The Druscan Answer

[Lasombruh 612]

"And so it begins. . ." Istvan murmured as he sharpened his blade, adorned now in the armaments of house Ashford de Anjou at the steps of castle Waldemar.

[Nord 346]

Johann knelt against the cold stone of Castle Waldemer’s parapets, his elbows rested upon the edge of the crenel in front of him with his hands pressed together as he spoke quiet prayers. Below the valley lay shrouded by the morning mist, acting almost as a prelude to the blood that will be spilled against the castle's white battlements. 

 

Once his prayers concluded he stood, turning his head towards the fellow brother-in-arms that had come to relieve him of his watch. "Blood for Ashford." He voiced with a nod before hoisting his halberd over his shoulder and stepping off the battlements to get breakfast.

[drtrollado 267]

"When the gates of diplomacy are tightly shut, conflict arises" The acolyte spoke before continuing his studies.

[Kardika 1057]

"It is time" says the Salvian before riding out to pillage the now loosely guarded roads of the Imperium...

[___ 361]

Spoiler

 

Edited August 19, 2025 by GibbousKong

[MailC3p 2403]

A proud Alexander reads the missive, the sloshing of mina in bags of leather bound by string echoed through his mind as he found himself in his Umbran Lamellar riding North with his band of soldiers following not more then moments behind him. He had fought these wars before, and he was going to fight them again.

 

However....

 

The Prince of Sedan, Richard of Marna reads the missive in the comfort, and safety of his palace in Krukiv. These past years have been long, they have been confusing. He had never wanted to be Prince, infact he never even knew that was an option he had in his life; not until after his brothers head had been separated from his body, of course. The missives he had to write piled up on the table beside him, a frown curling around his lips. Despite having such favor, and title within the Empire, he had never felt more powerless to steer his own life...

[nunlover 579]

Lucien Ashford de Brionnes read the missive. "Blood for Ashford."  

[xo31 3979]

A man, wearing scars depicting the sins of humanity upon his skin, sung with a choir. A choir of Haeseni, and they wanted blood.

 

They would be obliged, a wicked blade being withdrawn from it's holding. Crows circled the skies.

[Terry 2680]

"Well, coalitions have been toppled before." Commented the old Ruthern, noting the very war which led them to Norland in the first place.

[wowj 9747]

Saburo flips a coin, testing the fate of either side, though, whatever side had landed face-up were only known by he himself.

[TwistedFries 550]

Sigismondo Raffaele of House Rosavena sat in his villa’s private chapel, praying - a rare practice for him, but one he felt was worth the chance. “Dio Almighty, please’a watch over us, everyone involved’a in zhis forsaken war. Let zhis conflict be resolved’a swiftly, and may we find’a peace once more’a.” At that, the young Illatian boy then signed the Lorraine cross over his chest; finishing his prayer.

[Navigator 4260]

"It is written, for He Who Sees Angels has witnessed it, that the judgement of the Lord God be wrought upon all."

spoke the maddened, false Angel, clutching the Scroll of Judgement to his side, a cacophony of weeping voices swirling about him, urging to different degrees of action.

"Unto the eighth circle is the dominion of laurel and crown who seek to challenge His Will and Word, false kings and priests who interpret and do not follow..."

he quoted the parchment he held, a cackle evoked from the depth of his soul;

"And so, Apocalypse began. . ."

[Helmet 1454]

LIVING METAL laid back upon a tarp-woven chair next to the remnants of Balian & the handiwork done to it by the empire.

Clutching a coconut cracked open with a green hued straw swirling out of it, a copy of "The Druscan Answer" was carried by the sea's breeze- presumably lost by a courier or disposed of from a member of Braevos' populace.

 

The dull crimson catching his eye, Galathol stood. After a moment of light chasing, he gripped the missive and peered through it's contents, lifting his drink to take a swig. Gearwork strides carried him back to his seat, returning to leisure while he digested the contents of the dire news more thoroughly. However...

 

Something had caught his false-gaze.

 

6 hours ago, Vikenz said:

If this coalition headed by the the headless Calias insists upon bloodying the realms of Man, then theirs will be the same fate met by all those who stood against our august forebearers: humiliation and defeat.

 

His torso curled forwards as he re-read the Answer once, then twice, then thrice- narrowing it down from it's entirety, to a paragraph, to a mere sentence. An error. A waste of a precious resource. Ink. Crudely, he wrote over the Druscan Mistake with crimson of his own- lining the text where the sentence was faulty alongside underlining it for good measure.

 

6 hours ago, Vikenz said:

If this coalition headed by the the headless Calias insists upon bloodying the realms of Man, then theirs will be the same fate met by all those who stood against our august forebearers: humiliation and defeat.

 

Folding his own modified, albeit crumpled version of "The Druscan Answer", he made his way to the aviary to return it to the author before more precious ink was wasted. Having done his completely, definitely, absolutely necessary duty to maintain efficiency & order, Galathol slowly lumbered back to his trusty chair, collapsing back down onto it while sipping from the coconut's contents once more.

 

Spoiler

@Vikenz ug, fix post

 

Edited August 20, 2025 by Helmet

[Dcsword 237]

The dwarf unrolled the missive and grunted, “That bastard Roger is at it again.” He laughed, slapping his belly with a hearty thump.

Fetching his warhammer-axe, he ran a calloused hand along the blade. The rune carved into its steel glowed faintly. “It’s been a while since ye tasted Norland and Mareno blood,” he muttered with a grin.

Summoning his steed, he swung into the saddle and turned toward Drusco. For a moment, he furrowed his brow, trying to recall the war-cry of Ashford’s knights. Then it struck him, and he roared to the skies:

“BLOOD FOR ASHFORD!”

With another slap to his belly, he spurred his mount forward.

[Ardory 2978]

Soxton Boomstitch throws the missive into the fire, not because he read it or anything or disagrees with it. It was a cold night.