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The Robertine Crusade

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Fleeperpriest

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Tar-Caraneth Aryantë smiled as the decree was pinned to the noticeboard of Fair Númenost. "GOD wills it. Let His work be done and glory be found by His servants."

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"The world calls for wet-work and we answer." Answered Caius of Lemon Hill, polishing his blade with citrus o' that hill to coat against the rust and tarnish of this sinful earth.

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Rhak Dom prepares his pilgrimage to Edel, so that he might rinse the abomination that dwells there from the mortal plane altogether. He prays to St. Michael, before repeating the Pontiff's words.

"But LO! BEHOLD! Who indeed in the 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀, the weirdo, who indeed the wrongdoer, but the HOBBIT THAT HATH DEPICTED, MANUFACTURED AND DISTRIBUTED, THE LICENTIOUS, SCANDALOUS, MUTATED PERVERSIONS of FICTITIOUS ORCS engaged in ABOMINATION?"

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The Red-Ruskan prepares for a Crusade.."CHEEKI BREEKI!"

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Arthur smacked his lips and realized he was not about to fight in this war anyway. He emptied his Lurin house.

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Vincenzo paused for a moment, letting the weight of the missive settle in his mind. “To bring down the Halflings, to purge their lands of their twisted machinations, it is not just righteous, it is the will of the Almighty! This crusade is not merely overdue, it is a holy reckoning that will see the wicked fall and the virtuous rise!”

 

His voice grew louder, filled with the fire of conviction, as he turned his thoughts toward Lurin and Vortice, his eyes narrowing with pure contempt. “And not just the Halflings! Lurin, Vortice, these dens of corruption, where the heretics and the faithless dwell, mocking the Holy Church with their defiance! They stand as symbols of everything vile and foul, and they too must be cast down in flames of judgment!”

 

“There will be no mercy for those who walk in darkness, those who consort with the enemies of GOD! They who deceive the faithful and conspire with evil shall be washed away by the flood of His righteous wrath. This is no mere battle for land, it is a holy purification, a crusade to burn away the filth that has taken root in these forsaken lands.”

 

His voice rang out. “Saint Lucien, hear us! Pray for the soldiers of GOD as we march in His holy name! Guide our blades, steady our hearts, and grant us strength as we deliver His justice! We will not falter, for the Most Merciful may show kindness, but this is the time for His wrath, and we are His sword!”

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An adunic ranger read the decree from the pontiff and raised a brow before continuing to smoke through her pipe, pondering on what is to come

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A Pious Halfling King cackled at the declaration of the unknowing puppet of Iblees.

 

"Ten' march 'pon our good Shire, dearest Callahan, let GOD, th' Great Farmer Billybob decoide the righteous."

 

And with that, Cyris put his Aurum shovel to the grindstone.

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In a bygone time, many ages past, there sat a forlorn Hobbit in the dungeon of a Lucienist prison. He had been collected by knights of renown from the roadside, and bound by chains was left to rot.

 

Outside the cell, three Lucienists debated. [Translated from Marian accent]

 

"He needs to die." Said the first. "I will kill him."

 

"Not yet, Sir Heinrich." Replied the mustachioed sergeant. "What has the Hobbit done?"

 

"Indeed, as Prenkus says, he has committed no wrong, besides jumping around the issue of his belief." Added a younger orderman.

 

Destiny was strong in that room, that day. Years into the future, great things happened, that would echo for decades still.

 

"I well kill him." Said the first, loading his crossbow and shooting the Hobbit dead.

 

"He is a freak. Deus Magnus."

 

+

 

"Deus Magnus." Said today a son of those men.

 

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"Ten-billion-trillion dead Descendants," an ancient elf lamented somewhere. "Fourteen-quadrillion-zillion years till inter-galactic Orenian Empire."

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