Guy d'Yood of Mann

7/10, (In)famous snelf.

"The only thing we learn from history, is that we do not learn from history." Kovir states.

A certain midget nods to these words of wisdom and historical aptitude. In his wee head, what little cells remained operational were sleepily trying to regroup, like a banner of routed footmen. How was Camile and others capable of hearing that speech? One being eloquently mumbled out with several logical mistakes all the way over in Brelus? Halfling had no doubt that might have been dark magic. Or maybe telepathical abilities of a certain Orderman rubbing off on his fellow loyalists.

Berilac blinks in sheer confusion that statement, be it a saying, or homemade rhyme, brought, scratching his shaven chin with the expression of an Orderman dragged into a brothel. When finally some vademecum to this tumultous pondering would rear it's head, it would by all means be, top to the bottom, wrong. Content in his ignorance to that fact, he makes his way to inform a certain female acquaintance of his that the Vladovs support her and her wife.
 

Awful end to an equally awful conflict, Goldworthy thought to himself, his cloak hung over halfling's small frame like a curtain signalling the end of an act. Not even in his brazen temper would he consider being irrespectful to Hughes' gruesome death.

With more bitter, sour thoughts clawing their way through his tired mind, the certain midget departs for Winter Oak, equally eager to spread the news, and spiteful in knowledge of what those news entail.

Relatively yuck.

Brand new kittens?

The unsung hero.

((Have fun Werdman. Bring us some meese~))

Banned for not sharing his alchemy cookbook.

Yuck.

Halfling tears?

A certain midget chuckles to himself:

"If they're half as 'good' with blade as they're with grammar, we'll only needa sic Helves at them."

"You keep the children in felsen by your own will. I bet they don't want to be in felsen where the citizens are not even handed food or supplies to keep them surviving in the concentration camp that is Felsen. The king does nie even give arms and armour to his soldiers, they must get it themselves. What a great King, Oliver de Idle is his name! He lets his troops fight the battle for him while he sits in his fort where gates are always closed to the outside world, he treats his citizens like rats. 1 catapult can take out that entire fort, so keep serving the king who doesn't socialise with his people" shouts Siegmund from Vanaheim

((I'll hope ye tried writtin' that on phone. Or while wrangling a wild rhinoceros.))

Within the small, hidden chapel of Unterpol, a quiet prayer could be heard, as the man that once bore honours of an acolyte would carry out a service, to strenghten the hearts of many a soul, pridefully remaining at the side of their King. So long as there were steadfast men like Publius or Cantonus, and courageous soldiers of all the races and peoples of Oren, loyalty would never perish - and with it's survival, golden values that once held the human empire would prevail aswell.

(( I literally spit out my drink when I read this.

x2

Banned for making all the topics in offtopic 'unread' when I wasn't looking.

Nearly brought to tears, a certainly smallest Orenian in fifties would gather what few utensils he still had gathered, pile them along the few, homemade, wax candles and start scribbling, his heart racing straight outta the thin chest. Within a few furious minutes, did he finish an equally open answer - and with his olog compatriot's aid, halfling would hang it up where need be, for all willing to glimpse it's contents to read as following:

"How much? How much more blood has to be shed to satisfy those, who value little more than their own miserable gain? To quench their thirst for 'revanche'? When folks such as meself would point out their ambitions, their divisions, as dangerous to our nation, to many, not unlike yourselves, we were merely laughed at. Laughed, before such laughter would die down in turn to the countless, immeasurable tears to be shed for all those lost in the senseless conflict brought equally by both sides. I am merely a servant, less then that, and yet, am I truly, the only man in Oren to see that you're merely bleeding our kingdom out, like a beast that claws at it's own entrails in the last, agonal deed? That the only thing you'll accomplish, will be our end?

