DarkxWalker

"Truly a shame. ." The Maer of Adria frowned, stationed in the the Barony of Sternfell similarly to that of the Helfgott Patriarch. He merely handed the missive back to Ser Aviel, crossing his arms as he looked upon the dwindling campfire. "It appears that Avistra will have to fend itself against those fiends till the Emperor returns and handles these matters—imminently." He proclaimed, seething at Valmont's opportuning during dire times of such a crusade.

________________________________________________ Some battles are known only by the banners raised above them. Some are remembered by the names of those who fell. This one would be remembered by the sound it entailed. It did not begin with steel, nor with prayer. Where the march of the Crusade wound beneath the shadow of the mountainous valley, the hooves of steeds and the clattering of armour carried through the pass like a hymn beaten into iron. The terrain was slick beneath them as every man and woman knew well enough that silence in such places was never truly that. It was waiting. The first cries came from the front of the Crusading expedition. “Ambush!” Then the valley answered. Down from the mountain came the blemished fiends of the Black Church. They rode and crawled, slithering down from the heights in a rush of wicked shapes. Through brush and stone they came—riders shrouded in dark robes, beasts with maws too wide and eyes too hollow, mages whose hands pulsed with foul blight, and things that bore no kindly form ever granted by nature. Potions and vials flashed in their grasp as black air gathered before the once-blissful valley. The first bolts of spellcraft crawled across the distance long before any blade had found its mark. Yet the Crusaders did not falter a moment. Slowly, the Crusaders spread across the battlefield. Horses reared, and men brought their shields to bear. Yet the line did not break beneath the sight of that dreadful host. Orders rang through the valley—one after another—some lost beneath the thunder of the charging squadrons. Shields rose, crossbows were drawn, flasks were shaken. Beneath helms and through clenched teeth, prayers were whispered into the storm. At the center of the battlefield, had the faithful begun to move as one. War rarely grants such mercy. The first clash was a storm of error and violence—the Darkspawn did not rush as mindless beasts but as predators who knew to maim before they killed. They struck at the horses first, hurling flasks of smoke and calcifying dust. Shrill cries tore through the air, thickened by smog and sorcery. Barriers shimmered into being as the valley filled with vapors of hateful blight, until even the ground seemed to turn against those who rode beneath the Crusade’s banner. Yet for every fiendish spell, a prayer was answered. For every beast they let loose, a blade found its path. First came Holy Sir Corswain pushing through the smoke as fire gathered about him. Sir Klaus’s laughter through blood and ichor, hurling himself into the fray similarly to a man who sought death. Ser Aelegor came beside him bearing a mace and a shield. Dame Julia pressed through the chaos with slayersteel in hand, steady where others may have faltered. Hannibal, Petyr, Yelizaveta, Wynith, Jon, Florian, Horace, Caius II, Jude, Merlin, Berengaria, Ser Aviel, Haraldr, the young Ithmere, and the others besides each found their place in the slowly widening storm. Above and around them, the valley turned into less of a battlefield. Trees were dragged from sorcery and hurled into existence where no roots had once preceded. A vulture of voidal precedent screamed overheard, diving upon the Crusaders. A bear of bone clawed itself into the world as the Black Church struck. For a time, it seemed as though the valley had chosen that of the Black Church—till the Crusaders answered in earnest. Jude's voidal magic surged against the blemished enemy, the very earth bending beneath his will. Merlin called flame from the ground, shaping fire as though the night itself had been commanded to burn. A wizard stood before the Darkspawn, raising an ancient staff to summon a storm of fireballs that turned the valley into a terrible dawn. Petyr's holy flame swept outwards in deitic arcs, battering the wicked souls. The automaton—APA Warlock—rolled down like iron judgment, unyielding in his path. The High Pontiff did not falter either; his commandments rang through the ruins of the valley, gathering those scattered by defeat and exhaustion—binding them once more to a sacred purpose. Yet, the Darkspawn pressed further. The Dark Herald came forth, wreathed in abyssal flame. The Phoenix moved through the fray with stubborn malice, refusing to fall even when struck and driven back. Argal continued to swing with the strength of something refusing to die. The Chimera roared through the pain, bleeding black and still dragging itself forward. The Farmer barked orders as the Black Church began