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OF HARVEST AND SCROLLS, THE UNITED KINGDOM OF AAUN


seannie
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Yvaine Beitris of Acre still farms the same as she always did.

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Wilfred of Acre simply weeps from the rowboat on which he sails the ocean with a dear 'friend'. "This fool has gone and become what Acre sought to destroy." He'd lament in despair, casting off his levyman armor in deep shame. "Forever shall I grieve the loss of Gustaf and Hannes, what evil came next..." Thereafter wishing he were on solid ground once more to farm, as one did.

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Sister Calliope wiped yet another tear off her cheek as she reviewed the missive, mailed to Corwinsburg minutes after its inception. "Let it be known that our father's sacrifice, and that of his Nauzican comrades, was not in vain- and that Alstreim's ancient oath was fulfilled."

 

 

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Richard Jrent muses over old Nauzican handbooks, pointing over a line from the fabled Horen loyalist John Motney.

“True gold does not fear the test of fires.”


 

 

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Wilhelm Barclay prays for the new kingdom and prepares for his squire trials 

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Petyr, a young Haeseni farmhand, would hear of the news from his father's mouth. A new wayward power in the East that wishes to unite Man under a common cause. Still in his late adolescent years, he could not fully comprehend the history and the effects of such a movement. Regardless, he would find it interesting, and it will likely be an idea kept with him for quite some time.   

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Markus Mudd read the missive in his manly polar bear fur-coated throne. He sighed and jolted his head towards the northern sky, embracing the cold air. He then stroked his beard and looked back down at the text. A quiet laugh escaped the mouth of the mercenary before turning towards his brother, a faint sentence escaped his mouth. "That's crazy."

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A mali'thill, upon a high tower looks away from the book that he studied with a slight touch of a hum. A lift of the chin, "Huh. That confederacy did not last long.. A supposed welcome to the new Oren." A boyish snort, "Aaun. A strange name."

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Deyvid Ivanovich grasped the missive, and upon reading it, therefore translates it to his fellow kinsmen;

 

“Lo, and behold, for the united Oren and heartlander hegemony has come to a halting stop (of course, we had no part in supporting half-men and heathen in this effort to betray our own kind) of this Century of Humiliation. After Twenty-Four long years, we will rebuild the crippling status of humanity (that we Alstions had no part in aiding, but rather betraying at every turn), to our own liking. Ave the Kingdom of Yawn!”

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Sir George Obediah chuckles at the irony. "There is no king but us..." He mumbles to himself, perhaps mockingly. "Bullshit. the death of two men, Gustaf and Hannes, is all it took for Acre to become the very thing they swore to destroy." He clicks his tongue "So their goal, their ideals, everything they fought for and won — all are meaningless" — "We shall see if the Prince of Alstion will be able to overcome their rebellious tendencies against authority." He said, and with that, he crumpled the missive that he stumbled upon, a frown appeared upon his expressions  "No king but us... Your late leaders are rolling in their graves"

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Without a word, the Green Clad Grillmeister of Acre stole into the keep in the middle of night.

No one questioned his presence or his entrance, for he was of them and not a stranger to the castle.

Gawain was last spotted sprinting across the bridge over the lake at midnight, a gunny sack clanging as he stole off with several precious relics from the sack of Vienne and several kitchen utensils!

 

He wept during his triumphal thievery, however, for what once was, was no longer, and could never be again.

All that was left of his grand time in Acre was dust and echoes.

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