cakefool

Prelude: Of the Fight and Fame of Geordie Brawm Geordie Brawm had been but a young man during the sieges of Silasia, commanding the Dreadlandic host against the Half-Breed Crusaders—only for the Silasian leadership to surrender. During this conflict, he gained the moniker "Blackheart" from his enemies. Years later, he met ruin again in the wars of Drusco, serving beneath Roger de Rouen during the Defiance of Drusco. From that day forth, he swore an oath upon his honor: never again would he yield to the Harrenites. Now an aged and weathered lord, Brawm took once more to the roads as his forefathers had before him, preying upon vagrants and caravans alike to line his coffers. It was there he crossed paths with a halfling priest—an affront to nature itself—and the priest’s company, whose fat purses and glittering trinkets did little to soothe the greed burning in his men’s hearts. In the days that followed, they pressed deeper into Imperial lands, raiding and ransoming with impunity, until the bustling town of Tarnavon fell beneath their grasp, its people taken hostage and its gold swelling their purses yet further. The retinue of Brawm’s retainers held many of the Highland folk as hostages—proud men and women, and a few Imperials among them. Yet the Empire showed little will to ransom or sally forth for their own. Instead, it was the Idunians who sought retribution for the thievery and pillaging that Geordie’s host had wrought across the lands of Harren. From the hilltop, they beheld a thousand men assembled, a finely dressed soldier at their vanguard. Geordie’s tactic had gone into action; wounding the hostages to delay pursuit, he withdrew his force into the forests, sparing only a few men. There, at the edge of Tarnavon, the Idunian host met Harys and Seymour Brawm, nephews of the old lord. Feigning retreat, the brothers lured their foe into the thickets, where Geordie bellowed the order to charge. Instantly, a tempest of steel rang out across Imperial lands, and the numerically superior Idunian line collapsed. The soldiers of the White City scattered like snowflakes in the wind, only to be hewn down in their flight and folly. [!] Brawmian cavalrymen pursuing the fleeing Idunians at the rout of Whitefield. The Nobleman, fittingly, possessed the fleetest horse, and a furious, savage chase ensued. The Lord of Brawm gave the order to pursue, riding hard with his nephews Seymour and Harys at his flank. The retreating Idunians fought desperately against the marauding host, falling one by one like swine before the slaughter. At last, when Geordie was but a hair’s length away from striking his lance into the fleeing Nobleman, Seymour ‘Hotspur’ spurred ahead, overtaking his uncle. His lance found the Nobleman’s torso, and the Harrenite fell with a thunderous cry. At once, Geordie turned his steed "Redmane" and directed his lance upon the center of the Nobleman’s standard-bearer, unhorsing the great Númendilian knight in a single strike. Then the thunder of hooves subsided, and the forest fell deathly silent. Geordie, with a small host, his nephews among them, and a group of trusted veterans who had lost much at Drusco and Silasia, took the captured Nobleman and brought him to a lonely beach overlooking the Imperial countryside. In a fit of adrenaline and vigor, the unshaken Brawmians dragged the fallen Nobleman to the shore. There, a restless Seymour and the defeated Harrenite exchanged brief words of Drusco and Silasia battles whose wounds still festered in memory. [!] Geordie "Blackheart" Brawm preparing to perform a one-handed execution on the fallen Noble of Idunia. The Noble of Idunia, bloodied and beaten, lifted his gaze towards his executioner, “May I have a smoke of my pipe before I die?” He asked “You have spared my people nothing but death,” Geordie replied coldly. “You will find no comfort in this life or the next.” At last, Geordie ordered his men to force the Nobleman to his knees before a moss-covered beach stone. Raising his sword high in one hand, he proclaimed, “I, Geordie, of the notorious House of Brawm, Lord Paramount of the Dreadlandic Federation, Lord of Houndsden, and Protector of Silasia, proclaim my oath to avenge Silasia fulfilled, and hereby sentence you to death.” The aged bandit lord paused with the sea pulling at his cloak. As the waves crashed behind him, he stared down at his foe, silent for a moment. Then, at last, he spoke. “Have you any last words?”

