M1919

STATE OF THE LEAGUE ADDRESS:

MUSTERING OF ALL PATRIOTS

FOEDUS VELEC

In the year 27 of the Age of Rights and the Age of Reckoning

FOEDUS VELEC

In the year 27 of the Age of Rights and the Age of Reckoning

☩ ☩ ☩

"Next time ask for an invite,"

- a letter penned by Queen Sybille to Sir Gaspard, following the abandonment of her troops during her coronation.

“Gaspard, why did you charge?”

“They were so few, yet I was one, Gehr.”

“But why? Are you the Bull of Middelan?”

Leadership. What does that word even mean?

Some might say that leadership is a post to which they are entitled by blood. Those who scrape for the mantle of nobility throughout the Midlands chatter amongst themselves in pubs or marble-cast halls that God ordains their existence alone to be noble. Those with Highlander heritage will cling to the edge of their barren wastes and frigid tundras while proclaiming their worship of ferns and animals to be likewise just. 

The Lodenlanders will tell you that merit breeds prestigious posts for honorable men. By GOD’s calling, a man is harkened forth to grasp that molen crown from its ruinous hearth. Yet, he proclaims himself a King of Naught. He does not forgo his humility to try and elevate himself to be the most favored tool of his devastating foes: titleage and peerage. 

Instead, the Lodenlander is the most favored equalizing force of the realms, A vehicle not for the State or the Aristocracy but for the defense of Venerable Veletz instead. What good is a peerage when your city is in decay? And what good are your worthless enumerated titles when they speak little of your candor and good deeds?

“Your dreams of enchanted halls,” one such Seer had cautioned once. “Your nightmares of pristine marbles enthralling the heart of your home.”

What had this come to mean? What had that wise woman’s mentorship been meant to serve? It was no scolding or harsh beat of a paddle; it was the inevitable realization of where some thirdborn son would find himself. Where a Cyclops would gaze or where the Bull would charge into.

The acts of Man curated destiny, no matter how shameful or virtuous he may be. Fate was the ink to that quill, for it was in GOD’s realm that this was all made manifest. It was in GOD’s dominion that these echoes of eternity were forged. 

So, why? Why is it that the most significant opposition ever faced by mortals in recent history numbered so greatly, yet their honor and willingness to fight dwindled to such fewer ounces over a mere handful of battles? 

Men stormed over walls, and Uruks clambered through windows and gates with harsh steps that roared like thunder and battering rams. Burgundy and green thrashed so many who were under the thrall of their decadent masters, soldiers who moved not to defend their country but to steal that of a people far less numerous. Even when they had numbered so few, the enemy found themselves quashed physically by the startling resilience of Gaspard’s host of Men and Orcs alike, bound in their shared values of honor and fraternity. It is such a recurring theme, a broken lapse in the hourglass spun by the vast grains of sand. Gore spilled out into chambers meant to be so blessed and sacred, so pristine and destined to be enchanted. Yet, where had their leaders gone? 

Where did those blessed sovereigns, those sacred priests - the liars that strung along the fools and manipulated them - end up? Countless peasants, soldiers, and lower-end peers were suffering and dying. Yet, the enemy leadership would retreat into their tunnels before impressing more of their untrained masses into service for a cause that mattered little to them. King Aleksandr once did that to his band of sixty. Others had performed it often throughout the battles held, and the slogs that endured were punctuated by defeat after defeat when their host was forced to contend against weathered warriors and resilient men, women, and children who refused to allow for their homeland to be exterminated by would-be Imperialist powers under the thrall of the Haeseni.  

Yet none such displays were seen from Uurk of Man on this bloody eve. Synchronous movements and strikes done in an orderly session were the seldom-learned lessons from every loss and victory. Utterances of peace made at the expense of lives from their ranks fell onto angered ears at the disregard for honor and life.