to shift from slaughter to survival. Then the first one fell, Gardar. It was no simple end. Gardar had been struck, speared, harried—then crushed beneath the unrelenting steel of the Crusaders. Sir Klaus drove into him with brutal resolve, followed swiftly by the pursuit of Ser Aelegor. The orc’s body tumbled down the mountainside before vanishing below, another fragment of the Black Church torn loose from its host. For a moment, the Crusaders tasted victory. Yet the valley did not concede that emblem of victory. Ser Sigmar was struck and overwhelmed beneath the press of the Dark Herald and Argal. His shield lay in ruins, his body battered, and his soul fading. At last, the knight fell into unconsciousness while the battlefield raged around him. Yelizaveta and Sir Leoni dragged him through painful agony as the Black Church tried to cut them down. Wynith turned to search for bandages to grant Sigmar one more breath. The assault was unprecendented—yet the Crusade did not falter one moment. Alas, Stekvark returned to the motion of the field. Having been struck by smog and curses, battered by the Phoenix and stunned beneath the Lich's disastrous spells. He was forced more than once to turn away from death with blood at his respirator and pain clawing beneath his plate. He drove his warhorse past the Vampire Lord—The Farmer—through the broken rhythm of enemy and Crusader alike. The primed potion of Tanglefoot left his grasp, arcing over the churned earth before descending upon a knot of Darkspawn, where the Dark Herald, Invidia, Krei, and The Phoenix had drawn too near. A murky substance spread unto them, calcifying, drawing the momentum from their movement. What had once become retreat only turned into a struggle and stagger. The Black Church had come from the mountain like a storm yet the mountain seemed to clutch at them from below. That was the opening: The Pontiff called for the Crusaders to press on, Sir Klaus advanced through the battlefield, Corswain's holy white flame gleamed further, Aelegor moved onwards, Dame Julia surged through the enemy unrelenting, Petyr's flame swept outwards, Hannibal, Jon and Sir Leoni pushed onwards. Florian, wounded and nearly defeated, brought himself forward. Horace struck at the machine that slaughtered his horse until its shell cracked and purpose failed. Merlin's fire descended upon the Gravelord, and the necromancer yelped as flame had found him, and Haraldr held the squadron from the North together. Ser Aviel did not falter either, coinciding with Cassian, Warlock and the rest. Yet, upon the uneven hills, another hunt had already begun. Lo’ Cassian moved less like a knight and more like a wolf let loose. He stalked through the broken rise of the mountain, prowling where others charged. The prey he found was not a simple creature of flesh, but Serisa, brought low beneath the weight of the Crusade as the wolf-like clad closed the distance and bound her fast, iron chains taking the place of teeth as she was dragged into captivity by the Hunter flawlessly. The Black Church began to retreat. The Farmer called for a withdrawal. The mages staggered back, the beasts turned. The wounded were dragged or abandoned. The Phoenix retreated through the smoke. Argal sought his allies. The Chimera backed away through its own ruin. The Lich, chained, looked over the field and offered farewell to her fleeing fiends. The Witch of Ruin pulled back and The Consultant vanished from thereon. The remaining Darkspawn gathered themselves to escape. Still, the Crusaders pressed on. They pressed as men and women half‑blinded by smoke—burnt, dented, and teetering on the brink of death. They pressed because the enemy was running. They pressed, for every step the Black Church lost was a step paid for in blood. They pressed because the valley did not belong to wicked souls, even when not one Crusader still had the strength to lift their own body. "Encircle the ones who have been hit, stunned, kill them to the last!" "Let them see who shall flee thereafter." The Darkspawn resumed to flee over the side from the grasp of mortality, scattering into retreat as spells chased them into the distance. The valley, so loud with screams and thunderous sorcery, began to empty of its fiends. Soon, the rain returned to prominence. The groans of the wounded rose louder than the fading clash of steel. Smoke crawled low across the grass as thunder rolled away into the distance. Broken weapons lay scattered among shattered bottles and blackened patches of earth. Six Darkspawn fewer than when it began. When they passed the descent with such hunger, the Crusaders remained. Bloodied, burned, stunned, limping, yet alive. Around them lay the proof of the battle: dead beasts, disconnected sorcery, wounded camaraderie, and the fading echo of a retreat that had once been an ambush. The valley had swallowed six, and the rest had scattered away. ________________________________________________

