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Old Souls and the Spirit of Adria


Publius
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[!] To set our scene, old colleagues converse over drinks at a tavern. Banter is abundant, with glasses and weaponry creating a chaotic din as they clatter during the chatter. Each consider themselves Adrian, though contradict each other with their definitions. Here, we listen: [!]

 

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Spoiler

 

 

 

"... What is so complicated about this? An Adrian is someone who lives in Adria - simple as." Said Myre, his brow lofting as he gestured to his company. Some smirked, others scowled.

 

"You are not even a Crow, how would you understand the nature of Adria?" Dismissed Vladov, earning an approving grunt from Valic to his side. "Adria represents the endurance faith provides. Without its blades, where would be? Schismatics would have annihilated you all. True Adrians are good Canonists." Another round of cheers and moans erupted at that. Despite what had been said, none protested as a demon named Lithren served them drinks - perhaps more crow than them all, some may jest.

 

"Close... Close my friend." Chiming in now, Sarkozy smiled as he waggled a finger at his kinsmen. "Think of the greed and treachery man is willing to commit against one another. We fought with the Savoyards, and when we made one King, they neglected their duties and punished us for holding them accountable! What an Adrian is, is virtuous." From the corner, Ault and Jewelbeard turned their heads, laughed, and peered over to the dread-headed necromancer speaking to the curious mage Alfius. None would have measured up to the man's definition of virtuous, all for their own reasons.

 

"Virtuous, eh? I'd say... Industrious!" Suddenly, the bartender chimed in - Red as he was known, but others called him Mr. Roger. Seemingly, he was scoring well in a game of dice, Gradic holding his head as he dared to gamble against the house. "If not a bit lucky, heh! You know the old saying, always outnumbered, never outgunned. We have the best equipment, best drinks, best craftsmen, and not all of them are Canonists... But they are good Adrians."

 

“Pshh, Raev is why, Ruska is why!” Boomed Ivanovich, slamming his hand down on the table. His might brought many to attention as he declared, “Where might makes right, the weak should fear the strong. Raevir blood is Carrion blood, blood of conquerors, of the slayers of fools and beasts. Raevir and Ruskans are Adrians, all else are simply their subjects.” Barbanov smirked somewhat, his eyes narrowed upon Ivanovich. Quickly, the tone of the room grew more hostile, Illatians, farfolk, and Auvergne now causing a ruckus.

 

“Has the might of Adria not faltered many times? Ves burned, Brelus was butchered, and it was never the warriors that revived it.” Interjected Rutledge as Watanabe and Monteliano cheered her on. “I’m inclined to agree with Sarkozy, that endurance and faith is important to Adria… but endurance against persecution, and faith in its institutions. I’d argue Adria reached its height under Varoche - they were not even slightly Carrion, they were Pertinaxi!” Seemingly this was agreeable to some, but others dismissed such as naive - many rolling their eyes at the mention of Pertinax.

 

"Institutions? Even the Duma was made into a fair and farce! What has endured is treachery, ambition, greed!" Boomed the rascal Ratispora, quickly instigating many arguments. "What was once whimsical fun has been made into nonsense!"

 

“Was it not all of that? It was everything to many of us - why can’t it be all of that?” Chimed Bracchus meekly. Quickly, a fury sounded off around the room, Ostroborivich hollering at the meek fellow moments after, “Rich, coming from the Savoyard snake who was quickly caught!” More jeering followed, the fun chaos from earlier replaced with a simmering rage as each looked on to one another in frustration. Bracchus was drowned out, and in his place Ruyter then cried out, “I would consider myself Adrian before anything else, who here doesn't?”

______________________

 

Empty was this tavern in reality. Haunting it was the Spirit of Adria. There had been many great nights there, but it had long been left behind, for war, for family, others moved on as they simply could not make time to visit. An old painting of the tavern’s founders, some Coal Miners, could be seen hung there still. They smiled, each happy in each other’s company. Many who enjoyed their famous black stout might not even recall their names, but they left a fine establishment. It was simply a place for these friends to come together, once upon a time. 

Edited by Publius
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“Pshh, Raev is why, Ruska is why!” Boomed Ivanovich, slamming his hand down on the table. His might brought many to attention as he declared, “Where might makes right, the weak should fear the strong. Raevir blood is Carrion blood, blood of conquerors, of the slayers of fools and beasts. Raevir and Ruskans are Adrians, all else are simply their subjects.” Barbanov smirked somewhat, his eyes narrowed upon Ivanovich. Quickly, the tone of the room grew more hostile, Illatians, farfolk, and Auvergne now causing a ruckus.

 

Valē,

 

Ivan the Outlaw

 

St. Arpad 'The Dancing Bear' Carrion

 

Sir Konyves Ivanovich

 

Sir Dmitri 'Dima' Ivanovich

 

Baron Andrezj 'The Black' Ivanovich

 

The House of Emperors' Bane.

 

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Mya, a Barrow of Ruthern, reminisces on the life that led him to Brelus for a brief second, cut short in an instant by a surging tide of Savoyards washing over the besieged walls of Barrowyck.

Whilst Armand de Falstaff wraps an arm around his brother as they fade away from existence, two amigos of Belvitz and Ves.

 

Wayward souls that once found Adria their home, of love and solace.

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Demetrio looked through his memories, his visage aged and decrepit as he thought of his time in Adria as the golden years of his life, from his short time in Belvitz, and longer time spent in the golden city of Ves. He shook his head, pondering to himself, "Why-a did those damned-a Pertinaxi have to ruin a good thing, truly-a evil si si, if only their aiim was worse,his gaze looked for his twin, though he knew his soul was certainly doomed to the deepest depths of the Nether.

Edited by Enlightenment
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An Old Adrian Peasant carried on feeding the worms. 

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