Burkester

"Good riddance she was a real *****." says Bronson.

Can you please **** off with the **** posting?

I am sorry but please don't post on the forums ever again

"Won't be going either." adds Bronson.

Only good admin there was staff is complete **** right now

u sound like a nice guy but ur friends with bagley rip

"interesting." Says Josef of Vladov

"Good riddance." says Josef

The following applications are denied due to ineligibility:

I am in need of a wench *500 mina bid*

*A document is posted in Felsen* Any individuals of the League of Aym or persons who have any involvement with said group are herein banished from the crown-lands and the surrounding lands. If found they will be put on trial and sentenced to death. Signed, General Josef Vladov, Bulwark of the Crownlands and Istria

Ur literally a joke. we need to get rid of nexus before more dumb decisions are made

Darksalvo

"A true man of orenia" say Josef

The 17th of the Grand Harvest, 1540; Franzenburg, Carnatia, Holy Orenian Empire; ‘Why do you deserve to serve under me, Lancefeld?’ Now if Oscar Lancefeld had to admit, that moment had been his only true time he felt fear. He was not a craven by any means, nay for he has fought in scores of battles and had many a dwarf slain to his name. He charged in the vanguard against the Dwarven forces at White Mountain, he climbed the walls when Rhewengrad fell to the Imperial Banner, and he stood his ground in defending the Imperial Fleet at Cape Bronson. He had, safe to say, secured his spot as an Orenian veteran, true warrior of His Imperial Majesty and the Empire. But despite all the bloodshed and death he had seen, Lord Josef Vladov, the Bear of Baranya, scared him shitless. Oscar’s voice nearly cracked as he spoke, ‘Ah-.. what do you mean, General?’ How did one respond to such? The question boggled Oscar’s mind, confused him to the point of a migraine. How long had he served under his banner? Two years? Three years? And now he decided to finally ask. ‘Why do you deserve to serve under me?’ He repeated, this time with severity which grew goosebumps along Oscar’s armored arms. He had to pause, he had to think. Why /did/ Oscar wish to fight under his banner? He could have gone anywhere, aye, to Savoy, to Istria, and by the Void, even to Lorraine. He was a fighter, like his father, a knight trained by the sword and shield. Ah, yes. Father… Oscar had heard the stories, aye, good and bad ones. Some say he was a valiant loyalist, who helped vanquish the traitor Vanirs from their pit, who held the Ashford banner high and proudly. Others call him a traitor, betraying his liege Vanir and attempting to gain the land for himself. But, in every story he heard, there was one truth. He had a known as a true knight, a swordsman whose skill rivaled none. Oscar wanted to be like that, to follow in his father’s footsteps. He wanted to be just like him. ‘I.. I wish to be known as my father is known, Lord Vladov, I wish to fight for Oren. Like him.’ The Bear of Baranya scrunched his brow, pondering the words which young Oscar gave him. Did he say the right thing? Should he had even mentioned his father? Worry spread across Oscar’s mind like a cancer, regret sprouting into him as weed growing in a garden. He should not have given that answer, he should have given something the General /wanted/ to hear. But it was truth, another point of his mind called, and the General always valued honesty in his men. He gave the truth, nothing more, nothing less. The Vladov’s voice came out raspy, nearly in a whisper, ‘Bend your knee Lancefeld.’ It had taken seconds before Oscar registered, understood what the General commanded. Is he being reprimanded? Punished? No, no, no. Not punished. Well, he prayed it was not punishment. Oscar took his knee, his head low as custom to a superior. He kept his eyes close, blind to the world yet he felt the General’s piercing gaze upon him. The silence is what made Oscar truly on edge, sweat beating down his tight-knit brow. But a sword being unsheathed - the General’s sword - is what broke the eerie silence. A sword, why a sword? Oscar gulped, his hands balling into fists. He would not flinch, he would not show weakness. But for all he tried, he would not look up. That moment, as Oscar looked back, was perhaps the longest ten seconds in his life. It was the cool steel which broke his melancholic haze, snapped into reality. Was he to die? But nay, for the sword moved to his other shoulder, till the blade itself retreated completely from his body. Oscar’s mind screwed to that of confusion, perplexed at what had happened. He had to look up, he had to meet the General’s gaze. And so he did, and that was when the Vladov spoke, ‘Lord Oscar Lancefeld, Baron of Franzenburg, you will serve me through this war, and you will continue to do so in peace. You will warden the Vieran, and you shall bring greatness to the Empire. And in failing to do so, may GOD strike you down.’ His throat was dry, his mind shooting from confusion to mind numbing euphoria. His lips barely made out his next words, almost a croak than a true cognitive statement, ‘I-I shall serve you faithfully, Lord Vladov..’ ‘.. and I shall serve you till my dying breath, and in failing to do so, may GOD strike me down.’ Somewhere in the Skies above, his father had to have smiled upon him. And hidden from his oath to the General, he said: And I shall not fail you, father. yoppl

Accepted Boyo

I vote against this charter

[31/08/2015 17:45:29] Nakk (Moondas/Fizldank): A large Orc barges through the door, looking about the room as he notices Ignight. The orc walks over her, his boots making a clunking sound with each step as he gets closer. He stops next to her table, looking down at her.