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"Persecute, punish, persist," | Warclaim for the Southern Offensive


M1919
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"ANOTHER WAR!! I LIKE FOIGHTIN'!!" The young 16 year old says as she read the missive with pride in her heart. "Remember we won a battle, not t'e war, but I have faith we will do great t'ings!!"

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A dark haired human glanced over the missive, before peering upwards at the board she took it from. Smiling faintly.

"The only easy day was yesterday."

 

"For Veletz, my brothers and sisters in arms."

"For Veletz."

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“We will remove those who play at Empire.”

 

The Young Montalt drunkenly spoke from his lone table at a tavern at the crossroads between the League Lands and Haense.

 

“Sir we just want to celebrate Krugsmas with our families.” Said one Haenser sympathizer.

 

”What is Krugmas without Santa… you make me sick.”

 

The man continued to overstay his welcome, making sure to carve his name into the table before his departure, reading:

 

”Gaspards Top Guy”

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The Protector of the Marchlands, Prince Richard, completed his trade dealings with his allies of Krugmar and began to stockpile his stores once more in preparation of the battles to come. As the day went on, he found himself within his halls with his family, he looked to his wife and daughter, "We march south.. after all these years.. we march south to close the wound that was left untreated for far too long. The Marcherfolk will be ready. It is a sign from the Almighty that we must march." 

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"Once again they prove me right. We are right to fight back." he'd state, knowing that war is never ending, and to defend his people and what his ancestors have built "These people have never been anything but our enemy."

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"Oh boy here I go killing again" Sir Adrien grinned

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1 minute ago, Optimus420 said:

The Protector of the Marchlands, Prince Richard, completed his trade dealings with his allies of Krugmar and began to stockpile his stores once more in preparation of the battles to come. As the day went on, he found himself within his halls with his family, he looked to his wife and daughter, "We march south.. after all these years.. we march south to close the wound that was left untreated for far too long. The Marcherfolk will be ready. It is a sign from the Almighty that we must march." 

The Princess Ottavia smiled to her husband, spreading her cards across the table before she pulled a card, smiling at the cards contents, Ottavia slid the card over to her husband "Time for the d'Atrus to prove if they can defend their city"

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Raphaiel brandished his BrascaLite BR-10, eager to show the adulterers what true death looks like.

 

Spoiler

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Adriel readies his horse, taking his lance to skewer another thirty colonizers.

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Lady Brasca pre-orders many a Brascalite from a master craftsman, the bows beginning to pile up in preparation for the upcoming warclaim! All the while, she hums a certain song as she delivers a sum of minas to the craftsman. "And a quiver of barbed arrows for my little Brascalite.." The Baroness continued to hum it, line after line.

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Prince Ezren of Tuvia sighed heavily at the notice presented to him whilst he held his newborn twins. “It was their own decision to house and coddle those of breakwater keep that led to innumerable deaths of their people in past battles, and the loss of their GODS benevolent grasp. Let them come and the crabs shall feast on their flesh.”

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Jagobert fairly howled from his horse, casting his burning sword to the sky. 

 

Death would rain. 

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Sir Andrik ups pole, his arms raised in poised readiness. "Fyodor, we fight." he declared with a resonant hum, their discussion unfolding amidst the rustic ambiance of the Druscan tavern.

@Radzig

 

Spoiler

OGWNZ_Or-KWFEA5JBPFFPGqnIpmVMAR_Rx-aZt06

 

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Grothzark'Dom turns in his sleep, haunted by the unending warsong that echoes in his mind. His only solace was his memories of the Stargush'Stroh and the blissful lives of those who had died to earn their place in the halls of Kor's eternity. One day.. The warsong will be but a memory and he will have earned his great death. Perhaps Balianites will afford it to him, though he recalled their performance on the Westmark Fields and he doubted it.

taxseason_sleepless_orc_peering_over_a_t

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A mali'ame pierced the missive with a dagger, a malicious grin visibly protruding from beneath his teal mask.
He let out a vicious bawl, only slightly muffled by the bandana which he wore upon his visage.


"BLOOD FOR BREAKWATER! BLOOD FOR BRASCA!"


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