Noer

Kowaman went to prom on the night of the transition, so nobody to fix the problem was there. This is what happens when you only have one coder, and he's in high school.

Why must we decide what events we want and what events we don't? The fact of the matter is that I have the utmost respect for the ET, but they spend too much time worrying about what the community wants and less time about what they can provide. In my opinion, the ET should be dedicated to making events interesting, creative and numerous,whether it just be spontaneously teleporting to Petrus and roleplaying a raging bull charging through the streets or going to castle to make a planned PvE event. Et, please just make events. I don't care what kind, just do as many as you can.

The Army of the Imperium was the most disciplined, most efficient, and most prominent army that Oren has seen to date, organized unlike the Red army of Ruska, Secular in culture unlike the Order of St. Lucien, and more numerous than the White Rose. For the sake of a fair rating, I will be comparing this Watch to the Imperium, in hopes of showing its flaws so that perhaps humanities’ capital might be properly protected. The Petrusian Guard has been merely established in our nation's great capital for only some few years short of a decade, and their presence has been made very clear to those who inhabit the city. As I walk amongst the serfs of Petrus, I see a merry folk, all hardworking and decent peasantry. However, when I find myself working in the tavern, selling drinks to those who can afford them, I witness the first sign of failure in the Petrusian Guard. The guards, I see, are allowing maidens into their ranks.This, as shown by Lord Marshal Vibius de Sola, this is a terrible idea, for if an army allows women into their ranks, the troops do not have a sense of unity, as is the same as having an elf in arms next to an orc, or a dwarf next to a human (as our ancestors have so unfortunately discovered is a terrible idea.) I do not say that women are of an incompetent manner, for i personally know many noble maidens who are themselves greater than I in swordfighting, however the more diverse a group is the less effective it is on the field. Such is why the Imperium only accepted Human Males, never even bothering to make an auxiliary for those who wished to fight with them but were not born to The Race of Man. At first glance of these maidens wearing the armor fitted for men, I was skeptical of the Petrusian Guard. However, I had heard of other nations which had employed women in their ranks and prospered, so I was not ultimately deterred by that. What did deter me, was the lack of respect for the guard that their own wardens had. The Initiates that I had gandered at not only wore things against uniform regulations such as hoods, masks or even different uniforms altogether, but showed no respect or will to obey the orders of their Captain, a man whom I had seen to be willing to accept my criticism and observations about his troops and was willing to attempt new things. They called the captain by his first name, and disobeyed direct orders, such as when one female initiate refused to take off her hood, calling him a “*****.” At this remark, the captain said nothing, and out of curiosity I asked him about the disciplinary measures of his guard. The Guard had answered “With drills and practices, of course!” To which I said “I meant what do you do to reprimand disorderly guards?” The Captain, slightly embarrassed, claimed “I… I actually don’t know..” To which I had to take control of the situation. I asked the captain if I could show him how to discipline dissidence in his guard, and he complied. He ordered the female guard to drop her sword and take off her armor, and she refused the captain. So far, this lone guard had been guilty of treason twice in some 5 minutes, and the captain continued to do nothing. The wench had clearly gone out of control, and I was forced to restrain her with ease. I grabbed her sword, throwing it to the side as I forced her against a post, attempting to bind her hands before the Captain had revoked his blessing and thrown me off of her. The Captain was so craven, so soft, that even the thought of whipping a recruit who had the audacity to insult him. “We are clearly not the same as your order” he said as he pulled me away, “We are a guard force, not an army. We need discipline, not fear.” To which I responded wisely “They are one and the same, for a marshal.” I was then escorted out of the city by a guard, and that was only my first reason to loathe the Petrusian Guard. The second, and almost as profane example of the Petrusian Guard’s treatment of the Serf population. I had been walking inside Petrus, conversing with a boy named Godwin and a Vladov Maiden, however as we were talking I saw a poor serf running from a horde of guards, swords in hand and torches in the other. I followed the poor lad, finding him surrounded by the ravenous guardsmen, whom I now find are more like a militia. I stepped in front of him, accompanied by my good Savoyard bannermen, and with only my quick tongue was his life spared. The poor boy had claimed that he had information about the crown, and it was clear that he was starving as he had offered information that was obviously false for bread and Minas. In response, the Petrusian guard had attempted to kill him. This complete lack of discipline is a complete testament to the lack of leadership in Petrus, and incredible scrutiny should be applied from here on out on who joins the guard. As of now, the guard is an undisciplined group of peasants, who are eager to spill blood, and lack the fervor of the Red army that made it so effective at both combat and stewardship. A guard force with no heart, no organization, and no respect is not one that will last when our prosperous capital is sieged by our foes. A much more promising candidate for the security of our capital is the Order of St. Amyas, which has exhibited a strict discipline for its troops and its people, keeping out rabble and showing appropriate restraint where it is due towards the population. However, Amyas is in Leuvardeen. So, unless the Petrus Guard can reform, our nation's capital will be undefended. -Janos II, Ward of Guy de Bar.

