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THE FORMATION OF THE COVENANT OF FIVE


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Aithwin Aldor reads of the news in the lamplit, snow-beaten streets of Valdev. As his eyes trace over its final lines, he nods in solemn agreement.

 

“Veletz shall reap what it has so terribly sown.”

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The foundry of Vissingren within the Margravate of Marignan blew smoke high into the air, the sound of hammers striking the anvil resonated across the Mardonlands. Dozens of smiths labored away forging blades, suits of plate, and munitions for the coming Covenanter campaigns. In the midst of this stood the Petrine Regent, recently returned from the battle-torn city of Whitespire. He too aided in the Vissingren Foundry’s efforts, handing finished blades to Mardonlanders who had begun to coalesce within his father’s keep as the banners of the Commonwealth were called to war. “For Ghorm.” he thought to himself, a rallying cry which brought some comfort as the enormity of what was to come sunk in. All bliss he had felt in the aftermath of the great battle in Whitespire had disappeared, replaced by unease and trepidation at the prospect of war, though he knew full well of its necessity. The survival of the Commonwealth, and the Heartlands was at stake, and thus he resolved to steel himself to see it through. Dipping his head in prayer, Konstantin could only remember what he had uttered upon taking the mantle of the Guardian of the Commonwealth some years ago, God save the Queen. God save the Commonwealth.”

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Margot Adelphine af Brasca snatches the missive off a wall and clambers to a rooftop to read it. Perched on the highest point she could reach, scanning the page, her grip tightens on the paper 'til her fingernails tear through. A numb fear grows in her heart, quickly sparking to an enraged yell-- as enraged as a nine year old can be. She tears the paper until it's unrecognizable and throws the pieces off the roof, hugging at her knees. "Ah have tae leave," she whispers.

 

 

Spoiler

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Silas stood atop the deck of a ship that was coming at last to port. At his side was a Scallywag of little renown, just as he was sure that his own legacy was neither one of ill repute nor famed military prowess. He had spent many years at sea raiding the coastal villages of small, insignificant piastdoms to the East. All the same, he had friends he could not fail, and that is what guided him home faster than any compass. He cared little for the politics of who killed who. In fact, he did not even know what a Stassion was, nor did he think he would give a damn if he did. The Ferrymen had built their reputation ripping apart aristocracies and redistributing their wealth to the poor.

 

He greeted Vyllaenen from the bow of his ship, "If only we were meeting again under worse terms. I am positively buoyant, knowing the time has come at last to kill some prickly noblemen and cast their bodies into the sea. Seeing as the Captain's out of commission, guess I'm taking orders from you boss. Where're we going first?"

@Orlanth

Edited by RIGOR
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"Erm... Awkwaaaard..." hummed Aaren Godric - being a haenseni man, though residing in Veletz as of late. For extra measures, he packs some bags. He does not wish for the smoke. 

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"The culmination of many years' work, and the tireless efforts of the Koeng and his counterparts. They made their bed of ashes and sin. Now the Covenant shall finish the job, and lay them to rest in it." The Duke of Vidaus grinned with some measure of bloodthirst as he looked out east, far far east.

Edited by ContestedSnow
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Magnus goes to read a copy of the declaration as he takes a long puff from his cigar, a large smile is on his fat as he looks to his fellow Druscans "Thisth isth quite nice, we finaooy get to kioo those voidao oovewsth to the sthouth of usth"  The smoke raise from his cigar as he talks once more "It'sth even bettew that we get to sthhow up those haensew feooowsth asth weoo, weop fow Dwusco, Veoetz, and once mowe fow god  oet'sth ******* go"

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THE PETRINE FIGHTS

SORCEROUS POWER LENDS ITS MIGHT

 

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The Sorcerers of Hohkmat, in accordance with the Merzhin-Garmont Traite, do summon the Magi of Hohkmat to war - and by the power of the Eternal Struggle of the mysteries, from the seat of Hohkmat I DEMAND:

Vizier Ayche is elevated to the title of Eldritch of Hohkmat - to serve as General of our war effort, to convene a council of war with officers of his choosing, and in coordination with Petra, to raise a contingent of Evocation Magi to serve in the Petran war effort, and the supplies required to arm them.

