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ORENIA DIRUTA EST


Ryanark
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William Lucian d'Arkent stood atop the blacksmith's house, taking a cool drag from his Prince's Pick cigarette as he overlooked the amber waves of Acre, the smokes a staple in his diet ever since he was the personal servant of the Imperial Family, now two decades ago. His brilliant, emerald eyes hung upon the tranquility of this scene, how it contrasted the years of war now come and gone, -- and a deep smile broke across his face. 

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Sigrun Ireheart grumbled at the news. "Who taeh fook will weh war nohw!"

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[!] The young se-falstaff girl turned looking to the missive from the safety of the haenseni palace then with much haste, the young girlbwitg brunette hair raced about the karosgrad palace flying down stairs and towards the queen of haense's office as she knocked frantically on the Alluric doors "YOUR MAJESTY, DOES THIS MEAN IM NO LONGER A LADY?" whether or not the queen was in ear shot of the frantic child was not of the matter for the moment of crisis @shay

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Ser Steiner von Richthofen smiled, having witnessed the signing of the document, he yelled out a cheer for his realm’s triumph over Oren PETRAAAAAAA!”

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“Ukee, Oren wuz doomed anyway. Mi can finally return back to mi bruddaz without having tu worry about pazt pleadgez.” Bunk said, packing his bags and heading back home 

Edited by panda_second
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50 minutes ago, tadabug2000 said:

Lady Johanne Vuiller eyed her shouting husband over with a perturbed look, a hand settling firmly at her hip. It wasn't until he explained what his screams were about that a grin formed and she kissed him silent, both in excitement and in wanting him to stop his incessant screaming. Oren is no longer. Now, that seemed a strange thought and yet it is true. A weight lifted off of her, the woman feeling almost free for the first time in many years.

Spoiler

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA ROMANCE RP ON OUR VICTORY POST AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

 

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A nimble Musin would sit on his mule over looking Acre from the hill as he let out a sigh " Hickorys jobs is dones...it's times to hangs up's the sword and the bombs fors a life of peaces ands labours " the musin would ride off then down the hill towards the golden fields that were in need of plowing

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An ancient being cackled from within a dimly lit room over the missive. The woman then coming to a stand by the hearth she'd toss it to the flame, watching the missive burn. The being then stroking a hand through her deep sable locks, "Kingdoms fall, and then new ones rise." she'd murmur to herself, her steely blue-grey hues settling on her infant "Someday Leoda... We will rise, my daughter" The creature then rose to her feet, striking something off of a list, "What a privilege that someone of mine years lived to see this joyous occasion. Rot in hell pigs."

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A tall, olden dark elf stood in the long, hidden halls of her home. Digging through her bag, to remove the paper. The same old evening she'd had, for many of her now secluded years. . The elfess would slowly move over to the chair she always sat in to read these types of papers.. Music humming through the halls. Turning around before resting herself down in the comfy cushion with a grunt. A long sigh leaving her as she finally would bring the paper out in front of her again.

That strange, magically gifted sight glossed over the parchment. . Reading over the words.. This was no normal news. 


{I remember . . It all being built up.}

{And now I have lived. . To hear of its fall down. .}

{ Hm. . }

{Bless these people, these humans, who did what I and many others- could not.}


And with that, it would be folded- and tucked away safely.. In chest baring many other papers she read here.

 

She would sleep soundly for once in many years, at least tonight.

Edited by Heartesy
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Sir George Obediah , a Knight of a fallen Kingdom sighed. "So it begins. And our plans to rescue the few remnants of the people who are now left without a home shall begin. The Duchy of Corinth."

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Donny Romstun un-buckled his plate armour, it's metallic construction rattling onto the ground with a sickening clank. Humming did he stride, sighing did his fingers tie, and there he was, sitting, smiling wide. 

Peace.

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As the final piece of aged marble fell to the ground upon the soot-stained grounds did the man, older than his time, sit down, as dusk broke over the mountain. His 100th birthday had come and gone without anyone to celebrate it with, or with the mind to recognize it. He took but a moment’s rest before a courier appeared before him, parting the dense, dimming fog with the wave of a hand.
“You’re with the construction crew for St. Lothar?” he asked, holding out a piece of rough, poly-fibrous scroll, held together by a fraying piece of twine.
 