Javier would step out of a war meeting in Jornheim after a Norlandic runner barged in delivering him the news. Javier rushed to find his son, Jevan, dispatching him to Norland to reconstruct the temple that was destroyed by Sky Gods. "Just trying to win a war, unlike many of my ancestors. You shouldn't have abandoned Norland in its time of need. My new temple will be built by my son, just stop bitching." Javier would simply state, a calm look upon his face

Ruricguard being led by Javier Ruric, marching towards the heart of Oren, Adelburg Rain scattered across the battlefield, violent gusts throwing up grass and dew from the soaked landscape. In the face of the abysmal weather the veteran forces of the Coalition marched on, column after column of grey steel under the grey sky. Flashes of the deep reds and blacks of Norland were seen alongside the lighter tones of the Uzg, the piercing blue and white of the Frostbeards and the gold soaked tabards of Santegia. Despite this unity, the inspirations of previous battles, and the wild propaganda of Norlandic revanchism and revenge, the Coalition Army had never seen its morale sink so low. Rumours of an enemy, superior in skill and strength had reached them; mystical rumours of Dunamite or Flay involvement struck fear deep into the hearts of the men, and sent many fleeing their ranks in the dead of night to escape the inevitable slaughter the Coalition faced. Nearly as many found homage in the Orenian ranks, bolstering their traitorous force. The only action that held the foundations of the army together was the invigorating and constant reassurances by King’ Javier Ruric the undefeated, Norland’s finest monarch. As the day of the battle came near, and Adelburg’s walls stood defiantly in sight, he gave a most captivating speech; “My soldiers: my servants: my civilians; all of you, of all the Coalition’s nations, do not break with me now! For the day of Oren’s ultimate defeat is upon us, and we must steel ourself to halt the last desperate advances of a most sinful and gluttonous nation and its most debauched and egomaniacal emperor! Even in its death throes and last, wheezing breaths does Oren pull on the strength of conscripted and cowed people to fight its final battle! Spare those among their ranks who have in their eye the glint of redemption and innocence, and give no quarter to the cold-hearted Imperials with nothing but war in their black hearts! Men of the Coalition; stand firm, and victory is assured!” A raucous cheer rang out, shields clattering and weapons waving for a mile around. To further the King’s Fathersent message, the clouds broke, the rain stopped its downpour and light shone through; the Heavens themselves gave good grace to the Coalition! The newfound light did not cast its glow on the now-visible blocks of Imperial forces. As soon as the forces of freedom, of the Coalition, caught sight of the enemy, breaking out into a total charge. Avalon Silversteed driving the All-Father’s Lance of Holy Steel through Severus the Black’s heart. Devastation was total; from its conception, the battle was destined to be won. The first ranks drove deep into the enemy, King Verthaik of the Frostbeards spearheading such a charge with great vigour it surprised all those who spectated, even his Marshal Morug that he came out unscathed. The archers laid on thick the fire, Prince Erolas’s gilded arrow’s guiding their aim upon the enemy. King Abdes de Savin, aged as he may be, and his close ally Prince Gonzalo de Castro, led their own Santegian brigade in bloody combat through the fields of Adelburg, paying in blood and gaining in glory. Rex U’la’Yar, with her frenzied forces of the Uzg, threw the enemy forces into disarray the mere sight of their bravery. And then, as the fighting thickened around the marketplaces of the docks, many feats of strength were played out; Sers of Norland, Edward and Gareth, scored victory against the Lone Knight through tandem blows to his horse: Dame Quillian Serene and her house held firm, turning over carts to stave off battering Imperial charges. And, with hundreds turning to watch, Avalon Silversteed fought bitterly Severus the Black, driving through his plate and into his heart the All-Father’s Lance of Holy Steel, cutting down the foe’s commander. As suddenly as the battle had begun, it came to a close. The enemy ranks thinned out abruptly and beat a retreat, those of iron resolve fleeing into their citadel, Adelburg, while those who threw down their weapons in honorable surrender were arrested and given good quarters as the victorious revelled in victory. The rumors were, with ease, dispelled! The Orenian war camp was overrun, and throughout its narrow ways party was rife, with orcs and humans and elves side by side in their joy. King Javier and the rest of the war-council, hopeful rays of sun beating down on their army, survey the fields of dance and music and turns his mind to the final goal: Oren’s denouement.

Javier lets out a laugh "Peter 'The Coward' Sigismund, the **** Emperor who ran away crying after losing two battles."

