MonteGiant

✠ Discord & IGN Usernames: fruitgushers6019 | MonteGiant ✠ Full Legal Name: Cesari Lucien Ashford de Savoie ✠ Age: 25 ✠ Residence (Must be within Rittersburg): Fruitfall 1 ✠ Provide a brief account (100-300 words) of your standing, trade, or service to your community, by which you claim fitness to represent and govern them as Lord Mayor: [To Be Completed] ✠ Share the link to your campaign post (you must post separately on the forums!):

Tupaq pondered. . .

Cesari fell to his knees upon the sight of his friend falling in battle against that Wyrm, his armor clattering against the burned mud of the moat of Alba, scarred into ceramic by the Wyrm's flame. His blade falling into the dirt, as he spotted the molten creation of that Ruthern armor. He held solemn visage, and retreated to his home, clasping against a mug of rum, drinking through the pain. . . A toast to Lukas Var Ruthern.

It is Tawantinsuyin. WAVE CHECK! WAVE CHECK! WAVE CHECK! WAVE CHECK! WAVE CHECK! WAVE CHECK! WAVE CHECK!

"Gaze upon the Greatness upon the greatness of our tribe o Hatun Kuntur, look upon your blessed children born under your sun, look upon the manner in which we praise. Hatunchay Hatun Kuntur." That Tawantinsuyin Apu, Tupaq Amaru, would state in pride, of that kith of his, of that Uru and her path that she sets herself upon...

Lets hope someone doesnt steal this. +1

Nah im Grandson n shi

Hark. To that blood of mine within Viru, those who claim the blood of the Inka Yupanki, that brood of Pachakutiq. Some time ago, I departed from your craven ways, your harboring of evil and disgust soiled my image and the image of mine Panaka to the extreme, and I left you to your biddings. However, there is something that remains upon mine mind, for you all bear the relics granted by mine Ancestor unto you- now harbored illegally and without right within the palms of your disgusting hands. I call to that Brood of Pachakutiq, to give forth everything our fateful ancestor of Leomonte granted unto you under the false guise that you plied as his descendants, yet you throw away his name and ply another false one. None of you bear any right to hold such relics of import, none of you bear any right to my ancestor’s works of art, none of you bear his name, so you will grant them back unto I. The Twin Blightsteel Spears: Chukipanka and Pukamaru, The Heavenly Starsteel Rosary: Viracocha, The Golden Axe of our Ancestor Leomonte: Qurikunya, The Golden Pendant: Tumi, and any other relic his hand has graced that you now hold. Perhaps if you show me this level of good faith, in returning what is rightfully mine, I may be less hostile to your brood. Perhaps I may view you with a modicum of Respect. Solpayki, Hatun Kuraka Kay Panaka Amaru, Apu Kay Kusikancha, Sinchi Kay Kalldur Tupaq Amaru, Scion of Leomonte

✠ Discord & IGN Usernames: fruitgushers6019 | MonteGiant ✠ Full Legal Name: Cesari de Savoie ✠ Residence (Must be within constituency): Lorraine ✠ Age (Must be over 18): 18 ✠ I, a property owner in Lorraine, cast one vote in favor of… ✠ Horace of Lorraine

Username: MonteGiant Character Name: Tupaq Amaru Affiliation: [Empire of Man] Desired Rank [ Honour Guard | Vanguard ] Which games will you be attending?: All. Especially those pertaining to Honour Guard

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↢ ⊰ ☼ ⊱ ↣ There within the chapel of Lorraine did that Cesari de Savoie, blood of Eshaenveurd, pray. His prayers sought for all of his kith, especially those newfound friends of Ashford de Bruges, that golden corona a thought constant within his mind. He prayed for their success, and he prayed for their everlasting shine, like all those of the lineage of Ashford. ↢ ⊰ ☼ ⊱ ↣

Tupaq Amaru stood tall as he gazed upon the missive, previously being one of the many who stood side by side to that Simon Vilachia, against that very Ark. He simply furrowed his brow, preparing for what is to come...