OH WOW!!! Everyone must gather around unanimously! We have just uncovered the culinary secret of the century. Linguine's legendary, mysterious and hidden recipe similarly to the Krabby Patty has been unveiled today - the cheese pizza recipe, finally leaked to the public's eye! Brace yourselves, it *is* pizza. Shocking, groundbreaking perhaps! Historians weep at the sight of this recipe. Azuraz' finest Chefs are throwing their hats into the sea and the industry may NEVER recover... After all the dramatic silence, the recipe is quite literally flour, yeast, warm water, olive oil, tomato sauce, and mozzarella. That's the forbidden knowledge. That's it. OH, BUT WAIT! There's cheese. A diabolical amount of cheese. A suspicious amount of mozzarella that it feels like it should require a permit. CONGRATULATIONS, Linguine. The crust conspiracy has been exposed! The truth is that your so-called top-secret recipe was merely a regular pizza with an auspicious amount of cheese that must not be so healthy for the lactose intolerants (the mildly mentally unwell individuals who cannot digest milk!!) You're all welcome. -SL

Here are my own amendments to your own amendments:

ON THE PROCLAMATION OF BELGRADE’S ALDERMAN ELECTIONS CONVENTUS ADRIAE. In the year 655 of the Age of Ascension BY THE SOVEREIGN WILL OF THE DUMA AND UNDER THE LAWFUL MANDATE OF THE HONOURABLE DUKE, THIS MISSIVE IS HEREBY PROCLAIMED IN SERVICE TO A UNITED ADRIAN PEOPLE. GUIDED BY THE VIRTUES OF HONOUR, DUTY, JUSTICE, LIBERTY AND LOYALTY. WE CONVEY THROUGH THIS MATTERS OF GOVERNANCE, STATECRAFT AND LAW THAT SUSTAIN AND STRENGTHEN OUR STEADFAST DUCHY. ‘LO UNTO THE ADRIANS, With the recent election of Maer: In the interest of ensuring the growth of Adria's governmental administration and the continued involvement of Belgrade's residents within the Duchy's governance, the office of Alderman is hereby affirmed by the administrative office as a civic position within the Town of Belgrade. The Aldermen shall serve as the local representative of their respective district, Belgrade, assisting the Maer and Chancellorship in the ordinary duties required to keep Belgrade in an orderly fashion, recorded and in response to the needs of its people. They are not expected to be noble officers, nor that of eminence or statesmen. They are to be trusted residents of the town of Belgrade, chosen to speak for their neighbours, aid in the duties of the Dumacratic administration, and implore the workings of Adrian civic life. REQUIREMENTS OF NOMINATION To be eligible for election as an Alderman of Belgrade, one candidate must meet the following requirements: i. Must be a registered Citizen of Adria, having resided within the Duchy of Adria for no fewer than five years. ii. Must be at least twenty years of age. iii. Must live within the district they seek to represent. iv. Must be in good standing with the law and the Church. v. Must be capable of reading, writing, and performing basic arithmetic standards. vi. Must not be barred from office by lawful judgment, active criminal punishment or publicly disgraced. There shall be no restriction by cases of nobility. Commoner, lowborn and noble alike may stand for the office of Alderman, provided that they inherently meet the requirements above and remain in good standing with the Duchy of Adria and its citizenry. TERM AND REMOVAL The office of Alderman shall have no fixed term limit. An Alderman may continue to serve their people so long as they remain capable, coherent, and in good standing with the town and its administration. Thus, to say: Upon the election or appointment of a new Maer of Belgrade, the Alderman shall continue into the next administration unless dismissed, replaced, abdicated or otherwise removed by lawful authority. However, the office is not ceremonial. It is not to be held by the idle. An Alderman may be removed for poor performance, neglect of duty, repeated absence, unlawful conduct, or failure to properly represent the district entrusted to them. During a Duma, a petition may additionally be held where an Alderman may be removed from office with three fourth of the vote. DUTIES OF THE ALDERMEN The Aldermen shall serve largely as messengers, couriers, assistants of the administration, and representatives of their town. Thus, their duties include but are not limited to: i. Serving as the representative voice of their assigned district when called to vote in Dumapaloozas ii. Admitting a Census at the beginning of their term to bring forward the concerns, complaints, petitions and needs of the district they represent. iii. Assisting the Maer in maintaining communication between the Dukedom administration and the people of Belgrade. iv. Assisting under the Maer's supervision in regard to ordinary civic tasks such as inventorying, updating entries upon the town notice board, civic proceedings, serving during town events, festivals, meetings, and public activities. v. Maintaining records of meeting minutes, Duma attendees, assisting in the transcription and preservation of the Duma record book into an orderly copy. REPRESENTATION Each Alderman must reside within the district they represent (Belgrade, Wildborstede). This requirement ensures that an Alderman speaks from familiarity with the needs, disputes, habits, and complaints of their people. An Alderman is expected to know the people of their district to retain their vote, listen to their complaints, and report such matters to the Maer and the rest of the administration so that they may be addressed in proper time during a Duma proceeding. They stand as the scribes of Belgrade's people and local administration. HIS GRACE, Miloš Sarkozic, Duke of Adria, Count of Aldersberg, Protector of Dumacracy. THE HONOURABLE, Ardirnien ‘Narthadis’ Arthalion, Chancellor of Adria. THE HONOURABLE, Stekvark ‘Lochunskofk,’ Maer of Adria, Guard Captain of the Vigil of St. Emma.

