Andustar

My character sort of has a thing for swords. Also, considering Suicune purifies rivers by running along the water surface, I felt it was a nice call-back to his homeland.

"There's still a hunt to be had," Albéric remarked, preparing his equipment for a future encounter.

"This shit's crazy," remarked a concerned Hedge Knight. "This Pontiff's no fun. I suppose bardmancers will have their work cut out for them." (OOC: Reminds me of this lot.)

Take it easy, Emi. Hope things go well for you!

There was no triumph in capturing the lonely tower, for a grievous toll was exacted upon the besiegers. Albéric too was vexed by the outcome, tending to Ser Sterling in the aftermath. He had come so close to finishing the Vicar himself, only for the necromancer to slip away with merely a cut to tell of their brief encounter. He now patrolled the territory with renewed conviction, eager to root out the festering taint. "Run and cower, darkspawn. Next time, I'll leave you with more than just a mere scratch."

Username: Andustar Persona Name: Marcus Antonius Persona Age: 30 Place of Residence / Street Address: Royal Palace Seat you are running for (ex. The People's seat of Val de Lagne): Val de Lagne [The First People's Seat of Val de Lagne, specifically]

"Elena..." Albéric was no stranger to the loss of comrades. Yet, the death of one so devoted and eager shook him. "One chapter ends, another begins. May you serve dutifully alongside our lord. We shall meet again, someday."

"You were no thug, nor a beast. You're a man, capable of making mistakes like anyone else." Marcus stated plainly, "And we mustn't let our mistakes define us. You may no longer serve as the Knight Commander, but neither shall your efforts and contributions be forgotten." The Prince set aside the missive, "I believe this was the right decision. Now, put your mind towards new ventures, Ser Aimo. I'm certain you'll find your way again."

THE UNTOLD COST The attack had come in the night, homes burning with their occupants scattered in fear. The perpetrators cackled, spilling blood and looting with a keen eye for valuables. In the years since the continental war that had wracked Aevos, an exacting toll fell upon the Commonwealth. There was much to rebuild amid the stricken countryside - a suitable environment for lawlessness and brigands. A peasant tore at the ground with chipped nails, a highwayman dragging him by his hair. He felt the onset of tears as a diminished granary, already pressured by a poor harvest, was pilfered. They threw his body to the dirt; he was weak and malnourished. Dark eyes bore down upon him, and he could do nothing but plead. “Mercy, please! We ain’t got nothin’ to spare!” A wicked smile was the last thing his eyes perceived. The cold bite of steel ran through him, and the darkness embraced him. “Tear this place apart, lads! Leave nothin’ unturned!” The brigands had no concept of mercy but only what they stood to gain. Screams echoed through the night as the massacre continued and flames consumed all. A red sun soon broke across the river valley, revealing nothing but smouldering remains and the stench of death. [!] The noticeboard in Vallagne bore a new bounty. To the Petran People, A band of brigands has taken to plundering outlying villages within our borders. They are emptying granaries, looting valuables and slaughtering the inhabitants. I call upon all able-bodied members of the populace to put their names forward and aid in eliminating these vile men before tragedy strikes another village. Whoever should return with the head of their leader will receive an ample reward of two-hundred minas. SIGNED, HIS HIGHNESS, Marcus Antonius of the Petra HIS EXCELLENCY, Rigoberto de la Cruz Vice-Chancellor of the Petra, Mayor of Vallagne, Headmaster of the Society of the Exalted Horen

A wandering knight prepared his equipment for the trek to Lotusgrad. "Ser Sterling calls for aid. He shall have it."

"It's one thing to rebuke a man for prejudice. But to challenge him to a duel, whilst acknowledging he's a cripple?" A wandering knight read the missive with disdain, recalling the oath he had sworn many moons ago. "Thou shalt constitute thyself the defender of the weak..." - "It appears chivalry truly is dead."