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MARCHING ORDERS: OPERATION RETRIBUTION


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"Three more years and the sun shall once more rise on Humanity." Percy de Lyons sat near a fire- in lands just north of Veletz, as he cooked a freshly caught rabbit over the flame. A half-hour perhaps passed as he rose to his feet, packed his things and began his march to Brasca.

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"Another year, another battle."

 

John Galbraith sat in his parlor, attending to one of the ungodly many birds he kept  - lost in thought as the man handed it a little slice of kiwi. 

 

"How many civilians are slain in Adria's refusal to submit? How many more will have to die?" he cawed, careful hand moving to pluck a thorn from its wing whilst it was distracted. "Or is this sin ladden upon us?"

 

His son had died earlier in the War. He knew how he died --  a cultist, the wrong place at the wrong time. Sheer coincidence. But years of being told he'd died in battle had worn his mind down, and now, he joined others in mourning the war, the loss of his child, hardly of eight years. "War is a gruesome thing ... gruesome, gruesome. Are we not gruesome in being complacent, then?" John mumbled, shaking hands seeking his companion's. 

@teeylin

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Artel stands overlooking the ruins of Stassion, the smoke of the ruins of Drusco still rising as well, he turns towards the rallied bluecloaks "This marks der end, they shall make for peace or ve shall wipe them out" he nods firmly, drawing the Heir of the Flame and hoisting it into the sky "UNWAVERING UNDER THE SUN!" he shouts and the call is returned by the force that stands ready for war "for ihr kinder! for der Queen! for all our brothers and sisters lost to Veletz and Adrian hands!"

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"Finally, Light may shine upon the World once more." murmured Enrico under his breath, signing the Lorraine.

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Beowulf von Theonus read the orders. He looked up to the sky, having lost a father and a brother to this war, he hoped this would truly be the end. He returned to his forge with a heavy mind.

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6 minutes ago, garentoft said:

"Finally, Light may shine upon the World once more." murmured Enrico under his breath, signing the Lorraine.

Young Elianos echoed his uncle in gesture, as the boy stood by the Princes' side. A Lorraine cross signed over his chest, though for what, Elianos wasn't entirely sure.

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Margrave Jose Fuentes, now almost fully recovered from his illness, took his first steps in years. The Margrave was still not as strong as he once was, though his eyesight had recovered enough to read the marching orders. The wars end drew near, and he had missed most of it. 

It was time to finish his duty.

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"Let's get to it then," Marcus stated firmly, weapons ready. The last days of the war were upon them.

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Father Jean raised his censer over the Merryweather basilisk, Corwin's Hammer, and with an echoing chant blessed both the Black Band of Alstreim and the Aaunic Knights of Godwin, assembled as a mixed mass of artillerymen, cavalrymen, and infantrymen - all set upon a single knee before him.

"O Lord, King of Kings, grant your faithful host victory."


 

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Ezren Of Tuvia looked down at his blade as the scrape of the sharpening stone whisked across its gleaming moonstone surface. Methodical, almost in a trance did the sound flick off the stone. Finally he stopped, looking out across the fields which lay between the covenants encampment and the doorstep of Veletz. Lifting the sword up, he pointed the tip towards the fortress, looking down the shaft of the blade with one eye. “Soon. Soon they shall reap what they sowed for decades. It all began with Adria, and it shall end with Adria.” He lowered the sword, his face showing not glee but sadness. “May GOD show mercy on the innocents who made their home within these lands, for their lords folly shall soon reign blood. And may those lords see their errors in the seconds before death, and beg for forgiveness, so that perhaps their souls may still reach the seven skys” 

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"And so we return to the Westmark." Ivan bowed his head, and traced the cross of Hussariya over his scratched breastplate. "Let us avenge that greatest of shames."

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"Ah yes, good estimates I see." *Said the elf as he reached the 99% sureness of the operation going to be a sucess letting out a laugh at such* "How nice! They aint wrong though."

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A heartlander youth pushes past a crowd gathered in the square of Winburgh, he watches as soldiers leave the keep, readying themselves to defend home and fatherland. He clasps his hands and prays, prays for gentle rain to wash away the incoming tide of blood. 

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