The result of it all was a slaughter. The enemy leadership, an uncrowned queen, and a conniving Pontif fled into tunnels and corridors yet unseen. Men with no stake in the fight encouraged boys as young as twelve to take up arms to defend their land. At the same time, they skulked in corners and withdrew their estranged souls into the damp barrows of cravens to evade the responsibility of the failed genocidal war they sought to wage upon the Veletzians. 

Minutes later, the final man was cut through by a man-at-arms in a dented kettlehelm, and commands were given out to acquire prisoners from among the dead. A halfling dubbed Sugarfoot kicked over the mangled remains of eight men who had blocked the windows with their bodies, quite literally trampling on one another in a vain effort to escape the offense. The rest were not to be spared. The sounds of steel dancing against it all could be heard, with a letter of regret found from the corpse of a Hyspian. All the same, the Ferryman aen Sov feigned taking a prisoner before skewering him through the carotid artery with a lance before uttering: “There shall be no mercy for you who displace peoples who are not of your own.”

Two prisoners were taken: one being a boy made to charge and die for his sovereign who fled, and the other being a noblewoman from Petra. After felling some three ill-fated coalition soldiers, Ruben found Sir Philip Laurent and Meira in the fray. They had captured a member of the House Temesch. The bastard guided them outside of the city and sent them to the town of Winburgh. There, they hosted the guests and entertained some simple dialogue. Somewhere in the conversation, it was made known that the captive had a propensity for sewing. The boy now found himself adorned with a burgundy beret as a simple consequence of the raid and to add to the growing pile of knit spoils from the war.

Her coronation was ruined, and the interiors were stained with sinful embellishments of their own. Why bother with the war, with the threats of massacring whole towns to the man, if it is nothing more than a shield made from rotten barley? Why take up arms in a false cause and warrant themselves to be marked as a target for the nearest archer? No, these were no queens and kings. These were children who played at war. Despite having countless soldiers and the necessary requisitions to wage their war in tandem, the Coalition stood as a disunified body that moved like a shambling gardensnake after decapitation by a planter’s rake. 

Never the matter. Invitations to solutions had been presented to all from those of The Alliance, and yet, in the name of the Blackguard, they have all been disregarded into the flames of an ever-molten hearth. War was to be had, yet the never-closing channel of parlay kept itself open.

“Who else, Gehr, but me?”

THE SOUTHERN OFFENSIVE.

"Retribution is your birthright,"

Tenet of the Legion of Burgundy

☩ ☩ ☩

"BLOOD FOR BREAKWATER! BLOOD FOR BRASCA!"

These two phrases illuminated our victory at Westmark, where, despite the odds, we triumphed over the great host of the coalition. Sent scattering, they tasted a defeat that was a stark reminder of what war truly is. With our enemy on their heels, we march to see if they will defend themselves and their allies. 

When captured, John of Aaun found his allies unwilling to come to his aid.

When captured, Cesar of Hyspia found his allies unwilling to come to his aid.

By the thousands, Hyspians, Dwarves, Norlanders, Numendilians, and Aaunites die to see the flags of other kings raised above the Midlands. Many more are mutilated in exchange for their lustful desires, while the sovereigns refuse to fight for their people. 

We do not see enemies in these people, only those misguided and deceived by the would-be conquerors of the Midlands. As we have broken our mettle on the field of battle at Westmark, so shall we prove our intentions to punish only those who have done great harm against us. We do not wish to exterminate any other peoples, nor do we plan to crown ourselves as King of Man as others may conspire to do; we only desire to see our lands liberated and our people untouched by the cravens who lead this coalition. If this liberation requires taking up our blades in the offensive, we will do so. We are no strangers to war, nor do we fear its consequences.

Death is no dishonor; our judgment rests with GOD and GOD alone. 

WARCLAIM

Wargoal:
Annexation of Balian Tile_9

Attackers:

The League of Veletz, the Iron Horde,, and the Principality of Stassion

Defenders:
The Usual Suspects

Warpath:

Date: 

Saturday, January 6th, 2:30pm EST

BATTLE OF THE WESTMARK

FOEDUS VELEC

In the year 25 of the Age of Rights and the Age of Reckoning

"By thy scars and thy deeds thou shalt be judged,"

Veletzian Proverb.