You claim to have suffered beyond what anyone could imagine. And what can say those, that don't have blue blood, those who cannot voice their suffering? Your lad is a good man, of kind heart, but what makes his torture more horrifying than all that Oren's citizens had to endure? How dare you scream and yammer about the torment you're enduring, when but a few breathes ago, countless citizens would be slain only because they preferred to die standing than bend their knees to rebels. Felsen suffers, bleeds and dies, like a festering wound you wouldn't ever wish to heal. Did you at least once consider, how many men and women - freemen in service to all of ye sorry whimperin' heat-struck she-wolves - will die in a feud sired by nothing but your own devices? Both you and de Sola are to blame, and the fact neither of you sought to have the matter solved differently than by blade, proves little but your own fault.

You claim that his majesty employs thugs, and I hardly can disagreed. But what is he meant to do, when all the lads with their hearts in proper place 'ave your values shoved in their heads? When all men of any value or virtue depart to fight your wars, what little is left in the river devoid of fish to pick but the scum at it's bottom? I may not be happy about deserters in King's retinue, I may not be happy about the aims of the Order, who still allow the whimsycal nature of men such as Barnardian to prove everything but that it is disciplined. Samuel of Hadvar be damned, for I myself have been forced to let the murderer, honorless scumbag, living up to the gossip that he's the only real child o'Ragnar's, walk freely, rather than see his lifeless body sway in the wind. We need every man that can bear arms, now that you lot are more busy killin' each other rather than slayin' banditry and other highwaymen, the sorry whoresons who dare to threaten all Orenians, from lowliest servants to the very councillors themselves.

Countless men face injustice in royal bureaucracy. Nobles and commoners alike await years at the time before a vademecum is found to their case. Corruption strings up what little dignity and manners were left in the latrine you, and other 'bluebloods' turned old Imperium into. Andrik Vydra must weep, if the dead still may weep in the Skies. Both friends and foes of mine had endured that injustice, and in turn, for their patience and loyalty, would finally be rewarded. But apparently, rewards mean must when they're not served instantly, as if you hold your very own king to be a aengul-damned barmaid whom you can slap around to dance at your whims.

You claim sorrow as numerous lives are lost, and brothers are herded into this butcherhouse of ambition, but you yourself hold little to no regard to turn brothers against sisters, children against parents, and for what? To replace one king with another who's hands you'd tie even tighter, and make the bureaucratic hell even more of an ordeal to endure for the commoners? A nation is not unlike a living organism. If but a single important organ fails to comply with the rest, all of it will grow sickly. When you turn on each other, I must say I'm curious how shameful is it to point fingers at others instead of those so eagerly bringing that sickness. But do come, and if you come, know this. You may not know me, you may not know any other commoners serving the crown. You may never care to hear of our lives, of our loves, the children we defend. But we will not care for your claims, or even claims of those that pretend to defy you while scheming on their own. Have Vanaheim promised to Othaman, have Felsen given to dogs, fend dwarven warmongerers against us - we will care not. When called upon by /Oren/, we will stand on the walls and we shall fight to the last man, dying standing, rather than let you descend upon our families. Reach out for our lives, our goods, our children, faith and values. Make us weep with every blow forced to crack the skull of the siblings we held in our arms. Make us cringe as we must send arrows after those we trusted more than anything. I myself still remember days, when the civil war first loomed over horizon. My first question was "What side will Vladovs be on?" so that we could stand with those who always remembered honour. But it seems, honour died with Athera. 

So reach out for Felsen, oh unholy alliance, if you might. But remember, that the laws were carried over on the ships, and back in old Petrus, thieving recidivists' hands were simply cut.

Sincerely yours, vox Orenia populi."

((Hell, I'd tag along too, but I've a feelin' whatever ye got in mind won't work out. If there's a clique reacting most poorly to changes, that'd be the exact one yer aiming to hit up. Besides, already promised a chara spot for Aerial, so, I'll just say this - good luck, mate.))

Put the Larkman back in the GM saddle. We need more o' folks like that there.

+1

"May this letter find you in good health.

