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A Demand For Justice

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Marshal Cerrick Fenifaer stamps his approval!

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[!] A woman sat upon a delicately carved chair, a smile pressing her face as she glimpsed over the missive. "Freedom for our people.. Freedom for all" The woman spoke quietly looking towards the crowd starting to form

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A Vinovian knight smiles as he stands next to Captain Vargys, readying himself for the road ahead.

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A Haense-born Duchess in Balian whose foster mother lives in Petra, and whose Uncle founded Ravenmire, and whose goddaughters lives in Hyspia scratches at her head awkwardly. “Well shit.

 

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"Emperor?" Such was the Monarchs first query upon reading of the delivered missive. Each word read only served to arch her brows further, unsure what to think. A world without the Church? Without the True Faith? It was unthinkable, and as she filed the missive away, she pondered as to the churches response.

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A Vinovian princess smiles.
 

Spoiler

Help Mady put me at gunpoint and said I had to respond.

 

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The slayer made ready his armaments for the coming days; knives, arrows, his trusted blade. The rest of the company spoke of a "crusade" or "holy war". To the farfolk who had never known faith, the whole idea seemed strange and alien. Especially so considering shortly before they had been fighting for mere gold. He recalled a phrase spoken in passing during a conversation with one of his old, sworn blood brothers, before their band had been scattered to the four winds. 

"Maybe all the theories are fake." He muttered, looking at the call to arms. "Only the bloodshed is real."

Edited by Grimkahn
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Kezmur turns to his old friend Grommash, showing him the notice. The half-orc begins to cry at the fleeptastic nature of his brethren.

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1 hour ago, _mady07 said:

The woman spoke quietly looking towards the crowd starting to form

"Let's not be hasty... They must be detained and brought to proper justice before the holy tribunals." Sirius Mareno warned the lynch-mob of loyal Canonists looming toward the heretical figures.

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“I will slap the light out of your eyes,” spoke most pious Saint Raguel, the Archaengul of Justice, a sublime messenger of GOD. 

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An enigmatic figure clad in teal sat idly in his hammock, swaying back and forth in the midland's breeze. The Skipper snickered at what he'd hear earlier, from a passing merchant.

"I'll write Banjo, see if the old man has really co-signed this lunacy." 

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