excited

Cato Perea honks his tuba thrice during his submissive peace negotiations, hoping to placate the Haeseni conquerors who stormed Imperial territory with five other nations.

Elias Charleson Carrow, son of Charles Elliot Horen and Licia Vladov, rolls in his grave.

First you're deleting my risque texts, now you'll be doing book burning. Don't you see the line you're crossing here?

facts

Kairn Calithil notices the elfess is underage at the ripe age of 48. In response, he pens a notice, on behalf of his good friend, the esteemed Paladin Crumena Ilwindior. Hello female. My name is Crumena Ilwindior, Grandmaster of the Chapter of the Golden Lion, an esteemed paladin of a hallmark trade. I ply monster slaying, but I slay women just as well. My last wife went missing. Perhaps you'll go missing too. So, what do you say, am I the 'DILF' you're looking for? Signed, Crumena Ilwindior, hailing from the Tempest Isle, descendant of Rilath Ilwindior, esteemed Canonist, lover of the Fine Arts, and Poet. @Heero

Yeah, I had fun playing with you despite all that Jumper, your messages helped keep me sane. As long as LoTC has people like you and some of the others I spoke to, it won't be a total abject loss to be around. Staff could learn from y'all.

Regardless of who was on which side that was legitimately an experience that was tantamount to why this game is a waste of time. It is wrong on so many levels to advertise the way you guys did, especially when the tests on the beta server weren't even running smoothly. No fault to the Mods and Techs who did janitorial work, but if somebody ran a WC like this under Pandan's team in 2015 they would have been taken out back and shot like it was a reenactment of the Death of Stalin. Many people won't be attending again. For those of you who kept calm despite it all, good on you honestly because you have the patience of a Saint. But for many of us this goes beyond any of that. I've decided personally that this isn't worth my own patience after having seen this happen for over a year nonstop. If you can't test or make wars happen, do not advertise them. Fix the issue, and do not continue to advertise a game-play mechanic that doesn't exist. If that can't be done, switch to being pure Slice of Life with raids. As individuals, everybody's fine. I got along better today with my literal enemies in Haense + Urguan + Coalition than I did the staff honestly. If you can't do better, don't claim to. End rant. I'm done malding.

Butted heads a lot but you did your best. Onto better things now, I'd imagine. C'ya in chat lol

Kairn, who once lopped off Varenthal Elibar’acal’s head off ‘pon the silver steps, considered the missive. Slavery was no laughing matter. Thus onto tyrants, he thought. Sic semper tyrannis.

The Dark Sorcerer Gareth Hawthorne rubs his hands together at the news. "Another miracle of GOD at my disposal!" He cackled jovially to his friend, the Lich. @Lhindir_

I hardly know you. But Noobli had nice things to say, and I figured I'd leave a memo. The measure of somebody's worth on LoTC is not limited to success with Applications, Staff, or Warclaim victory posts. It's the mark you leave on the people you leave behind. I was Story Team when you got your blacklist, and frankly you deserved it. BUT. That is not the measure of your value. A few sparse "bad" things (how bad is it really if it hurt absolutely nobody?) do not dictate your affect on the people around you. Clearly, your friends from your playerbase like you, and many people will miss you. The door is always open for when you wish to have some fun; but if the game is not fun for you anymore, it's good to take a break and relax and enjoy yourself some Holiday spirit.

This is an inexorable fact. My friends Hedonism, Defy, and I played during Two Emps. It was fun in the way texting your vicious ex-girlfriend who cuckolded you is fun. Maybe, yeah, you get to make her mald. But is it really worth the time? Did I get satisfaction from bleeding "enemy" players of valuable time and resources? Yes. Most people do. And that is why LoTC suffers with regards to war, all tech issues aside. A competitive game ought to have competitive mechanics. LoTC has none of those things. So the game becomes about psychological warfare and rally numbers. War is Zzzzz.

((Yo Ave's with his girlfriend rn so it'll be a bit, but good fight :D Happy holidays, Ferrymen.)) Cato Perea eyed the missive, read it and then folded it and neatly placed the parchment in his desk drawer. Undisturbed, he leaned in against his desk counter and held his chin up with his hands, arms resting flat against it. "Intriguing."

"Good men have perished." said Ser Cato "Perea". His name, much like himself, a walking mirage. An illusion. An allusion too, alluding to the Orenian Kings of old. Now why would a wayward son of Arpad pay such respect to a long dead house? That is beyond even his own reckoning. His thoughts drifted to the heavy metal instrument he cast aside to begin playing a banjo, and then he reminded himself that he had no time for his own madness. Momentarily, he considered the passing of the bygone Ferryman soldier. "Into the annals of time you go. Goodbye, denizen of Myrine. You fought bravely. Many more good men will die; but the Empire shall prevail."

You're a great dude, hit me up if you need anything!

"St. Beboon protect us," remarked Cato Perea, signing the Lorraine with his hand, a'fore he joined Sir Mohammad Hassan on the field. After all, they were followers of the Emperor. His tuba sat in his room, rusty, unused, unpolished. The time of music and tuba playing was over. Now, it was time for war.

Cato tried to blow on his tuba, but since he'd been playing it so much, he lost his voice and found it really hard to blow on his tuba, wheezing instead with surprise.

A sad sonnet is played on the tuba by one descendant of the Knight Ilya Ivanovich. Cato Perea played his tuba, honking it.

Cato picks up the pieces. Four people went down. A building burned. People were injured. But the Empire remained. An Empire of Man ordained by GOD.

"Philip the Humble," said Cato to himself with no idea of the Akritian's own words, though likewise he mused upon his own thoughts in private. "For in the words of Blessed Jon Renault, we bow to no man but GOD."

Sir Cato Perea flagellated himself within his private confines, his whip snapping. You could not defend the Pontiff, he reminded himself. You called him a Sinner. Blood and spittle caked the floor, his eyes beady and rimmed by shadows. He would not fail Canondom again.

Cato Perea ponders the words of Johann von Napier, and elects to not fight agaisnt those who remain. After all, he declared, "One God, One Emperor, One Empress."