I must admit that I am surprised - and, commend your pidgeon on delivering the previous letter, and I dare say that such brave lesser brothers of ours deserve all the care we can foster for them.  With so many trials ahead of us in those days, one could sincerely expect the poor creature to fall pray to many a stray arrow, as is in the bad habit of us Descendants.

To cut down to this theological chase - I must say, that we're both gifted at ignoring the other man's writtings to some extent, and, mea culpa t'is, for not speaking out more clarily.

I do not doubt your faith and the strength of it's flame. What I spoke of, was agreement upon your, as you've stated, rage, and what I hoped would be reassurance that regardless of what awaits you, you shall always find our help - and doubtlessly, guidance from our Lord. What you did miss, is, that, I do not advise war, and neither do I advise turmoil. We live in dark, horrid days, and that darkness doesn't always come embodied by a few Descendants of Krug that gave in to their curse. What little authority Church commands, is diminished by persistence of the one supposed to lead it. While such stubborn nature would be fitting for a trueborn son of Godfrey, the cause behind it will never become just. Position of High Pontiff comes not only with privileges, but also responsibilities, and with sinful pursuits from such, how can we expect anyone in our holy nation to pay him enough respect the Vicar of God deserves?

Many a servant of God finds himself or herself a servant of the lord who's grounds they dwell in, even further fostering the civil unrest such as that inbetween Vladov and de Sola families. However, while we do not posses the power to directly end such a conflict, I sincerely agreed and will always do so, that we cannot give in to the whims of those valuing their own interest over that of Oren. Yet, we must lend all the support we may to his majesty, our God-chosen king Olivier, for if not him, who will the smallfolk turn to, if so many lords of our realm seek to eradicate each other for even so little earthly power, and at that, power that will never gain them the access to Heavens, with the keys they've long lost in the endless abyss of mortal pride and ambition?

And, finally, some do say, we believe our lives to be worth more then that of a commoner. Some would say, that so is right with anyone, who is simply more useful. But then again, we would turn men into assets, resources. What right have we, to deny what little humanity is left already when the blood of innocent became cheaper then wine? In that, every life matters, and we hadn't any right to decide, which is valued more. A true warrior of Creator is not a killer. A true warrior is a protector. He or she must value the life as much as they value the ability to take it, lest they become nothing but overglorified murderers, little better then the Haelunorians. I know not of your incident, but if it was a matter of defending yourself - and at that, the life of one who breathes for the sole purpose to serve our Lord and Creator, then you've done naught wrong.

Yet, it is only God that will truly judge the sins of us mortals, and only in our death and departure to the other world, shall we receive His judgement. As for the mortal laws, I assume, knowing you as a man of piety and honour, that you already are dealing with it, for it would not speak good volume of you to leave it behind, shoveled under the carpet like Kalenzian sins.

May you ever walk in our immortal Lord's Light, and may that path guide you to the Skies."

Constans of Nerezza

Third on that.

Also, that's good to hear.

"Dear my fellow members of the church,

I write this knowing full well what it means. Few of those in the church agree with my views, which is why I write this. I would like to state my views, and say why the church's position in current affairs is all to secular.

 

Before I was a priest, I worked for a mercenary company. I fought many, and personally took the lives of four of our brothers in creation. Two were sons of Krug, one a dwarf, and the last a human. Besides this, I have seen many of my friends die on the battlefield. I have heard men's last words, I have heard their last screams, and I have seen their eyes glaze over as they face eternity. Many dream of seeing war. Many take pleasure in it. I am no such man. War is what fuels Iblees, for it was the blood that Krug spilled that a woke the daemon in the first place.

 

War can be justified in my mind for one reason only. If someone attacks the church or it's ideals, than we must protect it. If a war is made because a lord wants more land, or has stared at the other lord the wrong way, then what is the point? These wars are caused because Iblees has a hold on all of our hearts. And if you give in to it, than you will soon find yourself clamoring to slay a brother of yours too.

