nunlover

THE MARCH OF STASSION 16th of SUN’S SMILE, 656 AA The hooves of the Stassionite Brigade shake the earth. The march began beneath a hard, gray sky. The ships remained visible behind them, anchored in the bay where they had landed. Sails furled, their hulls rocked gently upon the tide. For many of the men, they were the last visible connection to Aevos. Two hundred Stassionites formed the column. Veterans, household retainers, sailors, laborers, and a scattering of younger men who had reached fighting age just as the world around them began to collapse. They marched in silence, boots pressing into soil none of them had walked before. At the front rode Frederick. He was fourteen summers old, and yet the crossing had stripped what little remained of his youth. His face carried none of the easy curiosity that otherwise belonged to the average boy, and his eyes skimmed the countryside with the measured attention of a man who thought often of consequence. Beside Frederick rode Horace. The brothers resembled one another, all the way from their auburn hair to those sharp, nearly-alien features and unmistakably solemn expressions. And though cut from the same cloth, there had once been differences between the pair. Frederick had been serious while Horace had laughed more easily. That distinction, however, had faded with Aevos. Now, both boys rode quietly at the head of a people in exile. Ahead of them rode Sir Humphrey de Valognes. The old knight's back remained straight despite decades of steel and dirt. He had fought in the War of Crown and Crozier when state and church alike had torn each other apart like hounds snapping for scraps. Yet, Humphrey rarely spoke of them himself. Wars became stories for the victorious. For the survivors, they were usually memories best left undisturbed. The land of Azuras unfolded around them in long stretches of grass and woodland. Rivers bounded across their path. Distant hills rose blue against the horizon. It was a rich country, untouched by the scars that marked much of the Aevosi lands.Several hours into the march, Frederick guided his horse closer to Humphrey's. "We cannot afford to echo the sins of our kin, Richard, however Novellen that fickle bastard may have been.” Humphrey offered a concurrent nod. Frederick considered that for a moment. Behind them, the column continued steadily onward. Many of the soldiers had served Frederick's father. Some had carried his banners into battle. Others had guarded his halls or worked his lands. They had followed his final command as faithfully as any order he had ever given. Take the boys. Cross the sea. Preserve what remains. No one spoke openly about whether there would ever be a return. By afternoon, the shoreline had disappeared entirely. The realization settled heavily over the company. As long as the sea had remained visible, Aevos had felt distant but reachable. Now forests and hills stood between them and the coast. For the first time, the old world felt truly behind them. Toward evening, scouts returned with news of smoke rising in the distance. A settlement. The report passed quietly through the column. Some men seemed relieved. Others grew more cautious. Humphrey listened, asked his questions, and gave his instructions. His expression never changed. That night they made camp beside a river. The fires burned low. Guards took their posts. Horses grazed beneath the fading light. Frederick and Horace stood together at the edge of the camp, looking westward where the last light of the sun faded across the hills of Azuras. Neither spoke for some time. They did not need to. “Let the march begin.”

I’m writing this on phone so it may be bad. I was banned for a month though I didn’t even feel the urge to log on, get the thrill of banditing, rp or pvp. i think my time on the server is done for now, I have tried as a perm fleeper to do my best to have fun, banditing, shotcalling, roleplaying, conflict etc. I have enjoyed every bit of it from bad and good. Shoutout OP, @cakefool@Vikenz@Boom_steel@Mamluk@Dcsword@terms@MRCHENN@Xtessisold222@legitimised @Emery@2dks @Radzig@Mattiii@all of alba@drusco @North couldnt of asked for better minemen enemies and friends

