Altiak

The Lord Chancellor's letter is disseminated across the realm, made available to all true loyalists. To King Olivier of Oren, The House de Bar and the Order of Saint Amyas have already raised sword and shield in staunch defense of your cause, so it is with the utmost clarity that we set quill and parchment to the same purpose. Make no mistake; our loyalty to the crown is not guaranteed with ink, but rather sealed in blood. It is with fierce resolve that we vow to destroy this coalition of serpents, this bloc of barbarians - who would see the Orenic man’s ichor staining the battlefield. Let the enemy revel in their minor triumphs whilst they still can, Your Majesty, for a storm is brewing. As it rages on, the tempest will consume Adrian, Savoyard, and Northerner alike - but by the time it dissipates, the Ashford sun will burn bright in the sky once more. Signed, Guy de Bar, Lord Chancellor of Oren

I would like to try and play, if possible (?)

Was there ever any room for doubt?

In the mighty cathedral of Felsen, throngs of acolytes and priests converse and servants dart around hurriedly. Several papal guards stand at the ready, rigidly unmoving. Sitting at the head of the assemblage, the High Pontiff Sixtus III rakes his gaze over the thriving hall. Meanwhile, Guy de Bar strides through the cathedral in black satin. Flanked by a retinue of Order-men, the men march toward their High Pontiff at a steady pace. As they enter the cathedral, the rowdy crowd attending Sixtus’ court come to a hush, all of them unspeaking as Guy rises to address the Vicar of God. "Your Holiness, I have travelled through the forests of Drusco, over the crownlands’ rolling fields, and through our capital’s bustling square to talk to you about the night I killed an orc. The brute whom I slew was the very same evil and dejected creature that took my elder brother as a prisoner years ago. Forced into arduous labor, flesh marred by his captors’ wicked lashings, my kinsman was enslaved and tortured for three cruel years. When I learned of my brother’s capture and heard of the atrocities he had endured before his escape, I - I felt myself disappear and became a man made of straw." Guy looks to the crowd, a morose grimace etched on his visage. Breaking the silence with a solemn inquiry, the Grand Master spreads his arms as he addresses the crowd. "Who here knows such devastation?" The High Pontiff nods slowly, remarking, "We all do." Guy bobs his head in response, marching forward as he further addresses his Holiness. "When I learned the identity of the assailant, the beast that exploited and bled my brother, it did not take long for me to find him. He towered over me - a fearsome greenskin with tusks the size of an arming sword - yet I looked him in the eye and I stuck him with my dagger. I twisted the blade until his insides wept. He whimpered and collapsed and I had won. The world cleansed of another devil." Guy smiles thinly, looking to the crowd once more. His voice booms with passion, query echoing around the grandiose hall as he once more calls out to the crowd, “Who here knows such victory?” "Some of us do," Sixtus replies. "And how does it feel - to stand tall and righteous, stained in the ichor of a fallen adversary?" Gazing at the brazen crowds from his throne, Sixtus leans forward inquisitively, "Triumphant?" "How else?” Guy asks. "Blissful?" "How else?" The Vicar of Horen falls silent, and once more the hall is cast into an uneasy and tepid stillness. Guy once more raises his voice and speaks, expression steely. "Frightening! It is frightening to endure the biting cold of wickedness, your Holiness, because the only way to rid the world of evil is by putting yourself in its path; baring your true colors. Calm are the complacent, never rising from their chairs. Calm are the judgemental, never putting themselves at risk." Guy's tone grows in vehemence as his visage remains stoic, his pale gaze betraying his overt passion as his rhetoric continues to embed itself in the hearts of all present. "But show me a man who feels fright, and I will show you a man with values and loved ones! I will show you a man wrought with admirable ideals, a man with a deep belief in liberty and ardor! I will show you a man born not with cowardice or passiveness, but the capacity for true BRAVERY - because he is willing to stake his last breath on something that is more than nothing!" Guy paces the room slowly as his gaze pierces a few of the onlookers, rendered silent from his intensity. "I have taken a life in the name of my God. I have fathered sons, progeny to carry on my legacy. I have felt true and sincere love. Each time, as I fought for what I believed in - I was afraid. I was afraid, but it was my fear that spurred me onwards, giving me the vigor to dare for greatness. Fortune favors the bold, so those who do not know such fear do not know COURAGE!" "Holy Father, at this moment, the horns of the Uruk darken the world. The wretched sons of Krug, with their knack for violence and evil, slaughter our children on the roadsides and enslave our kin! Canonist mothers suffer at green-skinned hands. Faithful pilgrims seeking divine inspiration are massacred, cut down on their passage by godless savages!” “Words hold no meaning; diplomacy is met with naught but slaughter. The King’s own brother, just a few moons ago, narrowly evaded capture whilst treating with the uruks. Those accompanying him were afforded no clemency and most have since ascended to the Seven Skies.” “My own brother is ample testament to orcish cruelty; seized and enslaved, the foul scars on his back betraying him as a captive of the malformed offspring of Krug. When I learned of the abhorrent state the orcish slavers had left him in, I felt weak, and I felt exposed. The brute that had captured and castigated my brother left me wanting nothing more than vengeance. When I cut down the brigand, and felt his blood on my face, I felt no fear; I felt courage, coursing through my veins.” “Courage, Holy Father - Courage is the downfall of villainy. While we stand idle, the orcish marauders tear the realm asunder. The savages grow bolder by the day, ushering in a reign of blood and iron. We stood staunch and unfaltering in the face of terror before, and now, when our countrymen call for aid, we must be the ones to help them.” “There is a trail of straw men from here to the blood-stained sands the infidels call their home! Men paralyzed with fear, men who would do little to halt the spreading scourge. But these are men of Oren, your Holiness, and these men have within them, like any other sons of Horen, a sense of heroism. Heed my words and give the order; imbue them with a sense of zeal and patriotism!” “The horns of the orcish tribes sound and an era of oppression accompanies them. No longer will Oren condone these atrocious and evil acts. Raise the banners of the faithful, sound the horns of the loyal, and beckon forth humanity's army of heroes. Before the might of your flock, it will be the uruks and their allies who shall become men of straw.” “With our vigilant crusaders assembled, those who prey on the weak and defenseless will be given quarter no longer! The time is now; prove yourself the pontiff you were destined to be. Prove yourself to be no man of straw.”