☩ ☩ ☩

HARK! Veletzian, Son of Krug, Retainer of Stassion - hear me! Our tale is a great, glorious one - of sorrow and triumph intermixed!

“Gaspard,” so said they, “have you no fear? You face an army of eight nations with only three to your own.”

“Grommash,” so said they, “have you no fear? Soon, Veletz will fall, and for the price of your loyalty, so will Krugmar. Go the way of Celia’nor and save your people.”

“Richard,” so said they, “have you no fear? You will one day stand alone, for you have made an enemy of all. Your inevitable defeat must shake you to your core.”

The great keeps of Breakwater and Brasca had fallen. Thousands had died defending them from the advance of the coalition. Good men, chief among them Sir Gustaf van Aert, had been lost to history. Martyrs had been made, and made, and made, yet there was nothing to show for their sacrifice. The answers were given as eight thousand and six hundred faithful took to an insignificant field far from Winburgh. Their standards waving in the wind, the visors masking their visage from all to gauge - the great host of Veletz, Horde, and Stassion all emerged as a force of gargoyles, hellbent on preserving their soil. Of their people.

“I have never had fear,” so said Gaspard, “for I fight for my people, and my people fight for me. Together in arms, we shall never taste the stain of defeat.”

And so the men of Veletz, atop their dazzling steeds, rode down the many generals of the coalition, themselves failing to prepare themselves for the cavalry of the field. It was a great slaughter that led the coalition army, itself numbering one hundred and seventy thousand or more, to be a rudderless ship. They were swift, their feet blessed by the Lord himself, for hardly were they touched by the enemy blade or arrow. Time and time again, they rode close, enough to strike themselves, but then fell back before the tide of the coalition could crash upon them. The men and women of this mass flailed and cried as their leaders fell, dead and wounded. At the same time, Gaspard's Ruben and the great elf Adriel hacked into the fray - dismembering and piercing through the opposition's few stragglers or men that their negligent commanders left behind. This act forged gaps in the invader's line, subjecting them to volleys of steel, which enabled the much-deserved repercussions upon the invader. Yet the enemy had one fortress they could flee to: the tunnel. They fled like rats into a cave, rarely emerging from it! Still, they numbered in the tens of thousands more than their foe, and victory seemed to be the only outcome.

“I have never had fear,” so said Grommash, “for it is the way of Krug to embrace the battle. I do not flee at the sight of defeat. I embrace the clash of blades and the shedding of blood for its own sake.”

And so the orcs of Krugmar, half on foot and half on horse, held the line as the coalition’s rats peeked their head out of their hole on occasion. Whatever petty charge was made was thrown back with rage, and many more of the army-of-eight were slain on the field of battle while only a few of the orcs fell. So it went for hours and hours, and as the numbers slowly grew closer and closer, hope broke through the cloud of defeat that had hung over the Midlands. There was a slight chance, a mere inkling of one, but it was there.

“I have never had fear,” so said Richard, “for I am right and just to stand by those who have stood by me. It is the way of the knight to honor the oaths made for his battle-comrades, and I am nothing if not a man of my word.”

And so the archers of Stassion pierced and pelted the coalitions' armies with javelins, arrows, stones, and anything else that could be shot or thrown. As the enemy tried to bunch together and pack themselves to ward off cavalry charges, they became slow and immobile. It was a slow process, as the day had been, but over time, gaps in the line formed, where it would soon be filled with the whizzing of arrows and the cries of falling soldiers. At times, a man or two could even be picked off by awaiting skirmishers.

“We have never had fear,” so said they all, the victors on the Field of Blood, “for our bones are made of iron, and our blood carries in it the vigor of our ancestors. We have broken, aye, but we have never bent, and for it, forces of fortune will look upon us favorably. Our day is here; our victory is now.”

The signal was made to charge. It was a glorious scene, something that history has never told before. Helena, Lower Petra, both pale to what these weary eyes witness on the Field of Blood!