Asgoslav sheds a tear of joy in his grave.

Name: Janos II Organization serving under: House De Bar. Have you met with either the Lt. Governor or Governor?: I've met with the governor, Do you swear to abide by the Governor's law and orders during the Occupation?: I do swear my life upon my discipline and loyalty to the de Bar's to maintain my composure in this most delicate time, and to obey every law both standing and to be deemed worthy by the Governor.

-Accidental Double Post-

THE CHAMPION OF VEKARO!!!!

((This is a roleplay forum, dont make ooc posts like this in the roleplay sections.))

Zezimoose would be ashamed of his fellow brits being intolerant! #LaborParty4lyfe ((in all seriousness, great jo on the war rules.))

Janos II raises his head from the pile of monstrously large books in front of him when he hears the news. "Didn't they stir up a fat pile o' **** in Anthos?"

That's a joke, right?

I completely forgot about this, and am really mad that I missed it.

Janos Hunyadi inappropriately laughs at this poster, proceeding to spit on it.

Asgoslav Hunyadi rolls in his unmarked grave. ((I can just smell the tumblr on you.))

All I really need is the increase of XP given from mining. In order to get legendary Mining, or something on that absurdly high tier rank, you would have to mine 100,000 blocks of iron ore. Nobody can do that without some hack, and so it really only promotes hacking on the server.

Casus Belli*

(( The clerical **** was so stupid, it would've been better if you just lost the hand. It really ruined the rp for me.))

When Janos II comes of age he will personally burn you at the stake.