THE CLASH OF FAIRMARKET Issued by the Knight Commander On the 8th of Sigismund’s End, 2076 To the Citizenry of our fair Archduchy, In the fields surrounding Saint Godwinsburg, a cry of distress was called up and into the night. A band of so-called peasants, led by the infamous Dirk, had seen fit to prey upon the leal gentry of our realm. In an effort to pursue darker deeds, they had seemed willing to even do harm to a youth of Alba, unarmed and defenseless in the face of such villainy. In their diligence, a contingent of the Black Banner of Alstion heeded the sound of alarm, though did find themselves nearly overwhelmed by the sheer ferocity with which those lowborn mercenaries met them amidst those stalks of grain. The clangor of castleforged steel rang loudly, with those men-at-arms being met with blades of equal craft to their own. It had seemed all might turn to ruin… Until the roar of a horn did sound, hailing from the southwest Daelwood upon the symphony of thundering hooves. Mounted upon blackened steed, Sir Rickard sat upright in his saddle, longsword lofted eagerly. At his back, a ready company of Ostlunders galloped just behind. In synchronicity, another warhorn did sound from the gates of the city, where the Knight Commander Sir Everett did sally out with his fellow shields and squires. Among those guards of both common and noble birth, it was Inku Vierto who proved the most spirited in his pursuit, whilst Dirk himself was apprehended singlehandedly by a most unexpected combatant - a hobbit called Wilibald Proudbottom. In a great collision of horseflesh and spurs, those rebellious insurgents were swiftly cut down by the leal soldiers of Alba, to the rejoicing of those commonfolk so distressed by that earlier incursion. It was a decisive victory, made especially fortuitous by the capture of both Dirk and several of his fellow leaders. A great roar went up through the defending company, as those prisoners were escorted within the high walls of Castle Glasgon. As the Knight Commander and Lady Chancellor both stood before those kneeling brigands, Dirk did spit at Sir Everett’s feet. He made demand for a duel, to the death, as trial for both he and his companions. To forego a formal trial was their wish, and so Sir Everett did grant them their final desire. One after the other, each peasant leader was afforded freshened steel and armor from the forge of Spencer Tower. So too were they taken to the castle yard, to do battle with the Knight Commander himself. Each man, with a curse upon his lips and prayer to GOD for mercy upon their souls, did fall to the longsword of the noble night. Their desired justice had been done, proving their guilt before the watchful eyes of the Alban people. Let the rout of these foes serve as both a reminder and a warning. To those who seek to sow turmoil and distrust between the commonfolk and nobility of Alba, you shall find no purchase here. We stand strong in the face of any enemy, beneath the banner of our Imperium and our Archduchy. TANDEM TRIUMPHANS AVE IMPERIUM S I G N E D, HIS EXCELLENCY, Sir Everett de Brionnes, Knight Commander of the Order of the White Hart, Marshal of the Black Banner of Alstion