 

And that is what we are. We are all brothers. For Horen had three brothers, and from them birthed all of intelligent life. So why do we hold the lives of some more dearly than the lives of others? A De Sola is just as much a human as a Vladov. Both have sinned, both have faults, and both are forgiven by God. If God, someone so great and powerful, can forgive us, why can we not forgive each other? The scroll of virtue says "And thou shalt be without pretense or conceit, for before the mountain, the ant and the aurochs are equally small." We are all equally small, and we are all equally sinful.

 

So what is the churches wrongdoing? The church has done little to stop, if not fully sanctioned the war. Instead of beging for them to forgive each other, our high pontiff tells them "Make sure you pray for your enemies as well." Aye and while we are at Sixtus, shall we supply them the swords to slay each other? The High Pontiff is so worried that he will lose face if he does not appease both sides of the conflict, that he allows their fratricide to continue. And many agree with him on this point. Why advise to pray for your enemy, when you can simply stop them from being enemies.

 

I have talked to both houses on the matter. De Sola feels wronged that the Vladovs have allegedly housed Camel Bandits in their realm, and allowed them to attack their people. The Vladovs feel wrong because their brothers were slain at the hands of The De Sola's. Both sides have sinned against one another. And yet their solution is to perpetuate the conflict by sending more men to die. If they continue on this path it will lead to the extinction of both houses.

 

I beg both houses; Lay down your weapons, and begin to talk of peace! If you simply heard eachothers opinions than we can stop more from dying.

I beg the High Pontiff; Do not allow this war to continue, less you see the guardians of the faith tear each other a part. Who will protect our churches, when they have killed each other?

Finally I beg the people; Do not wish for war. It is not glorious, it is not satisfying, it is not fun. Friends and family die in war, and then you are left with nothing except holes in your heart.

 

-Colin Samston, Priest of Brelus

[!]

With loud cawking and other typically crowy noises, Constans' raven would deliver a small, tightly wrapped package, containing a letter, and some small, crudely drawn map, with the former's contents slightly dimmed by the crownlands' rainy climate.

"Dear brother in faith...

Once more, did you miss the point, but alas, I am no Oscar of Norfolk to point such out. Nobody disagrees with that, especially none of those among the clergy you would condemn for such tendencies. What brothers such as myself wish and crave for, is Church on a strong foundation, as pure as an ivory tower standing tall in the sea of dark sin. We want something for people to find sanctuary in, hope and faith in our Lord whom we all serve. And alas, we seek a Church, that can defend itself and it's faithful, for we all live in grim and brutal times, and denying the fact that all thugs of Vailor understand only equally ruthless force, will not bring back all the brothers and sisters, children of Creator and Four Brothers, back to life.

Seconding that, is the cause of your thesis. Some may have been infuriated at the claim that count de Bar is a warmonger, that much, the rage you sired against yourself is true. But neither that, nor your latest scribbles should bring any condemnation from the Church, and even less so, from a Pontiff so boldly trying to refute claims of sinnery much worse than that you brought upon yourself. You will always find safety in the Faith, even if foolhardyness of those trying to interpret God's will to their own, miserable gains will try to sway the hearts of many Orenians.

May you ever walk in our immortal Lord's light, and may that path lead you to the Skies."

[!]As signed[!]

Constans of Nerezza, acolyte and God's servant.

Through the gossip from Aesculian druids, did those sorrowing news spread over the small refugee group. And while struck with many other sorrows, many other difficulties, in the civil turmoil of a mess crownlands became, with their governor's approval and their lord's blessing, elves, humans and other Descendant creatures of their lot took up a small prayer for the tragedy which filled the Grove, and the lands of Vailor, with much sadness.

((Stay safe, bb. Have fun, regardless of whatchu do. And don't let *bleep*wits bring you down again.))

How is your timing always so perfect, signore?

Banned for:

Ghouling around.

8-/10 The hero we didn't deserve, and neither did we need now.

Banned:

For being the law without a helmet.

Banned for:

Ignoring Trav's copyrights.