DISCLAIMER: All of the things in this post happened in rp, if it sounds like Powergaming its because we rolled instead of just emoted. When I killed the orc, he rolled a 1/20 and I a 20/20. Asgoslav Hunyadi the First was a name of controversy in his day, some believing him to be a loyal soldier, others believing him to be a insane brute, others a holy inquisitor. Before he was called these things, he was but someone who did what he was told. Asgoslav woke up in the middle of a cold sweat, coughing up blood from his lungs. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, the cold night air leaking into his abode. He felt the stinging coal dust in his lungs, pain erupting in his body. He had these attacks frequently now, spouts of coughing that foreshadowed his eventual demise. He heard the crying of his Grandson, Janos II Hunyadi. The poor soul's father had died in the on the battlefield, a sword in hand. Today was the day that his life's work, from Anthos to Athera, paid off. He rose at the crack of dawn, walking up to Guy de Bar's keep. He knocked on the door, a loud and deafening thud erupting from the cold pine. As an Amyas bannerman opened the door, he fell forward, experiencing yet another attack from the coal in his lungs. At the feet of the Hunyadi's last hope, he showed his true weakness. "My.... *hck!* Lord....." He says, recovering from the fit, wiping blood off his mouth. "I have come here today, to ask for my payment for the service I have provided for this great kingdom. For many years I served your liege, and now my services have poisoned my lungs with coal. My son, he died in battle, and now his son, Janos II....." And so the generous guy said "Say no more, old friend, I shall care for young Janos.... Now you must say goodbye to this world that you have lived in for half a century. Godspeed, Asgoslav." Asgoslav approached the red rose tavern, covered in chain mail and steel plate. This would be his final crusade against the heathens who inhabit this cesspool of filth, he thought to himself. This, this would be his final stand against those who look at the creator as fictional, and delve into magic. Asgoslav took out his bow, kneeling before the tavern. He whispered a prayer, saying "O' Godan, O' creator, may you grant mercy on my soul. I have lived a life ridding the world of your foes, and have had kin and they have had their own. Now, my son is dead, and I must join him before I fade away into nothing like a common peasant." He arises, notching an arrow into his bow, pulling it back as he walks into the tavern. First, Asgoslav notices a heretical Lich. He releases the arrow, letting it fly into the creature's chest. Next, he spots an accursed Elf, and he lets another fly. He grabs a dark elf, piercing her stomach with a dagger. The next moments are a blur, even more so than the massacre before. Two dwarves and an Orc chase him up the stairs of the tavern, and Asgoslav releases one more arrow towards them. The Arrow slams into the wall besides them, sealing his fate. The First dwarf charges, impaling him through the right shoulder. Asgoslav takes the dagger in his other hand, stabbing him in the eye as the bastard falls backwards. He yanks out the blade, letting it fall to the ground as he takes out his own, a true longsword. He puts his dagger back into its sheathe, lunging forward once more at the first dwarf, stabbing him through the arm. The next dwarf comes, and Asgoslavs feels him slice open his cheek with his own blade. The dwarf continues to assail him, pounding him again and again. Without any hope in sight, Asgoslav finally parries the blade, knocking the dwarf off balance as he finally, with a mighty swing cleaves off the dwarf's hand. Now bleeding all over, the two dwarves lick their wounds, regaining their composure as the orc charges him with a carbarum Hoe. Asgsoslav, with a mighty blow, splits the tool in two, and kicks the orc to the ground. The Second dwarf returns, slamming into him with a mighty thud, crushing his ribs with a disturbing crack. Asgoslav flails about, dagger now in hand and his sword by his feet, lunging for the dwarf's body on top of his. The Dwarf gets up, nursing his stump, and walks over to his other dwarven friend, covering his lack of an eye. The Orc attempts to finish him off, but instead Asgoslav slams the dagger into the massive, hulking Orc's foot. Asgoslav watches him hold his foot in pain ripping out the dagger. He smiles, barely able to move as blood pours from his wounds. With one last effort the Orc slams his goot foot towards the face of this once great soldier, but this is not the death that Asgoslav deserves, at the hands of a beast! And so, in a fit of pure adrenaline, Asgoslav grabs the foot of the orc, yanking it aside, the hulking beast falling to the floor with a thud. Asgoslav picks up his sword, slicing open the throat of the savage with one fell swoop. With one last effort, he hauls himself over to a carpet, his blood staining the floors. He smiles, the bodies of an Orc, two elves, and a lich on the establishments floors. "They will sing songs of this.... one day." And so he lay there, singing a song, his body losing more and more blood by the minute. "And who, are you, the proud elf said, that I must bow so low? Only, a Rose, of a different coat, that's all the truth I know.... A coat, of Red, a coat of - white..... A rose... Still has its thorns.... And mine.... are long... and.. sharp... my lord... As- *Hck!* long, and sharp, as yours...." And as the last line of the verse is sung, he feels his lungs finally fail, his death now seconds away... he says one last phrase: "One can only hope... that every action he made he did on his own accord, and not swayed by the will of those above him. That is why I never hoped."

Asgoslav was tending to his house when he heard the news of Viktor Carrion's Death. He gazed up from the pan he was cleaning with a rag over a pot of water, sweat dripping from his brow. He heard a high pitched voice, that over a mere raevir lad. "The Last Raevir is dead! Viktor Carrion is no more!" he said, and Asgoslav, sat back in shock, the water inside his pan falling into his lap, making it look like he had soiled himself in shock. The old miner got back up, a tear dripping from his eye. "What a sad, sad day. Niet raevir was more well known and prominent in this day in age, da?" Asgoslav says to himself, before spontaneously coughing violently, a drop of blood on the hand he covered his mouth with. The days spent mining coal had finally caught up to him, and his time was short. He thought of his Grandson, Janos I Hunyadi, and how his father had died in the midst of battle, and decided that it was time for his kin to live in splendor. Asgoslav picked up his pickaxe, going to the cloud temple mines to secure his grandson's comfort after he passes.

I believe it is time for a Man5791 to fall.

Asgoslav looks for appropriate attire, ready to drink tons of Carrion Black. ((Will there be memes?))