Hrrmm...Must be somethin' about taht...hrm yeah ughaughaughaughaugha I love Oran, I love Oran so much I am willing to give up everything I have for Oran. The thing about Oran that I love so much is the people, the people on Oran are some of the greatest and most loyal military and slice of life roleplayers one could ever ask for. I have never had better rp than on Oran, the Oran rp is so good in fact, that I abandoned my friends, colleagues, family, job, pets, religion, taxes, girlfriend, wife, husband, son, daughter, and niece all just to join the MOJ and ISA because the Oran rp is so good. The people or Oran and the military rp is basically real military rp, just like, better! Seriously, Oran rp is the best rp there ever was because Oran not only has military roleplay for when I want to show off my roleplaying skills alongside my brothers in the MOJ and ISA, but it also has really good slice of life roleplay. Oran specializes in having a working economy and system that makes the world feel alive, the religions and the people apart of them are loyal and it makes Oran really good for religion roleplay as well which makes it even better than I thought it was originally. Infact, I take back my previous statement, I won't be just abandoning my livelihood for Oran, infact I will actually literally die for Oran, Oran is so good I could literally do everything for Oran because I love Oran. I was so lost before I found Oran, literally, I was playing with my friends in a bandit group outside Oran and we fought an MOJ person and won, so then this person comes into my discord dm's and convinced me that I should abandon that bandit group, rat them out with meta-gamed information, and do whats best for Oran because I love Oran rp and everyone that's in it.

At last....VIVA MERCATORE!!!! WOOOOOO finally, iz culture time!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

From the distant wailing shores of a cliff somewhere near Savoy was a fargone voice of a former M.R.A. Partisan. His faded armaments lay in a pile, to commemorate a gravestone of his brothers that died during those fruitless conflicts against the Orenians. But now? He stood laughing as he plucked off those old weapons. There was a reignition towards a cause abandoned by the damnable softies that came before. Old men with deep pockets happy with the turnout of the cause that left the brittle horrid shell of the Mercatorii into something of a defiled corpse. He stood there as he looked upon the grave, his retrieved weapons brandished as a sign of retribution for a cause long abandoned as he spoke. "Nie abandoned any longer? Mother sure work in mysterious ways, I wonder then... How long until the vulture of Oren come to attack, and how hard will they fall?" Looking over towards the uniform of an MOJ soldier, one of many he had strung up in the vicinity... He guess it would be quite the impact.

based and gungo pilled, I'll see you in court my wingo

Silently in the mind of the newbie leaning along the wall of the building his comrades resided inside, a contemplation was in order from word of a suicide that his comrades spoke about. Yet another death in a tally of many, the thoughts running across his mind ran like a river, and his lip quivered slightly. A ringing in his ears from the resounding words of his father's teachings, as The Canticle of Diligence of the Scroll of Virtue yet again reminded the idle man to abandon his sloth. And so the thoughts soon left his mind in favor of work.

It was a small inkling in the mind of Brachstowitz that gave him some sort of pang in his chest, a friend of the M.R.A was something uncommon to hear of. In his small pace around the woods he was in, receiving the news only meager hours ago, he began to sit along the rotted tree log and ponder the very phrasing itself, 'dear friend'. It was a silent prayer for the man that gave way to tears from the newest M.R.A member, unbroken Faith to his cause stifling the tear ducts a mere moment after the last of the unspoken words left his lips. "Viva Mercatore, may the Faith relieve our weary minds of the weights of war." And so with those words finally piercing the long silence with only a whisper, the Priviya agentea had begun to move away from the old rotted log still covered in the rain from days prior. His legs far removed from shaking from the guilt as he began to hold his hands behind his back and think to himself of what was to come. Viva Mercatore.