The Royal Army Goes North

[Irishmanmichael 504]

THE ARMY GOES NORTH

 

 

FROM THE DESK OF

THE LORD MARSHAL

 

 

A heavy dim could be heard coming from the courtyard of the capitals garrison!

 

✠ Missives: The Stirring of Northern Peril ✠

It had scarce been a month since the great wagon trains ceased their solemn procession into the capital—laden with the spoils, wounded, and weary from the Balian campaign—when the realm turned once more to the rhythms of peace. The vassal levies, their duty fulfilled, were dismissed to hearth and hall, and the banners of Burgundy furled in the still air of respite.

Within the austere halls of the Marshal’s keep, where war’s echo had not yet faded, the Lord Marshal and his tireless Quartermaster, Jürgen, toiled long into candlelit hours. With quill and tally-stick they accounted the dead, the coin spent, and the debts owed to sword and saddle. The lists were grim, yet honest—a soldier’s ledger of sacrifice and state.

But peace is a fleeting guest.

No sooner had the ink dried than a courier, mud-streaked and breathless, arrived bearing a sealed letter, accompanied by a Royal Mandate, its wax unbroken, yet heavy with portent. The letter, upon being read, struck the Marshal like scalding tea spilled within the cuirass—a sudden heat beneath the cold iron of duty.

Its author: Lord Whitewood of Silasia.

Its content: dire.

The northern marches of the fledgling nation stood imperiled. A host of ill-repute—brigands, landless sell-swords, and vagabond veterans left adrift by waning wars—had taken up arms and threatened to breach the border. No banner they bore but greed; no law did they heed but hunger.

Thus was Burgundy called again—not by trumpet’s call, but by ink and seal. And once more, the sword would leave its sheath

 

✠ Preparation ✠

Manfred, son of Burgundy, he who bore the King’s burden as Marshal of the Royal Host, did not delay.

Hastening to the window of the great tower, he cast open the shutters and, with a voice of thunder, did calld his Captain in the courtyard below. “Limber the cannon! Bring forth the stores of powder and steel! The King and Imperator has called us to aid Silasia!”

Without delay, he returned to his desk, and there he set his quill to parchment with unrelenting fury. Missives by the dozen flew forth under his seal, dispatched to every outpost, hamlet, and bastion where the King’s soldiers took their ease. “Return to arms,” he bade them, “for the realm is endangered, and thy promised leave must be forsworn in the hour of peril.”

Even as the letters took flight by hand and hoof, Manfred descended to the hall with clattering. Supplies were rerouted, rations measured, and wagons readied with the precision of a man born in war. Though the returning wagons of the southern campaign gave him a modest head start, he knew full well it would require two months to muster a force fit to scour the North of its villainy.

And so, by candlelight and with grim resolve, did he pen one final letter—its words meant the lord he knew would have to hold by himself till he could arrive

✠ Reply ✠

Baron,

Your message has reached me, and know this—your call for aid has stirred the hearts of the Royal Army. By decree of His Majesty, the host is once more to be raised, and preparations are now underway to recall our soldiers and ready the necessary stores of war.

Yet, as you are well aware, such efforts take time. Men must return from leave, arms and provisions must be gathered, and the wagons of supply made fit for the road. I ask that you hold your ground until we arrive.

Rally your people. Arm them with whatever tools may be found—be it sword, spear, or scythe. Deny the enemy the bounty of your fields if you must, and raise such defenses as may be built in haste. You must endure, and in doing so, you shall grant us the time needed to come to your aid.

I myself shall ride ahead of the army with all speed, bringing what arms and armor I can muster. Though I cannot name the exact day of my arrival—for safety demands discretion—expect me within the month. You will not stand alone.

Hold fast, and may God keep you.

In service to Crown and Country,

Manfred von Berkhoven

 

•• ━━━━━ •• ✠ •• ━━━━━ ••

 

✠ The Rallying of the Host at the Capital ✠

Where once the garrison bustled with the chatter of dismissal and the quiet joy of soldiers soon to return home, the air was now split by the sharp peal of bells and the bark of sergeants. Thousands of men, who but moments ago stood in line to be discharged or granted leave, were swiftly corralled into ranks anew. Notices bearing the Marshal’s seal were nailed to posts and gates, and the weapons they had only just laid down were returned to their grasp.

Amidst this confusion stepped forth Lord Manfred von Berkhoven, the Marshal of Burgundy, mounting a barrel to address the sea of warriors before him. His voice, clear and thunderous, rang out over the courtyard.

“Soldiers of Burgundy!” he called, “I know ye are wearied—I know full well that many among you have already bled, and have lost kith and kin in service to Crown and Country. I know it is no small thing to ask more of you still.

 

Yet ask I must. For now, our fellow countrymen in the North, under the Lord of Silasia, are beset by curs and scoundrels—rogues who, for greed alone, have taken up arms against the innocent. The Lord hath called for our aid, and the honour of Burgundy demands we answer.

 

I shall not compel the unwilling—no man shall be forced to take up the sword again if his heart is set elsewhere. But I shall go. I shall ride forth, and I hope to see again the banners that once charged great walls by my side in our southern campaigns.

 

And to those of you who stand here, young and tested, who lacked age or training in wars past—your time is now. Come forth and stand for your homeland. Take up the slack left by fallen heroes, and write your own name in the annals of glory!

 

Come! Enlist now—to defend your country, and to win renown everlasting!”

With that, the Marshal stepped down amidst the roar of answering voices and made his way within, to the chamber of war, where the planning of campaign had already begun.

 

•• ━━━━━ •• ✠ •• ━━━━━ ••

 

 

A CALL TO HONOUR

BURGUNDY is under attack from mountain brigands so join the ranks and come to serve your fellow man and King!Make thyself known to any soldier of the Host, and thou shalt be brought before an officer. Or send a bird to Manfred von Berkhoven (Irishmanmichael), Jürgen von Rhoswald (Petsch2k), or Richard von Rhoswald (Ketof).

 

Let thy faith be proven in action. In His Majesty’s Name, rise—defend the people, protect humanity, and carve thy name into the everlasting stone of honour.

 

OOC: We are going to engage a cro campaign which should be a lot of fun so come and take a look at the army if your looking for something new to do! To Join the Army, you can join this discord: https://discord.gg/TMWGWdVuEz.

 

EVENT:

We will be moving out officially from the garrison at

7pm EST tomorrow!

 

Any officer can help you get on the right track, or contact the Lord Marshal directly!

 

 

B V R G V N D I A E    I N V I C T A

 

HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, Tiberias I of the House van Aert, Imperator and King of Burgundy, Duke of Middelan, Baron of Pestilles, Protector of Grense, Patriarch-Dynast of the Pertinaxi, etcetera.

 

HIS EXCELLENCY,  Manfred von Berkhoven, Lord Marshal of Burgundy

 

Edited May 12, 2025 by Irishmanmichael

[Pegleg_Bob 1107]

A cyclops named Larkin Mack Winburgh smiles as he is told the news of marching north: "Wioo be home by kwugmassth i sthweaw."