Of Drusco, Edmond, Richold, and Tancred brought their force to bear against thousands, though they numbered few dozen. These eyes saw the company of Richold slay hundreds - with countless falling to the mercy of his ancestral sword, that thing of beauty, the Glorie Drusque.

Of the tribal horse cavalry, Ivan, Vlad, and Kursik, those men without surnames, have won one for themselves that day. ‘Victor’ will cross the lips of all who see them as each shot they fired rang true, their horses rode hard, and their sabers never dulled.

Of the orcs, Kho’Gorkil, though wounded early, fought on and fought hard. With his units of Krugmar, he held the line time and time again, allowing the advancing masses of the coalition to taste the tips of victory but never savor it, as each time they charged, their hands came up empty, and their fingers were cut.

And so it was that this host of the coalition, strong in number and sure in will, was broken outside of Winbrugh and sent scattered. Nary, a soldier, survived, and the green grasses of the fields, tinted with some frost as the snows set in ran red. What few from Veletz, Krugmar, and Stassion that fell had not died for a cause damned to ruin. Like those before them, they fought and died for the dream that their people may be saved from the destruction and ruin wished upon them. They fought for the women and children condemned to death by this horrible invasion. Their steel and quivers would never discriminate, and upon the fields and the woodlands did the scattered remains of dead loiter in proof.

Blood for Breakwater.

Blood for Brasca.

"By the way of their death shall we know them."

THE BANNERLORD'S COUNCIL: 

APPOINTMENTS BY THE CAPTAIN-GENERAL

FOEDUS VELEC

In the year 24 of the Age of Rights and the Age of Reckoning

✠

BY THE UNWAVERING AUTHORITY OF THE STATE AND THE REPUBLICAN MANDATE BESTOWED UPON THE ILLUSTRIOUS CHAMBER OF HEIDMEN, WE HEREBY ISSUE THIS IMPERIOUS MISSIVE, RESONATING WITH THE EMINENT VIRTUES OF HONOR, DUTY, LIBERTY, FRATERNITY, VALOR, AND WISDOM. WITH THIS COMMUNICATION, WE ENLIGHTEN THY READER UPON THE INTRICACIES OF STATECRAFT AND UNVEIL THE CURRENT AFFAIRS THAT ENGAGE OUR SOVEREIGN REALM.

‘LO UNTO THE HEARTLANDS,

In light of the recent times ahead, the following men and women are henceforth advanced to take command of the following stations and pursuits. Sadistic devils, with their lies, slander, steel, and more, taunt our lands and townsfolk, and efficiency is of utmost importance.

ON COMMANDERS AND THEIR STATIONS:

LORD GUSTAF VAN AERT, hereafter referred to as Sir Gustaf of Winburgh, shall yield full command in the absence of the CAPTAIN-GENERAL. All levies and retainers of Veletz will listen to him. He may only intrude upon other tasks or drills if it is against the CAPTAIN-GENERAL's will.

LORD HENDRIK VAN AERT, hereafter referred to as Sir Hendrik of Middelan, shall yield full military command without the CAPTAIN-GENERAL. As the marshal, he will organize additional training, raids, and attacks on enemy soil.

HIS GRACE, MARKUS SARKOZIC, THE DUKE OF ADRIA, shall be charged in the placement as the Censor of the Midlands. From this post, he will moderate the legal standing and public morality of Veletz. Markus is expected to provide a review, approve, or deny future suggestions of the law of Veletz and prosecute wrongdoings against the virtues of the Midlands. Through him, we will build a court to be managed without the CAPTAIN-GENERAL’s presence. In the absence of Gustaf & Hendrik, Markus rules as the Captain-General’s Hand.

LORD JOHANES VAN AERT, hereafter referred to as Sir Johannes of Sonlach, will be charged with the workings of the Legion’s logistics of engines and foodstuffs. If necessary, he and the LADY SASKIA VAN AERT will dabble into the art of papyrus-mancy, which our enemies so frequently entertain. Additionally, he will support the Duke Markus as called upon.

