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Missive of Refuge to the Displaced, 2023

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MISSIVE OF REFUGE TO THE DISPLACED.

 

CONVENTUS ADRIAE.

 

In the year 62 of the Age of Redemption and the Age of Resentment.

 

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BY THE FREE WILL OF THE DUMA AND THE ELECTED MANDATE OF THE EXILIC DUKE, THIS MISSIVE IS ISSUED IN THE SPIRIT OF A UNITED ADRIAN PEOPLE, GUIDED BY THE PRINCIPLES OF HONOR, DUTY, JUSTICE, LOYALTY, LIBERTY, AND WISDOM. THROUGH THIS COMMUNICATION, WE SHARE WITH YOU THE AFFAIRS AND STATECRAFT THAT SHAPE OUR FREE AND RESILIENT DUCHY.


 

TO ALL RAEVN PEOPLES AND THOSE OF SHARED HERITAGE (WHETHER RUS OR HANSETI), AND TO THE FAMILIES AND FOLK CAUGHT IN THE CRUEL TIDES OF WAR,

 

Let it be known across all realms where the banners of the Adrians yet fly, and to every soul who shares in the Raevn inheritance and the sorrows of war, that the Exilic Duchy of the Adrians, by the grace of its institutions and the solemn duty owed to kin and kindred, now opens its gates to the displaced and the destitute.

 

In solemn remembrance of the Fall of Winburgh, when our own hearths were cast into ruin and our people scattered across foreign fields, we speak now not from abstraction, but from memory. The suffering of the innocent, the quiet grief of families uprooted, the hollow silence of homes abandoned: these we know as our own.

 

In the elder days, when the world was younger and our fortunes first turned, it was you who took us in. When Adria was first laid low, when the hearths of our fathers were drowned in dust, it was among your people we sought refuge. And yet, that sacred trust was broken, and the kinship offered in mercy was later repaid in rivalry and scorn. So began the long cold season between us. 

 

But now, both peoples have been humbled beneath the hand of Providence. By flame and sword and the slow work of years, the proud have been laid low, and the mighty made meek. And it in this shared humility, born not of weakness but of trial, that I, Mateusz Sarkozic, Exilic Duke of the Adrians, do proclaim the following:

 

That all common folk, families, and neighbors of Raevn descent, and those of adjacent and familiar culture, who have taken no chief part in the war now ended, shall find welcome within the Free Town of Beznov and the lands held under the Exilic Duchy.

 

That no widow shall want for shelter;

That no child shall hunger beneath our care;

That no honest man shall be turned away for the poverty of his coin or the torn hem of his cloak.

 

Let the Adrians be known not only for our unbroken spirit in exile, but for the mercy we offer to those now made to walk the path we once tread. We do not ask for service, but offer kinship. We do not demand tribute, but provide haven. We do not forget what was done to us, and so we shall not do the same to others.

 

To the weary Raevn, to the broken-hearted Rus, to the uprooted and the uncertain Hanseti, let it be known:

 

You are not alone;
You are not unwanted;
You are not without a home.

 

Come not as beggars, but as brothers.
Come not as strangers, but as kin.
Come home.

 


SO SPOKEN UNDER MY SEAL, AND BY MY HAND,

HIS GRACE, Mateusz of the House Sarkozic, Exilic Duke of the Adrians, Count of Aldersberg, Lord of Beznov, and Protector of Dumacracy.

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Vacslava eyed the missive, a smile cast over her features. "His Grace is a man of both wisdom and heart — not a common pairing, I daresay. He seeks not glory for himself but peace for those beneath his banner. Such a ruler is a blessing in troubled times. May the Raevn who bear steel in his name be kept safe beneath GOD’s watchful gaze." She let out a thoughtful hum, the corners of her lips curving into a mischievous smile. "I wonder, though... perhaps the Duke has yet a tray of sweets untouched? A small indulgence is hardly rebellion — even soldiers march better with something sweet to remember home by." With a swish of her skirts and a spark in her eye, Vacslava turned on her heel and dashed off down the corridor, determined to find the Duke and inquire.

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