Didn't know your roleplay with Malocchio went that far...

Strictly speaking, such a thing would not be in accordance with the King's laws.

Cravens.

All this and you get naught but an eight hour DELAY...

Thoughts and opinions on the long-gone Fredek Royce? Thoughts and opinions on the contemporary Guy de Bar? Are you still a fannis of the Mannis? Why do you enjoy watching Lucienne in vanish?

Refer to my signature.

------Application----- MC name Altiak IC name Guy de Bar Race Humans Age 28

The Sword's Edge The Royal Chancery: This following document was drafted by Publius Bracchus and Adrian de Bar on the 10th of The Deep Cold, 1504, to celebrate the devastating and heroic military successes of Adria. It was submitted to the Chancery for publishing, after its revision and assessment by Lord Guy de Bar, and issued upon the 17th of the Grand Harvest 1505. Publius Bracchus and Adrian de Bar on ‘The Swords Edge’: From battle, nations are born, and it is with the aid of our men and women that our nation yet grows. We, as countrymen of Oren, should count ourselves as the most beneficent and inviolable beings alive in Athera; being able only to realize the benefits war in hindsight, as time and time again, we have done nothing but build ourselves to greater and greater heights through heated conflict. With the passing of each day, we see more and more competent men and women prove themselves to be worthy of the mantle of Humanity under such duress. This ascent to legend and glory is largely made possible by the grand military might exhibited by the Duchy of Adria and her vassals, among them the houses Vladov, Dystov, Marna, Stafyr and Montfort. With an adamantine martial tradition that outdates our Kingdom’s history itself, Adria has consistently produced fine soldiers and commanders in incredible quantities. Even before we united to punish the Schismatics for their heretical ways, the staunch and numerable Vladovic soldiers had seen naught but success on the field of battle; their ferocity and steadfastness proving to the Renatians their right as an independent holding. The earliest forces of Vladovic hailed from the stout spires of Woldzmir, protecting the March of Adria in its efforts to unite the Heartland. Boasting remarkable weaponry and armaments, these steely men and women of Raevir blood serve not only their Kingdom with finesse and talent, but with an immense pride. With a well-deserved reputation of devastating their foes, the elite retainers under House Vladov fight with a renowned vigor and enthusiasm that cements them as admired and dutiful soldiers. The Duchy of Adria boasts a fascinating history of militarism, and the aspiration of becoming renowned warriors is deeply embedded in their culture. The Adrian men and women devote their lives to excelling in swordsmanship and commanding, and they carry out these tasks with natural talent and skill. With daunting experience so vast, there is no one among those of the 1st Regiment that would be happy anywhere but on the front lines of battle, engaging and reveling in the heady sights of battle in the name of Oren. The easiest way to identify an Adrian soldier would be by his gear. Some of history's finest weapons and armour has found its way into the hands and onto the backs of these tested warriors, testaments to their skill on the battlefield. If they do not sport the finest Ferrum plated armour, they are seen frequently wearing nigh-impenetrable, fearsome sets of Carbarum plate. It is suggested that some armor is so well crafted, that even the weight fails to restrict mobility, if only to explain how 1st Regiment soldiers can chase down even the quickest footpad. Undoubtedly, those men and women that have the ardent and fervent pride of addressing themselves as Adrians have proven their zeal in righteous, invaluable contribution to the military