlines are sullied by the ilk of common folk.

One’s chosen to uphold the serene peerage gifted unto us by our most gracious Sovereign.

May the poor return to the depth they crawled from.”


"It is without a shred of doubt that this writing, which struggles to grasp the very basics of the Providential dialect, is authored by one of genteel breeding!" Comments J. Fitzpeter, renowned economist, with obvious sarcasm. "What a terrible little toad."

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Father Ernst inspected the paper with a frown, "I pray these men are not who they say they are, lest they fail in the very essence of their duty." he commented to no one in particular. "Receiving their authority from His Imperial Majesty, they too share in his vows to God; to rule by Canonist creed. Forsaking their people on the basis of economic status is an affront to the moral teachings of the Canon." Ernst stepped off towards the Cathedral thereafter, saying, "May they be men of deceit and liars destined to be caught quickly."

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Tearing down a letter to read better, Rohesia soon scowled at the contents. "The dirty ones are the folk who think their blood is more red than others," she muttered, then crumpled the filthy parchment to burn in the stove at Paddy's Pint. 

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Sergeant Rev Vuiller would watch in shock as he entered the city, seeing it in chaos as the public watch in horror as each new body where found.. 1.. 2...3..4..5.. it seemed to be never ending. the young Vuillerian quickly getting to work mapping out each body found.

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Amelia Leslie rips a notice from a lamp post in providence; she scowls at the words written on the page. She would go to her husband, sharing the contents with him. “We should be prepared, the killer seems to have a thing against commoners” she turns to look out the back window of their little ves home, to where the Leslie daughter would be playing on the playground. She goes out and ushers the girl inside with hushed murmurs.

@CanadaMatt 

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Aeonn's rage filled slamming of a chair echo'd throughtout the keep "A simple opinion of the common folk being lower is one thing, but to go about slaughtering the people like a disease...like live stock....these titans will know the true punishment of such actions...for I am of the common folk...yet am more worthy than most whos lives are paved in gold" once more a slam, but of a fist against table "Hunt them down..." he utters to many dark metal clad figures

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Maria blinks in commoner. "So like... how do they feel about commoners who marry into nobility cause I'm gonna be honest, I'm terrified." 

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Spoiler

 


_________________________

 

DISCORDANT, cacophonous psalms of mania and cackling trilled through and ‘twixt the gelid ratways of the antediluvian cesspit of PETRA TURRIS; those raucous wavelengths twining the pillars which bolstered the necrolyte bounty, alighted and freed of the sea-girt atrium in a wretched tumult. Borne of conjunction, did that cadence harken to the Crow of Woldzmir, Vladislav of Carrion; biding survey o’er the writhing, pestilential thing at his fringe, Ostromir the Greater,  with a chiding beam which spanned his countenance, from glen to glen.

 

_________________________

 

 

 

@Lhindir_

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As if Boreal needed more reason to stay the f*ck away from Oren they read this missive, gilded gaze reading through the words and then closing, they  drew in a calming breath, to no avail, the discourse of their mind leaked into their communion as they sat on their home, a terse drumming akin to the galloping of livestock, intense anger, followed by harrowing silence before the sing-song nature turned to normality, they worked for the palace, a simple gardener, a medic in the hospital and friend to some. They did not weep, they were not frightened, their way of life had been threatened many times by those who thought themselves above them, their missing limbs and scarred visage were prove of such... Yet much like nature they served and protected...

Boreal does not hold back when provoked.

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