AUTHORITY OF THE GUARD IN WINBURGH:

Underneath these great men, the following knights are called upon to keep order within Winburgh, the simple town that has intimidated our foes to such a great extent. These men will be charged with keeping brawls out from the taverns and duels settled in the square and seeing the safe conduct of messengers and envoys. They will promptly act upon directives if called upon for task and purpose. The Marshal is expected to review Veletzian forces, from levy to levy and man-to-man if necessary. Knights of Veletz are to be his companions the very same that they are to the Captain-General.

These men are personally tasked as follows:

• Sir Ethan 

• Sir William

• Sir Rupert

• Sir Andrik

• Sir Philip

• Sir Istvan

Other men may be assigned or tasked with various quests to befit their position. 

ON MATTERS OF THE CHURCH:

Just because men of shrill stature shriek and shiver while uttering the cries of “bandit” or “warlord” does not mean we are without understanding the value of GOD. Unless stated otherwise, the people call the Bishops Alexios and Callahan to begin sermons, mass, and lessons of Canonism. Owynist rites are encouraged. The possession of the cathedral of Saint Arpad is handed to Bishop Alexios to do as he wishes. This includes the upholding of Canon Law within the sacred grounds themselves.

Such is the will of the Bannerlord.

HIS GRACE, Gaspard of the House van Aert, Captain-General of the League of Veletz, Duke of Middelan, Bannerlord of Winburgh, Protector of Midlanders

RESOLVE AMONG THE LOST FLOCK;

THIS FARCE, THE CANONIST LEAGUE

FOEDUS VELEC

In the year 13 of the Age of Rights and the Age of Reckoning

✠

____________________________________________________________________________________________

BY THE UNWAVERING AUTHORITY OF THE STATE AND THE REPUBLICAN MANDATE BESTOWED UPON THE ILLUSTRIOUS CHAMBER OF HEIDMEN, WE HEREBY ISSUE THIS IMPERIOUS MISSIVE, RESONATING WITH THE EMINENT VIRTUES OF HONOR, DUTY, LIBERTY, FRATERNITY, VALOR, AND WISDOM. WITH THIS COMMUNICATION, WE ENLIGHTEN THY READER UPON THE INTRICACIES OF STATECRAFT AND UNVEIL THE CURRENT AFFAIRS THAT ENGAGE OUR SOVEREIGN REALM.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

LO unto the Heartlands,

From high Winburgh, our hearts have been filled with disappointment; time after time, the Canonist League has shunned the mere existence of Veletz, undermining Her voice and breaching the pact with deliberate attempts to omit any semblance of argument from the League of Veletz, when matters of Her dominion are spoken of in flagrant transgressions. Despite the attempts to bury the hatchet with the Kingdoms of Haense and Balian over the matters of the secular wars in the past— they openly choose to leave it unburied, feigning innocence and returning fruitless smiles. The belligerent nations continue to utilize the Canonist League to attempt to subvert Veletz.

With the provision of transgressions in mind, the League of Veletz will not bend a knee to the viper who hisses a song and dances to the lute of another. The mouth of Canondom dances with the grace of a Haenser puppeteer and, with it, all of the nation’s interests. There is no utterance of faith in GOD and the growth of the Church to save the souls of the agnostic and the Pagan. Thus, it can be plainly stated that our trust in the unaccountable Pontiff and the integrity of the Canonist League is all but gone.

Let it be known that We entertain it no longer; from this day onward, our state declares that the Canonist League is null and void— or what remains of the propositioned idea, which is no more than a cannibalized husk used to hide certain nations from accountability and scrutinize the sovereignty of others.