Norlandic forces charging into the Orenians lines at the battle of Jornheim Fields, 1634. After adjourning a brief court in the Grand hall of Vjorhelm, King Javier Ruric departed and rallied his men before him. He walked out towards the Isle of the Krag, Where all the Coalition forces were stationed, awaiting Javier to give his speech. Walking up to the pedestal, Javier gazed out on all of the coalition forces. To the far left, Rex U’la’Yar and the mighty Warlord Wurzik’Gorkil stood proudly in front of the Orcish horde, alongside them, the great King Leo de Savin mounted his war horse, behind him, the Santegians ready to ride out and face the Orenians. They have spat on King Leo and his people countless times, the Santegians were ready, fire lurking in their eyes. Their weapons were sharpened and armor cleaned. High King Verthaik, dawning heavy armor, stood to the right, the Frostbeards standing proudly in glistening new armor straight from the Uruguan vaults. Next to them, Prince Erolas and his infamous Warhawke skirmishers, nimble warriors ready for any fight. In the middle of the massive rally, stood the proud Norlandic men, nearly all fitted in heavy armor, along with massive kite shields that proudly donned the colors of House Ruric. Crowds of people began to form in front of Javier, waiting to hear what he had to say. Jyor Volaren followed suit and stood to Javiers left. Avalon steps up to Javiers right, donning the silver helm of his people. Jevan follows the three and stands just behind his father Javier. Javier stood in front of his men, proudly surveying each and every Norlander. His gaze then switched to Avalon and Jyor, his spirit at ease, for he knew his kingdom would be in good hands some day. At last, Javier inhaled deeply, facing his mighty citizens once more as he spoke. Javier would gaze over all of the faces before him and begin to speak, his booming voice echoing all throughout the land. “75 Years ago. . . a horrific tragedy happened to our people in Norland. The Sacking of Seahelm. Our people were burned, branded, and posted on crosses. This will not be forgotten. There are few among us today who remember those days.” Javier pauses and looks to Avalon, and a new fire returns to his speech. “Norlanders! We will finally get the revenge for what they did to us! It is time! Brothers and Sisters we march on to the Holy Orenian Empire! We crushed Urguan already, now it's Oren’s turn! Peter ‘The Coward’ Sigismund left the Orenian Empire after losing two battles. We defeated Oren once, but let them live, we shall not be so merciful again!” Javiers voice bellowed over the ranks of the massive coalition army. The soldier’s war cry was almost deafening as they raised their swords and shields. “Remember Seahelm!” Javier looks out upon the thousands of men standing before him. “Let us march now! Men of the free world! Follow me into battle, and I promise you, we will have our revenge!” Javier pulls out his war horn. He nods to Avalon who shuts the visor of his helm, and mounts his steed. Avalon Rides down to the Silversteed ranks, who with incredible precision and unison, march out of the Coalition ranks to lead the vanguard. Javier blows into his horn, and the men of the coalition begin to march, onward to destroy the Tattered Empire. The forces of Norland and the coalition are now on the march towards the Heart of Oren, Adelburg. General: Type of Battle: Skirmish Proposed Tier: T3 Date & Time: Saturday, November 11th 3pm EST, 8pm GMT, 12pm PST. Side A: Kingdom of Norland & Allies Side B: Holy Orenian Empire & Allies Proposed Rules: - No status switching. - All LoTC rules. - No golden apples. - No one day alts.- If a side does not show they forfeit. -No traps Location: (Provide a screenshot of the area being warclaimed from the dynmap.) Location of Skirmish. Route we will take.

The Flays were not even there, you braindead ******* Emperor. This war has really gotten to your head. Javier would state

King Javier Ruric, and his envoy arriving at Jornheim 9th of the Grand Harvest, 1634 Battle of Jornheim Fields Javier Ruric marched the Ruricguard, Silversteed Regiment, and a series of Norlandic Militias to Jornheim. The men of Norland were battle hardened by weeks of fighting and small skirmishes. Eager and ready for a real challenge, the men of Norland march on in the deep snow. The sounds of 25,000 men in armor echoes throughout the land, sending shivers down the spines of the enemy. Javier turned to his side and looked down from his steed at his son Jevan Ruric. He nodded to him, their eyes said more than anything he could say in that moment. He looks then to Avalon Silversteed, who is atop his own horse. Once again Javier nods, and unspoken command understood between the two men. Avalon turns his horse on a dime, and trots to the far right flank of the army. Javier now turns behind him, he holds up a fist in silence and the men of Norland cease movement. Javier twisted the Ruric heirloom waraxe in his hand. The snow falls benignly in stark contrast to the battle that is about to commence. Cold and hungry, Javier and his envoy arrived at Jornheim. The men broke bread for the All-Father with their allies, warming themselves by the fires, reveling in the comfort provided by their god, some opting to rest safely before the war. Many others, however, were training, warming their muscles and testing their own skill, and skilled they were. The rest of the Norlanders were giving gifts to the All Father and praying for victory. The day prior to the battle Javier Ruric and the various coalition leaders gathered together and devised their plan. Javier Ruric was to be in charge of the infantry forces. He vowed to them that if they listened to his orders then he would lead them to victory, and he did. Javier commanded the coalition forces with his booming voice, smashing through the Orenian lines as they held a rather large hill, near a towering mountain. He led the charge up, shattering the inferior Orenian lines as fire bombs fell from the sky. Despite the Orenians valiant attempt, the Norlandic charge proved far superior. “Remember Seahelm!” The Norlanders cried as they charged, and so the All-Father remembered, and so the battle was won.