The entirety of this nation shall take direction from Eldritch Ayche in all matters regarding war, with no equal save myself. War is upon the sorcerous state, but conflict is ever natural to the mage: live not with fear, but with the power you have rightly earned. Show the enemy the talents you have harnessed in peace.

We suffer not the fool. Martial law of gates is henceforth imposed - those enemies unwise enough to wander our gates shall receive naught but a swift voidal death.

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 GRAND-MAGISTER, Razad the 'Fatebinder', Hierophant of the Mysteries,
Master of the Ziggurat of Hohkmat 

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"Five?" 
Some entity wrought of limbs and flame turns unto it's kinsmen, a deep hum rolling from it as he spoke aloud.
"The irony.. They know not that their King rots in Hell; And 'pon his ashes, they memorialize the Five.  The time nears, for those distant birds of mine to begin their work.. Soon, all of Man, shall know;"

"God, is dead." 

Papyrus is scribed upon, rolled, and delivered unto churches and forts  across Humanity, unbeknown heretics summoned to his presence. 
 

Spoiler

 

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Mariya Karenina van Aert read through the missives that would begin to pile at her side. The crackle of the hearth fires echoed throughout the halls of that Middelan keep as she weighed her options in silence. The Golden Crow knew what this meant for her family, and she had decided she would not let them fight alone. 

-----

Aleksi Mikhail smiled brightly as the news broke. "Holy shit!" He exclaimed "Does this mean my dad will be around then!?" The Ruthern Bastard would ask his grandfather, excited to watch his father, Ser Vlad, fight should his age let him. 

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"A war long coming, and well deserved. For blessed are those who walk not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor lived in the way of sinners, nor gave themselves to pestilences. For those who live by the law of the Lord shall grow strong, and bring forth fruit, and prosper in all they do, while the wicked shall be driven and scattered like dust from the face of the earth, and shall be revealed for who they are and trusted no longer in the councils of the just and the righteous. Now the wicked shall perish, while those who live by GOD's justice shall endure forever." the de Lyons would remark, half in prayer, half in his own contemplation as he'd move to prepare his hammer and his blade, and the armor once worn by his father, now by him. Though as he'd look upon the armor, his brow would furrow, and he'd frown slightly as he'd mutter to himself "Or at least so the scriptures say, and the just pray for. Though sometimes our history sings a different, less certain tune. But without hope and honor, we have naught. Time tells, but resolve decides."

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Crates of equipment, weaponry, and medical supplies are stacked up in the Chamber of Fire. Ayche moves past them as he steps onto the lift to the War Room below. It won't be long before the Chamber's magi and the magical forces of Hohkmat will be joining the Petran war effort. 

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A weary yet still poetical squire yawned into his glove as he read the missive - the leather stained with ink so black that you would never think this came from a brown cow. . . He knew that there was more work to be done, more orcs to fall victim to his blade, more tusks to wear.

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Mikhail 'The Rich' Colborn would read the missive intently. A single nod was given to his accountant and a wagon full of leather started making ts way to the Brotherhood of Saint Karl.  "We will win." Was all he had to state

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The Sparrow let's out a chuckle "Ah! Finally ea can release mea war songs! - Have been waiting for ages! Ea would join in va.." he begins coughing violently - choking on an untimely joke and rubs his neck that has begun to hurt suddenly when thinking of Petra. "Guess ve age is getting va mea.. Ea will sit this auwn out." mumbles the 34-years old Adunian. 


Gob Ztabba-Zniffa gleefully screams having over-heard a few commoners speak of coming war, grabbing a big stick to tie a rusty knife and axe he stole from somewhere. Soon - the 'pinkhez' will know to fear him! But first..
... Little green hands grab some left over sketchy bottles from a chest and some rotten eggs.

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