One way or another, the world will be reminded of the strength of MAN.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

GOD WILLING,

HIS GRACE, Gaspard of the House van Aert, Captain-General of the League of Veletz, Duke of Middelan, Bannerlord of Veleç, Protector of the Midlanders

HIS GRACE, Markus M Sarkozic the Duke of Adria, Count of Aldersberg and Patriach of House Sarkozic var Adria

HIS GRACE,Valentin van Aert, Duke of Blackvale, Count of Pestilles, Patriarch-Dynast of the Pertinaxi, Heidman of Veletz

Sir Hannibal of Ostfeld, Hand of the Captain-General, Sergeant of the Order of St. Jude

Sir Hendrik van Aert, Marshal of the Legion of Burgundy, Banner Knight of Veletz

HIS LORDSHIP, Caius Mareno, Lord of Fort Breakwater and Trident’s Peak, Heir to the March of Myrine

THE MOST HONOURABLE, Edmond Guiscard Ashford de Rouen, Marquis of Drusco, Count of Metina, Baron of Blackwald

HIS LORDSHIP, Sir Godric ap Easworth, Landgraviate of Bonby, Mayor of Whitespire

HIS LORDSHIP, Jan Euler, Baron of Eulersburg

HIS LORDSHIP, Richold Humbert Ashford de Rouen

HIS LORDSHIP, Lucas Olivier de Reyne, Baron of Reyne

HIS LORDSHIP, Luther von Draco, Baron of Mardale

[x]

THE MANDATE OF ACRE

21st of Horen’s Folly, 1883

This information is made known.

PREFACE

It is the belief of the reigning regent of Acre to establish the Barony as its own, independent nation. We claim no kingdoms, we hail no Empires - we are tradesmen bound to the fields we till and the families we nurture. This declaration bears no insult, it harbors no ill will. 

Instead, this document fosters the nurturing of a future. 

For well over fifteen years have the settlers of Acre sought to grow, have we worked to contribute to the lands enveloped by the purple and black. We have fostered care, we have bestowed charity, and we have given our sweat and blood for the throne. 

There are no regrets of the past, for only in the future do we gaze.

The Kingdom of Oren & its capital Vienne stands in the way of this, and thus will be met appropriately.

THE SINS OF OREN

Our grievances with the Kingdom of Oren have only grown since Acre’s withdrawal from the war, of which we were not to meddle in to begin with. Not a day of peace has successfully passed, where our villagers, livestock, or faithful levymen can rest easy. Men come and go, Kings and Queens falter, yet always find fault in the Old Ways of life. Community, hard work, and the humble life of a serf or lowly nobility does not prosper, still, in the supposedly modern Kingdom of Oren. Dishonorable men in powerful positions sow discord and strife through their actions, whether this be dismembering and cutting tongues of lowly peasants who wronged not even an insect, or forfeiting the life of one’s bastard son in fear of civil audience. 

The Barony of Acre has always acted in righteous faith, seeking to act better than one’s enemy in every aspect. The dogs of Oren have scrambled to wither the honor of not only themselves, but their families, and companions to hinder the progress of our sanctious and humble lands.

Furthermore, the government of the Kingdom is on its last legs, as of this missive’s publishing. It has become a withered, and corrupted institution filled with indolent men and women who seek none but the advance of their demesne and possession. The Barony of Acre no longer holds full confidence in the King, or Lord Protector and his Regency Council to forthwith carry the Kingdom onwards to certain success and a golden age of prosperity which we have so yearned for and contributed to for more than fifteen years.

The Kingdom is weak. Its allies grow smaller, and even its own vassals seek to not involve themselves in a lost cause, for the Crown has shrunk, no longer holding the weight that it once did. We urge the vassals of Oren to lay down their arms, for we seek to minimize bloodshed. Let it be known, that those who stand in our path shall be dispatched rightly, and faithfully sent to GOD. Our qualms lie not with the Kingdom’s loyal peers, but with the rotten Crown itself, who has seeked so sinfully to remove us, our way of life, and our very imprint on the world.

It is why we, the Barony of Acre, do seek to secede in full from the Kingdom. It is why we, the Barony of Acre, march against the capital. With friend, with neighbor, with cousin, and with sword. 

The Kingdom of Oren is rotten, a cancer upon Humanity, and we are the surgeon.

I - As of this declaration’s signing, any and all levymen of Acre are recalled from the battlefront; their families and friends invited to the lands about. Any harm dealt to these great men and women will result in retaliation. Any man or woman who finds themself wishing to depart from Acre may do so.