“It is your fate to be the champion, burdened with labours, yet it is also your choice. You choose to submit to it.” Hark. Heed my words as I deliver them unto all who shall gaze their eyes upon this script. For I, Tupaq Amaru, declare that my son Kusi Amaru is unfit to hold the name that we treasure, and that he is declared denounced. He is stricken from his garb, his shield of victory, and our ancestral blade of the Stars, to wander as the Barbarian that he so acts as, set to wander from court to court, as penance. Kusi shall venture to the Golden Glades of Lorraine, Kusi shall venture to the Noble Lands of Alba, Kusi shall venture to the overgrown stones of Caurost, Kusi shall venture to the Foul Frontiers of Trost, Kusi shall venture to the rolling hills of Reinmar, Kusi shall venture to the Highlands of the Raev, Kusi shall venture to the Snow-graced lands of Norland, Kusi shall venture to the Groves of Aelwen, Kusi shall venture to the Knightly yoke of Idunia, and that final venture to the storm-ridden isles of Kurai Kuni. For each of these ten lands, Kusi shall complete a task. A quest. A labor. Kusi shall no longer be known as a scion of Amaru or as a scion of Leomonte; he is simply Kusi the Barbarian. But for you, BOY, for I know you are to read this missive too, you are to bring me knowledge of each of these labors. You are to glean all you learned, and fasten this newfound knowledge to the ways of our people, and only then are you to be restored to your position as a Man. Solpayki, Hatun Kuraka Kay Panaka Amaru, Apu Kay Kusikancha, Sinchi Kay Kalldur Tupaq Amaru, Scion of Leomonte

༺⊰☼⊱༻ There did that Tawantinsuyin gaze upon the breath of Azuras, a singular tear falling from his bronze visage as his friend, his Inka Yupanki, his Emperor had died. He sat upon the mounts of Valmont, the cold winds breezing against him and his simple garments, a feathered cloak swaying in the air; he sat in contemplation over the words of his friend. “We are the Empire, my friend. Kill Everyone, Kill your Enemies, kill my Enemies. Kill Them All.” Those words ruminating upon his very being, that singular tear falling down upon the ground, the first and only shed for his friend. And then finally did he move towards his home within Valmont, his home upon the coasts, that Village of the Tawantinsuyin. His blackened eyes would look towards the west, towards those lands he departed from… Towards that High Lordship of Viru. “Hatunchay Inka Yupanki!”

Thereupon, the peaks of the highest mountains of Azuras did that Hyspian spellblade rest, his singular golden eye gleaming through the darkness of the stars. That ever so present moon, a solemn thought unto his shattered self. But he would hear the news, the one he had encountered many times before, the one he had foiled many times before. Is dead. He would chuckle as a cigar lit within his maw, “Looks like we are smoking Roa now mijo, care for a hit?. . .”

ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴄᴀʀꜱ ᴏꜰ ʙᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ↢ ⊰ ☼ ⊱ ↣ ↢ ⊰ ☼ ⊱ ↣ Thereupon, the lush glades of Lorraine did a young man-at-arms rest beneath a golden-leaf tree, his sword leaning against the trunk as his solitary muted eye gazed at the high blaze… but as the sun’s rays peek through the canopy of that golden brush, that Eshænveurd would grace his face with that leather of his gauntlet, contemplating the past. The war has ended, and his time with the retinue of Lorraine has been long, his sword claiming many foes, but still he thinks about the day six years ago that prompted him to enlist under the magnificent Duke, Lothar d’Amaury… It was six years ago, That youth was even younger, a boy of ten, and three years earlier who washed up on the shores of the Burgundian Empire of Azuras. Still, he ventured to an event in the capital, in Little Lorraine. He was a child, unscarred, simply hoping to attend a festival. However… that day changed his life forever. The festival was small, with only a few in attendance, though the resident guards of Lorraine stood around, after the contest of archery finished in the borough, a flood of bandits attacked Little Lorraine and those who partook in the festivities of Saint Julia… ↢ ⊰ ☼ ⊱ ↣ He was a boy He was armed with intellect and a simple arming sword. Cesári would rush within the capital of the Imperium upon spotting that horde, and there he found that band of fighters, that Holy Ser Corswain, that APA Warlock, and that Lucis of Trost. Three, those three would be enough, and that youth would rally those three to set upon that band of marauders… However, while Cesári rallied men, the guardsmen of Lorraine were in trouble. There were only two of those green-garbed soldiers left, one slaughtered by those brigands, though the ferocity of the Imperium had arrived, led by a boy garbed in a simple doublet and holding a simple sword. They leapt upon those brigands, the Holy Ser Corswain bringing about his golden sword of divine creation to strike upon one and bring them to the ground with that mighty swing of his, that Lucis grabbing upon his cerulean claymore, cold Thanhic steel pulsating in mists as it moves to swing upon that same brigand to give aid to that Holy Ser! However, there was one brigand who sought to fly about in a torrent, jumping upon his steed and seemingly fleeing the field… But it would not be so- For that, Robber Knight brought about a gleaming falchion wrought of that Adamantine Gem-Metal. Carbarum of a Black hue. That famous blade of the Eshænveurd house de Roeun, Gloire Drusque, the reaper of Cesári's kin. That robber knight would fly towards the carnage of that road, but immediately was sent aback by a lone behemoth acting the pikemen unsaddled that very Druscan, a gamble lost… Individually however, Cesári would be fighting as if his heart was giving out against a mad Dwed, a fierce berserker of clan Ireheart, fighting against that Savoyard boy and a guard of Lorraine, that Henri Carnelle. That Eshænveurd fought with the prowess that all a boy could manage, multiple stabs and a slash hitting naught but air; however, in that dwarven ire, the berserker charged upon that Henri, attempting to tackle them, though by way of dropping their axe beforehand, that Cesári soon sent a cleave to the top of his head- killing them in that final stroke. Upon that Dwed’s death, That Savoyard would surge forth upon the other brigands, that youth having slain his first descendant, invigorating his very being, rushing within the fray towards that Druscan knight and their great-axe-wielding huscarl, who joined in the defense of his knight. Both did those brigands fight with the ferocity of caged animals, fending off against that claymore-wielding Trostine Stormguard and that Automaton Behemoth, their armaments biting against each other as that ear-writhing screech of metal upon metal would sound within the streets of Little Lorraine. The Holy Ser, finding themselves within a bind against their own foe, wrestling within the mud of those streets, however, through it all… That Savoyard spotted that blade, that fearsome blade, that legendary blade, that killer of his kin, that Gloire Drusque- and he sought to kill the one wielding it despite his youth. Vengeance was all that coursed through this boy’s veins at that very moment, and such was seen in his charge, for he lept over the table to bring his simple sword upon his target, that Druscan. Though… As violence is one with those of the Eshænveurd yoke, so is that of hubris, and that simple boy proved such. For in his folly, in his ire, that Druscan turned towards that raven-haired youth and made a simple motion to cleave that boy’s very head in twain… For one of the final fledgelings of the line of Ashford de Savoie. . . all was near lost. But a miracle was loosed from the heaven, that Lucis grasping upon that Druscan, that Holy Ser sending forth a blade to inhibit that Druscan, it trifled with that Robber Knight’s aim, and that Gloire Drusque aimed for that boy’s head, instead struck that very blade he held aloft to attack with- breaking it to splinters, a clean cut forming upon that youth’s face. He would die lest given immediate care, but with such care, he would live… That brigand soon was dispatched, his huscarl fleeing with his axe thrown unto the ground… The battle was won, But the only injured was that very child, Cesári Ashford de Savoie, with his face bearing the trail of a cleave from carbarum… Though once again, through a miracle, an angel shot from the heavens, flaxen of hair, the blessing of health coursing through their very fingers, all to simply nurture this boy to stability… and healed he was, brought back to the safety of the capital, where he would live to fight another day… and upon his recovery one would find that very youth fighting within the south, the the black flag of Savoy within his grasp, fighting under the green banners of Lorraine. And at the top of his lungs did he scream aloud that infamous warcry… BLOOD FOR ASHFORD!

"Hatunchay Kondorisi!" did that Tawantinsuyin call aloud as his fearsome armaments are held aloft to the skies, blazing of those divine scarlet-gold fires of that Huaca Manko Capaq.

They stay trying to keep a real larper down.

Hatunchay Inka Yupanki!