Norlandic Coronation The Kingdom of Norland shall be coronation Prince Javier Ruric, of the Eirikson lineage. First son of the first son, Javier Ruric shall assume the Thorned Crown instead of his brother Artyom Ruric. The Kingdom of Norland invites those of all races and creeds to come and bear witness to this historic moment in the Nation’s history. The coronation will be preempted by a series tournaments, competitions, performances and feasts. Following that the Coalition awards ceremony will be held, where veterans of the Santegian war will be recognized and honoured by all members of the coalition. Those attending the Coronation are asked to adhere to our code of conduct during their visit. Norlandic Visitor’s Conduct You may not under any circumstances enter the Catacombs if you are not escorted by a priest or are a convert / in the process of converting. Violation of this rule will result in death. Conflicts between two parties are to be taken to the dueling grounds to be resolved. No brawls will be tolerated on the festival grounds. Apostates, Heretics and those banished from Norland may not enter the Kingdom on pain of death. Additionally the various soulless, those of the necromantic or mystic varieties are not welcome to attend. No monsters of any kind will be permitted past the gates. Personal Invitations Grand King Gror Ireheart High Prince Kalalian Vortral I Rex Kuntklobbera'Raguk King Abdes de Savin Emperor Peter Sigismund King Stephen I Sohaer Myrna Rey'lani Trade Princess Lilyana Cyning Callan Gromach Grand Prince Aelthir Tundrak II To the Lords of Norland Jarl Bjorn Reyurnt Earl Alexander Rothgard Chief Baldur Grimlee Baron William Silversteed Baron Stefjan-Draskovic Baron Baldrick Tosali The Norlandic Coronation will be Monday, 5pm EST.

"Raguk, get out of that sky cell, then we'll talk." Javier says, chuckling.

Nice

nice try

nice try

well well well

Edmund Torryn, a young Courlandic Commander would gather the surviving Courlandic soldiers and would begin to march towards Metterden.

"The Brawm Keep has no basement." Hektor Brawm would simply state, laughing at Torvin.

House Brawm “Our swords, always dirty.” -House Patriarch- Hektor Brawm -House Heir- Reeve Brawm -House Standing- House Brawm currently stand as Barons under the Kovachevs, living in the Kingdom of Haense. They began life, living within a tower, built from the blood, sweat, and tears of the founding members. Due to such, the tower later earnt the rather simple name “Brawm Tower.” However, their rapidly expanding numbers forced a move. Once more, the founders set to work on a new keep, one able to accommodate their ever expanding force of bannermen. The fort has stood strong for over one elven year now, and shall continue to do so for the foreseeable future. -{House lore}- Hektor Brawm grew up in Felsen, his mother left him on the streets at a young age so he had to fight for his survival. Early on he started working hard to get where he is today. When Hektor was 18 he enlisted in the Orenian army where he was sent to fight the dwarves, in the 18 year war. When he got to Axios he had four sons, Reeve his eldest. He bought a small house with the money he had leaving Viktor and Adam to live in Johannesburg, while Hektor took Reeve and Jakub to the north with him to build a tower with in the Kovachevs land. Ten years later Adam and Viktor moved to the Brawm tower. From there they built the new keep in the new Kovachevs land. The current, expanded Brawm Keep. -{Brawm Dogs}- Brawms are infamous for their taming and breeding of wild, vicious dogs. As their house sigil may suggest, they play a key role in the house's well being, and their ferocious battlefield presence. Most Brawms can be easily sighted carrying around one of these. -{Appearance}- The Brawms carry a very unique look, in comparison to the other houses of Oren. They have a rather scruffy appearance, choosing to wear some simple leather padding and a cheaply made hat. Although, they can smarten up if needed.

Didn't know you were good at this sorta stuff, Wrynn.

Play an Orc

Welcome

Cya

"Skahing Pinkehz, alweyz flatten eechuthah." Gruk'ku would remark.

Cya KBR, you will be missed

Good work Hedge!

Welcome back, officially now.

Well, at least I don't have to get friends to lock my stuff anymore.