Pancho

A secret auctioneer clansman silently plots his revenge for the destroyed contraband.

It's almost as though the NL's (who were discussing it) were Ferrymen! Really is a pickle why Ferrymen associated players would be discussing a war led by NL's who happen to be Ferrymen.

1.9. Now I’m pretty decent at both versions, but 1.9 is the way forward. 1.8 is a great PvP system don’t get me wrong, but in order for the server to progress 1.9 has to be embraced. If the past warclaims were 1.8, it would be that numbers would mainly be the deciding factor here simply due to the tactics being used. 1.8 requires a lot more strategy for a heavily outnumbered fight, whilst 1.9 makes for a unique system that gives numbers quite an advantage, but only if the numbering side utilizes it. (-1 me, I know it’s a dogshit take)

What’s your favorite nation you’ve ever been a prominent member of

Prince Kosher Daesmon, Prince of Malin’or and Amaethea, Bringer of Justice, would look upon the missive. With his free hand, he would beckon his son Prince Acanthus over, waving towards the shining sea. “Rally the people. The kin of the Irehearts seek Justice and so do we. We draw our blades alongside them at once.”

RP Name: 'Fresh' Prince Kosher IGN: PanchoII Allegiance: Amaethea

Love this, easy +1 Quick question though, how do these Fr es tires react to ahzl since they are undead?

Rule 7 is now just "Respect the 1v1 man!!11"

A Ferry Prince would laugh in his high tower as the Uruk blood flowed

A Former Ferry-Prince chuckles from his throne. "It's already over."

Antonio ‘Alto’ de Murat, son of Treble the Patriot, nephew of Tony Romano and Klaus de Murat, would sit in the northern keep as the courier told him of his guardians death. The boy would began to tear up, realizing the last of his family had been forcefully torn from this world for their belief once more. As he looked around, he saw mementos of his family, the last of their kind sitting there, painfully alive. “I’ll find Justice for you someday, for all of you.” He’d quietly look at the paintings of the fallen trio of brothers, his eyes filled with rage.

The one road map idea has been thrown around a bit, any ideas of how to expand on this idea for a form of it to be implemented possibly?

Prince Kosher Daesmon sighs, pulling a bottle of ink and quill as scratching on parchment echoed throughout the hall. “To the Kingdom of Norland from His Highness Kosher Daesmon, Prince of Amaethea. You claim that Norland is filled with Honour, but where is the Honour on the field when fighting a war of aggression? The Uruk marched upon Celia’nor and with them your Ashguard. Henceforth, Amaethea offers amnesty and refuge to all Norlandic refugees for the duration of this war. You made your move, so I make mine in turn.” -Kosher Daesmon, Prince of Amaethea, Bringer of Justice

The 'Fresh' Prince Kosher Daesmon would read the missive, turning to his long time ally and close llir, High Prince Vytrek Tundrak with a keen eye. "Most interesting ey?"

Prince Kosher Daesmon would perk a brow at the missive, standing up and leaving the comfort of his home as he looked across the Caras y Tennellar with a renewed vigor in his heart.