might of Oren. Adrian soldiers bolster our forces with strong, unfaltering loyalty, and they commit and dedicate themselves wholly to their craft: battle. This pure, unadulterated skill at arms is evidenced in a recent skirmish fought with the Dwarves by the Adrian troops, an accounting of which was recorded by Matthias de Lyon: Rain drizzled onto the roughly lain cobblestone that patterned the short road, running through cracks to converge into deep pools at the base of the short hill, large trees lining the sides that seemed to glint with the dying light. A pair of stout dwed had placed their feet into these large pools, rough iron boots covered in thick mud as they rested - exhausted after a short patrol. Trudging wearily through the mud, they were soon followed by a score more of their wretched brethren, the wicked Dwarven band beginning the laborious trek up the hill. As they neared as close to a midpoint as they would find, a small outcrop of rock that jutted roughly from the hill-face, the harsh cry of a wolf filled the air; common in these mountains of Urguan. The baleful howl was echoed by a second baying cry, and in the distance a third echoed out in response. Uneasy, the patrolling stouts rested for a moment, their hands moving to their scabbards instinctively. Finding no threat at hand, and settling down for a moment, their stubby fingers roamed through packs, searching for loaves to chew on during their break. And then there was a flash from the forest, and it seemed that the universe was alight with the din of battle. A storm of steel swept from the trees, as a previously hidden warband of carbarum-plated warriors emerged with thunderous roars, their runic glowing axes and hammers slicing through the disarrayed Dwarven lines. At the forefront of this sudden engagement was Franz Vladov, clad in a shimmering set of Carbarum armour, sweeping through the ranks of his foes with ease. A Dwarven soldier raised his blade and swung it into the shoulder of an Adrian warfighter; the stricken man remained unflinching and, parrying with a mighty two handed blow, smote the dwed’s porcine head from his shoulders with fiery indignation. After no more than ten seconds, the patrol was completely obliterated. The few surviving Dwarves were culled as the soldiers finished off their supine and wounded enemies with callous efficiency, and the frenzied cravens who chose to run were quickly chased down and felled. After picking the spoils of the desecrated patrol from their prone corpses, the warband - that notedly numbered less than half the size of the slaughtered Dwarves before them - receded into the trees with the blow of a Vladovic warhorn. The fearless and superior Adrian marauders had lay waste to another Dwarven convoy of raiders, but they tarried not in the revelries of their decisive victory; there were always larger groups to assail, and the ruthless footmen of Adria set off through the treeline in search of their next quarry.

Temporary maps were never even supposed to be a thing until Asulon was lost by accident, if I'm not mistaken. I would welcome a transition to 5.0, but please no maps in the interim.

Guy de Bar reacts to the news with an inscrutable expression, shifting his gaze toward a congregation of nearby courtiers, "Peace is not made at the council table, but in the hearts of men. We must celebrate this victory with a triumphant march through the capital. Let us begin preparations."

Guy de Bar toils away within his tower, disseminating the thesis across Oren.

Skilled builder and friendly dude. +1

Cyber's a mature and creative individual who definitely deserves this position. His roleplay is always gratifying and fun to be around. +1

When will Denis press his claim on the Princedom of Malinor? Your opinion of me? :^)

A creative and intuitive builder with a friendly and positive mindset. +1