Haply, on the eighteenth of the Owyn’s Flame, two-thousand and seventy-four, a band of four peasants did stumble upon the Archduke of Alba amidst his good people in the Square of Saint Godwinsburg. Much to his surprise, they did voice their great dissatisfaction with the levies set upon their countryside homes of Little Furnestock, a sum of but thirty mina at the end of every year. These very same men, in truth, were Squires of the Order of the White Hart, who did encourage the folk of the Realm to join the Black Banner for its fair wages, as they themselves did receive a stipend of sixty mina every year. Yet impatience and greed did prevail amongst these men, for after a short period, they did abandon their squirehoods, discontented that knighthood had not been granted unto them with greater haste. And still, as beneficent as he be, they insisted the Archduke had grown aloof, knowing not the matters that did affect the Alban Realm. Their insolence continued until at last the Archduke commanded their arrest. And when one among them did raise a hand against his alleged liege-lord, striking him in open defiance, he did call for their deaths. Blessed were they for the Emperor Marcus was present, and in his mercy did he so grant them pardon and refuge in the Imperial Capital of Rittersburg. Now, years hence, they hold grudges still, and have began to fester in the Rittersburg countryside, intent to march upon Alba once more. “Hark, sir, I hath spotted the serfs across the river, nigh to Rittersberg. Some two dozen or so of them, armed well for the serf militia they claim to be.” Their coming, so foretold by a recruit of the Black Banner. In response, men of the Black Banner and the Österland Company mustered their own forces. Banners fluttered in the breeze: the White Eagle of the Östlunders, the Silver Steed of Dover, the Fleur-de-Lis of Artois, and at the helm of them all, the Golden Dragon of Alstion. Swords and spears gathered at the gates of Saint Godwinsburg, as the men and women of Alba flocked to the Alstion call. From the city and from the province they came, ready to die under the Black Banner. “Listen” barked the Shield of Johannes, Sir Everett, “ for the realm bleeds. Bandits swarm at our gates. They dress as peasants of Little Furnestock, rising against the Alstions. They are a rot, nothing more. A pack of wayward cutthroats on the move, no better than the Salvian menance.” Standing before the levies at Sir Everett’s side, Mayor Andres called to Alba the stakes: “If they breach our walls, they shall certainly pillage and burn all we hold dear!” Roused by their Officers, and made fervent beneath the high noon Sun, two and thirty hundred good men and women of Alba, low and highborn alike, did gather in the Saint Godwinsburg Square, clashing sword to shield, ready to face their foe in battle, for the defense of their beloved Realm. When they arrived at the top of Mont Collier, polished lines of steel opposed the Albans. “Where are the fellow Little Furnestockians? I see none here!” cried out a young Alban recruit, of that selfsame hamlet. His gaze and that of his comrades beheld well-armed men and women, speaking in tones unknown to Albans: “GOD IS WITH US! BASTARDS!” “GOOOODDD IS WITH US!!” “GOD IS WITH US!” “GOD WITH US” “GOD IS WITH US! NO WAR BUT PEASANT WAR!” “REMEMBER, GOD FAVOURS THE RIGHTEOUS!” GOD did indeed favour the righteous. With a cry of charge from Sir Everett, the ever unbroken Knight Commander, The Black Banner’s cavalry line slammed into the huddled mass of brigands. What few of the foe were on horseback fell to the ground in that instant, forced off by lances and the crash of horses. On foot followed the levymen of Alba, bloodying the hillside with their quarrel. When horses fell, slain, from under Everret’s brigade, their riders rose again, bruised and muddied, to fight with sword and axe. Brave knights of the White Hart, such as Sir Janos Hotspur, joined simple levy militiamen, standing tall upon that bloodied soil in the defense of Mont Collier. The clash of steel and cry of battle rang out shrill from high, to be heard down in Orchere and as far as Little Furnestock. Those brigands who succumbed to cowardice, and tried to flee, were met swiftly by lance and spear in an Östlunder chase. Rickard Kuzorav brought his charge, unflinching both, rider and steed, down upon one fleeing ne’er-do-well, crushing the brigand beneath him. Bandits, stumbling down the mountainside, careening into each other. Conrad Jrent’s scattered foe lasted for but a few seconds longer than their less cowardly compatriots. “On them, lads, on them! Let them not escape to pillage the countryside!” called out Sir Janos. Though bloody, the battle lasted naught but five saintly minutes. Victorious, having lost not even a single soldier, the Black Banner and their Östlunder comrades looked over the gored hilltop of Mont Collier. Before them lay their enemy host, entirely slain. So the victorious Albans return to their homes and barracks, singing along to the drums and horns as they march. “TANDEM TRIUMPHANS” “AVE ALBA”“GOD SAVE THE ALSTIONS” “GOD SAVE THE ALBAN PEOPLE”“GOD SAVE ALBA” “GOD FAVOURS THE RIGHTEOUS!”

"Strong." Spoke the Knight Commander of Alba.

Sir Everett readied his blade.

"Goofy, there is a war going and royals play funny games with themselves. . ." Spoke a warrior.

"Wow, so the Church killed everybody for nothing? What a great use of 8 months." Scoffed an old Druscan warrior...

"Canonist? Wasn't there a war for this? Didn't Father Drusco have his election nullified preaching for Canonism? Interesting this is still around." Spoke a random Savoyard.

can i get unbanned