He hadn't seen it coming, no one had. The young veteran had seen many die, but now it was his time. But oh, it was a time to be alive. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Treble de Murat, or as he would come to be known, Treble the Patriot, had been having a normal day when the attack started. He saw visions of men falling in the streets around him, Balian becoming the warzone of Providence from when he was an Imperial Guardsman for the Empire. Sights he had put behind him now revitalized in his mind once more as the young man flashed back to when he was but a boy, fighting for his country. He saw blood running through the streets, bodies everywhere, faces of those who he had slain on distant fields up close, grasping at him for the carnage he caused. He saw dwarves, blood spattered across their faces as his comrades fell lifeless around him. He saw the innocent Sedanite woman that his comrades had butchered outside of Haverlock, himself sobbing as they burnt down the church in the city. He saw the faces of children in the besieged city, cut down by the monsters around him as he transformed. All he found was sorrow and regret from his actions as he held onto the locket Lorraine he treasured so dearly. The man was pushed into another vision of the past, his joining of the family he loved so dearly and had given him a place to call home. Banjo, Arsenios, Tony, Klaus, Mikhail, and Morado all flashed by him so slowly, but to him it was too quick as he saw the coveted bandana he seeked for so long. His son, his bastard, taking refuge in the only place he could think of. His poor son, now an orphaned bastard like he was. How the Ferrymen would shape him to be so great, better than his father. Snapping back to reality, the olog’s hand crushed down on him all too quickly. Where the psychotic breakdown controlled his life, the olog had swiftly ended it, leaving The Patriot dead on the pavement of the Oren he loved. His final breath sighed as loud of a cannon as the bells tolled and a star beaming across the night sky in the desert heat. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Letters for the loved ones of the fallen. For Banjo Mareno ( @Masouri ) For Klaus ( @Estew ) To Primrose ( @MapleSunflower)

A horse of snow would ride Notth, on the road to Karosgrad. The Patriot rode hard, traveling across the continent upon hearing of the King’s ailment. As he arrived to the gates, he saw the gathering and knew it was too late. He would take a dagger on his hip and cut his palm, dripping blood into the snow next to him. “A winters fate for such a king. I never met him, but he had his finest hours in the past twenty years. Long alive Sigismund the Faithful.”

+1 Lesser Cancer Metal go brrrr

Prince Kohser Daesmon would look over the city, silently watching as the city he once called home was ransacked by Uruk Forces. He would slowly walk through the streets, seeing the carnage of soldiers all over, some even of his own sword. As the ‘ame prince approached the Gardens of Elysium, he would stop in front of the grave of his late husband, who died fighting for the nation he was now fighting against. “I’m sorry Brian, but you would understand why I had to do this when you look at what it’s become.” The young Prince would turn and mount his steed, riding through the city to gather the scattered Glaiveguard forces. The last seen of him in the aftermath was him leading a column of Amaethean troops out of the city, and back towards Caras y Tennallar.

A Courier dressed in pitch black armour would approach the Prince, saluting to him as he handed over a letter detailing the massacre. As Prince Kosher Daesmon read the report, his fists would clench, in his eyes a flame of fury igniting. As a ring was twisted off and set on the table, he would quietly whisper something to the courier, who quickly ran off trembling. As he sat, he would grow impatient, finally snapping out as the soldiers guarding the office room jumped hearing his voice filled with rage. “Rally the Glaiveguard, NOW.”

Me sitting here banned from the Kingdom of Oren discord as well; Guess I’m a terrible person

When are you gonna roleplay with me ;-;

As the voidal hallow vanished due to the sacrifice of the Druid, Kosher Daesmon would look upon the greenish hue in the sky due to her actions. As he travelled East, he would look upon the land as agreed by the hollow and realize what must’ve happened. “The poor soul who died for this has saved many more. Maybe I’ll see who and erect a statue one day.”

Prince Kosher Daesmon would read the treaty, handing it to his son, Acanthus ( @AgentofDeath13 ) to read, standing up to address House Daesmon and her members. “Men and women of House Daesmon, we’ve worked on this for years. Years of our lives put into attempting bring together Elves at long last has awakened. Long alive House Daesmon, Long Live Mali’nor!”

Prince Kosher Daesmon would look over the missive, disgust evident in his eyes as he sat down at an emergency session of his advisors. "What is this shit?" He would throw the missive at his brother, Lord Elliphas Daesmon (@Braydebn) as he tapped the ashes off the end of a cigar. He would glare around the room, a fire in his eyes as he remembered the warm blood of the Haelun'orian rebels on his blade after the siege of their city. His fist would curl into an iron grip, banging on the table as his gaze shot upon one of his eldest heirs, Acanthus (@AgentofDeath13). "Get me the Rex, NOW."