II - As of this declaration’s signing, it is thus made that the demands of Acre pertain to the lands of the capital ceded over to Acre and its people. If refused, then war will once more be found on Orenian soil.

III - THE BARONY OF ACRE AND THE BLOOD OF DE VILAIN will stay with its titles, and its land. It will not be molded into a Kingdom or Duchy, for the life of a tradesman and farmer is superior to all things aristocratic. 

IV - EVERY MAN IN THE ACREAN LEVY, hereby owes the Barony or Kingdom which it was a part of nothing. If they seek to remain loyal to a Kingdom, they are encouraged to trek south toward Vienne, or in any one of the other cardinal directions.

V - Any dispute to these claims may be brought to the Baron’s attention, through steel or parlay. The honor of Acrean Hospitality has yet to be disputed.

Wargoal:

Revolution

Attackers:

The Barony of Acre & Companions

Defenders:

The Kingdom of Oren

Proposed Date:

August 12th

Warpath:

Acre.

Signed,

Sir Gustaf de Vilain

F.O.A. Sir Hannes de Vilain
Patriarch of de Vilain, Father Of All, Aurel Knight

The Bearer of the Stache, Otto
Bailiff of Acre, Constable of Castle de Vilain

Willem I van Aert
Duke of Blackvale, Baron of Pestilles, Patriarch of van Aert

Argus Romstun
Prince of Holy Orenian Empire, Lord of Crestwatch, High Commander of the Greyguard

SIR UFER
kHEDGENITE, TEMPLAR OF MIKE

Cynefrith Easworth
 The Ranger of Acre, Chevalier of Arichsdorf

 Lady Aloisia of Rivia,
Baroness of Acre, Wife of Gustaf

Agnes de Vilain
Expert in trade and Voyage, Sister of Baron Gustaf de Vilain

Lydia von Arichsdorf-Mareno

Dr. Emilie Macpherson
Surgeon-General of Acre, Ranger Inquisitor, Expositor

William Lucian d'Arkent 
Director of Intelligence and Warfare Doctor

Sir Louis Staunton

Alto the Patriot,

Son of Treble, The Patriot of Orenia

Orelia Irina Darkwood-Barclay
Ambassador and Chief Scholar of Acre

Grub of Acre 
Amature grill master, successful chef, protector of Musin, sleeper of bridges and gardens, one handed defender of Acre

Wolfgang de Vilain
Carrot Whisperer, Brother of Baron Gustaf de Vilain

Seaxburh of Arirchsdorf
Farmer of Acre, Guardsman of the Levy

Æthelwulf of Arichsdorf
Deputy Bailiff of Acre, Sergeant of the Levy
 

Gustaf farms.

THE WITHDRAWAL OF ACRE

[ x ]

These fliers are made known.

AS IT STANDS,
As of this document being penned and signed, all Acrean levymen are withdrawn from any major conflict pertaining to the war for elvish lands. The conflict is not of the interest of our people, and thus it is fruitless to risk the lives of GOD-fearing men and women from the barony. Any man who finds it in his heart to set off and fight on behalf of Oren and its foreign goals is free to do such, however no strife may be brought back to the homefront. 

The Barony of Acre does not recognize this war as official, and thus shall only honor the Accord of the First Harvest if called upon by the respective Harvest Lords.

Any who actively hunt on Acrean soil to capture or apprehend any man, woman, or child from either side will be dealt with accordingly.

Lastly, no Acrean or de Vilain standard, crest, nor tabard may be worn by the warriors who volunteer.

Signed,

Sir Gustaf de Vilain
Baron of Acre, KRE, Knight Commandant of the Order of the Red Eagle, Knight of Acre, Sentinel of His Royal Majesty, and the Champion of the Ivory Alps

The Bearer of the Stache, Otto
Bailiff of Acre, Constable of Castle de Vilain

Æthwulf "Robynn" Medford
Sergeant-at-Arms