R

Stekvark stands proud at the reformation of Adria's Codex Lacobianus, long foretold.

Can't wait to powergame against the Black Church, woo

It is that of STEKVARK of Lochunskofk whom had recently conducted a personal conclave with the Barony of Schwanau and its impeccably diligent negotiators at the Duchy of Adria. He frowns at the news: "Unfortunate news, truly!" lest he intends to interfere.

Is there any relation potentially to the new format for the applications that may have caused a deficit between accepted versus denied players this April?

A quill scratches its last line upon the Dukestide parchment, ink blotting faintly as a particular individual leans back. A weary breath escapes him as he applauds, "Adria calls upon its contested champion once more," his hand lingered on the page for a moment, before leaving the entry to rest as his duty turns to his upcoming camaraderie!

STEKVARK, Lochunskofk gazed over the formal parchment handed to him by the Fontaine Patriarch. He read each clause with deliberation and care, gauntleted hand rested firm upon the hilt of his spoke. "Very well. I shall take this charge as the blade of the Montereine. I will guard its honour and soon shalt I swear an oath to the Fontaine Household." A curt nod followed, he pressed his signage on the contract, reaffirming his position. 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐤𝐯𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐨𝐟𝐤, Ivory Adjunct of Adria

REP farm, please.

Baron Adelbert Wick of Wickwald, Adria does not stand at a moment where noble tradition alone will carry it forward. Expansion, alliances, and the weight of our own ambitions indicate this. Governance demands steadiness, deliberation and strong will in the manner. If I'm considered fit for that purpose, it is only because my judgment has never belonged to anything but the work itself. You and I alike— have upheld and shared the same hardships in war. In those moments, titles hold little to no meaning. What remains is a warrior's reliability, whether a man can hold his ground, and whether his act only matters at time of ease. It matters most that others can depend on that individual without question, that measure does not change simply because the field does. I cannot claim to be the perfect answer to Adria's continuous prosperous future. No man is, at the end of the day. However, understanding the cost of failure, I do not treat my future responsibility as something to be worn lightly or abdicated at my most inconvenient partitions. Shalt the electors choose me, then such duty will be met with clarity. It will be met with strength, consistency, and an iron fist for Adria's favour. Thus, your support is received with the seriousness it deserves. Ave Adria, STEKVARK, Lochunskofk