I beg your pardon?
 
“Grand Duke’ll be here with the rest of the team soon. Figured you were project head. Pass this on to him and the Duke, won’t you?”
 
The old man sat silently, staring blankly into the eyes of the courier through the narrow slits in his helm, that inner cold piercing out and striking a chord deeply within the poor man; one that escorted him from the long abandoned hill in less than a minute. He’d grumble with a rue he’d grown accustomed to at that point.
 
Damn Imperials coming to start more trouble. Should’ve killed the bastard while he was still grieving,“ he’d spit, tearing away the twine and unfurling the missive, letting the contents, splotched with homemade ink with what was left of his decadent mind.
 
. . .
 
"Horses! Horses, fine bred, yes! Come over and, ah... buy one!" she'd trail off, letting her body fall slack. Shaking her head, she'd pull tighter on the stubborn, mutt-like horse into the town square. Bar-goers at the Novellen watched, occasionally popping a smirk or snicker before downing their beverages as the two were dragged along by the frail, discolored thing. It was a mare they'd found at the bottom of the steps, trotting through the weed-filled wheat fields that cut into the bank of the river. It was a struggle in of itself to drag it up the stairs; now, it would be a completely different ordeal trying to pawn it off to some sucker.
 
"Yes, you, sir in the brown coat! Well- no, not the one with the wig. No, not the soldier. Yes, you! Please, do come over!"
 

"Carted it over from Arcas! Yes, a fine bred- no, no, that doesn't mean it's forty years old... No, please! Come back!"

 

After dragging the starved thing around Providence for the past day, the two siblings collapsed on the steps to the Novellen; their horse, collapsed unto its stomach before him, legs broken and splayed out unto its sides.

"...You know something?  I've been ranching these things for ten years now, and I've never seen one do that before."

 

"Not the best sign. Think they could stand to get back up?"

 

The girl whistled; in response, the horse's face fell further into the ground.

"...Forget it. We're not selling this thing. Guess we'll have to find some other way to eat tonight."

 

Both of the two, begrudgingly, looked upon the greatsword laying between the two of them. The boy in blue picked it up, heaving it across his shoulders, and sighed, before lifting it above his head, and slamming it down upon the cobbles.

 
. . .
 
A trail of reddened, black sludge seeped into the ground before the armor-clad figure. It stained nothing; leaving no mark upon that heirloom suit, the only proof it had ever existed were the thankful, exhausted cries of the knight, leaning back against the pile of rubble, missive cast to the side. As he wept, that reddened substance would seep through the paper; pieces of that substance seemed to lightly tug at it, as though desperate to scan, memorize every character inked into the page, before becoming wisps among the fog, dissipating into the air. And as that ethereal substance was cast into nothingness, what remained of the paper would fly off. Sunlight fettered through the uneven textures of the broken paper, dampened by morning’s dew and whatever had fallen from that broken creature’s armor. One piece was caught upon the trees; another landed in the center of the pond, slowly melting away into an illegible, pulpy mess. The rest continued to be blown away, strung about the rocks of the valley, and caught upon the sticker-bushes and briar-trees that lay a carpet of green upon those untamed hills, where they would lay till nature or traveler did them waste- no more the sum of its parts, but forever divided, destroyed, irreparable. Maybe it was better this way. After all, he could always get another copy.
 
“Finally… We won.”
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Somewhere out there, old Dame Viktoriya weeps. She'd served that Empire for a hundred long, grueling years, and now it was gone. But, Oren would never have been the same as it had, anywho.

 

In contrast, Viathan Othaman the would-be ... No, would-have-been Count of Valles, celebrates with his husband on their boat. "Good riddance Oren, good riddance palace harlots, good riddance it all! The seas are the only freedom left!"

 

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Ragrin Ireheart grunts, though somewhat pleased at the kingdom being dissolved "This proves good and all though will Oren ever learn ? Matter what it returns and matter what they never learn. . . I do hope the farmers do something different with the kingdom they have just decimated so it will be different"

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