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Pontifical Letter - EXCOMMUNICATION OF HEINRIK SARKOZIC


Balthasar
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Yvian cheered from his mount "To arms against the oathbreaker and heretics!"

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"Death to the Anathema Duke!" roared Louis Owyn Haverlock, a fervent supporter of King Charles of Aaun

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Ludolf cheered from atop his own steed - raising his lance proudly. "Anathema!"

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One Auditor of the Tribunal, Armand Cardinal Allobrogum, read the Pontifical Letter after his recent mass in Vienne, whilst imbibing of a cigar. 

 

"The law is harsh, but it is the law. Dura Lex, Sed Lex. GOD Bless."

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Sigismond Varoche smiled the sun's smile, "Many thanks, your Holiness, you support the righteous beyond all else!"

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ALEKSANDR KUSORAEV glances between two letters. One of the two, a handwritten letter addressed to him by his grandfather, and the other, that missive of excommunication. 

The Prince simply
"Huh..."'d

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Suzana's sour bile thickens in her throat as another of her parents fades to the crypt of her mind,

"Adria jest my heart, its culture my heartbeat, its folk my bones. Jest unforgiveable that my blood would seek harm to my body."

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Left leg crossed over and atop the right, a 'Thill of white hair and blue eyes would hear of the pontifical missive, the excommunication of the duke whose land he lived on. "To the An-Gho, I hope this letter finds you in good health..." He'd ponder, contemplating a very particular letter a certain man of ecclesiastical cloth had wrote. "Now I come to you seeking an audience in a place belonging to your kin. I hope to hear from you again..." He'd recite the words written and well preserved on paper. 

 

"Don't you think it's odd..." He'd finally ask the alchemist he served under, once they were far from prying ears and eyes. "How valah always seek to pact with Azdrazi in secret and condemn them in public?"

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Somewhere, decidedly North of both Aaun and Adria, Josefina Barclay signed the Lorraine over herself and two sleeping children. A prince and princess, left in her care by their mother. "Let us hope this resolves itself, and the anathematic Duke is punished swiftly, so that vy may rejoin vyr mamej."

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"I feel like we'd save ourselves a lot of time if we just excommunicated every Sarkozy."

 

An intern at Barclay Bargains whispers in Stanimar's ear

 

"Every other ******* Sarkozy, obviously."

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5 minutes ago, rukio said:

Left leg crossed over and atop the right, a 'Thill of white hair and blue eyes would hear of the pontifical missive, the excommunication of the duke whose land he lived on. "To the An-Gho, I hope this letter finds you in good health..." He'd ponder, contemplating a very particular letter a certain man of ecclesiastical cloth had wrote. "Now I come to you seeking an audience in a place belonging to your kin. I hope to hear from you again..." He'd recite the words written and well preserved on paper. 

 

"Don't you think it's odd..." He'd finally ask the alchemist he served under, once they were far from prying ears and eyes. "How valah always seek to pact with Azdrazi in secret and condemn them in public?"

If he were not stone, the An-Gho would have shown Nehtamo a variety of letters addressed to himself by a number of princes and officials of excellent repute. In the end, the crime of association was made by most. In the end, his race was so turned into the political smear of noble feuds who jabbed soiled fingers at each other to wash their own. In the end it did not matter; all cared so much for their own sake. And how could memory and ethic but fail an imperfect body, soul, and mind the likes of the descendant? Only the Lectors had stayed true. And for that the An-Gho respected them - and hoped them well rewarded amidst saint and ancestor. 
 

But the An-Gho was stone - and so was his expression. Stone knew the hipocrisy of the race of Men from ages bygone; it was not moved by the notion, but held it to its heart and for that was mightier and unchanging. The World remembered a trial given to a seeker of flame; « Break this stone. » and it laughed by sighing wind through the branches of old oaks. 

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25 minutes ago, Jentos said:

If he were not stone, the An-Gho would have shown Nehtamo a variety of letters addressed to himself by a number of princes and officials of excellent repute. In the end, the crime of association was made by most. In the end, his race was so turned into the political smear of noble feuds who jabbed soiled fingers at each other to wash their own. In the end it did not matter; all cared so much for their own sake. And how could memory and ethic but fail an imperfect body, soul, and mind the likes of the descendant? Only the Lectors had stayed true. And for that the An-Gho respected them - and hoped them well rewarded amidst saint and ancestor. 
 

But the An-Gho was stone - and so was his expression. Stone knew the hipocrisy of the race of Men from ages bygone; it was not moved by the notion, but held it to its heart and for that was mightier and unchanging. The World remembered a trial given to a seeker of flame; « Break this stone. » and it laughed by sighing wind through the branches of old oaks. 

The three eyed visionary, reborn twice: First as Gamling, then as An Gho, with his flesh and scales now turned to stone, unforgotten as he was, could not give this insight. Yet, somehow, through some unspoken magic, some wavelength of understanding the two had shared, Nehtamo knew well what he would have been shown, of what he would be told. "Even the ash is worthy of reverence." He'd murmur, smothering his campfire for the night. Unlike the An Gho, his slumber would be dreamless, dreary, grey. 

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Somewhere an 'Aheral held within her hands a letter detailing private communication between the human High Pontiff and the notorious Antonious Vilac. "Huh. . ." Is all she had to say about that.

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"The 'Neo-Renatians' as we call them should be getting persecuted, no matter in what Canonist nation they hide. They are a schismatic entity and therefore if a Canonist nation gives them sanctuary they are just as responsible for the crimes of the schismatic. May GOD guide us and make the liberation for the Adrians who are loyal to His Majesty swift." Caius Godwin Jrent stated whilst preparing his armour and gear for the conflict to come.

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