Crymson

Glynfir had seen the duel and the Okarir's subsequent fall. He reflected upon it when he returned home. Though a Fennic citizen, he had once been a weeping blade. It felt strange to storm the nation he had been raised to protect. Once, he had wanted nothing more than vengeance for the Republic, to pull the silver walls down stone by stone himself if he had to. But as he wandered the chaotic streets, he'd felt only sorrow and shame.

Denizens harrassed in the streets, whether they were armed or not. Some were even friends of his. He'd tried to speak out and protect those he could but he knew he hadn't done enough and where he had intervened, he on some occasions should not have. His mind had not been entirely right since Korvassa and the situation was too much for him overall.  As the Okarir lay dead before Vytrek, Glynfir had mused to himself silently. 'Rest easy, soldier. You fought well. Your honor will never know the tarnishes that mar mine.'

Theroden raised a tankard. “A mercy that certainly would never occur in Providence had this situation been reversed. Here’s to King Sigismund’s health.”

Theroden smiles slightly. "Good to see that proper actions are being taken to resolve this matter. Time to make an example of a turncloak."

Theroden scoffs, shaking his head. "How very Orenian, to brag about ambushing outnumbered folk who are peaceably gathered. If this story is even to be believed. With the Orenian proclivity for propaganda, I'm inclined to think it's a story and nothing more."

Theroden muses over an ale. "Why do Imps see the need to brag about every turncloak they gain? At least folk knew who the Ferrymen and Blackvale are. This new band is one I've never even heard mention of before. I very much doubt they will add anything meaningful to the Orenian effort. The Horenites are desperate for propaganda."

Theroden laughs. “Imps are quick to cry total victory after their turncloaks win them a bit of their lost ground. Their perception of this war shall ever be clouded by their self righteousness. It’s not over till they’ve actually won the total victory they screech about.”

Theroden pins this new missive upon his wall. "Truly an age of honor and resolve has dawned despite the Horenites' best attempts to destroy us. It is always good to see more join the cause."

Theroden sets this missive in the ‘don’t burn’ pile, along with the previous Tripartite one. The Orenian propaganda having already been burned. “Good to see the truth echoing from so many sources. The Imps aren’t going to like this.”

Theroden raises yet another tankard in toast upon hearing of the victory. "Good work all. A victory to remember. They keep twisting the story but I know we'll keep ensuring that the truth is known. Iron from Ice!"

Theroden raises a tankard upon receiving the news. "And so the reckoning has already begun. Woe to the Horenites. Iron from Ice!"

Theroden scowls “Imps have no shame. They brag openly about their atrocities as they always have. They only make it easier to see whom the true monsters are. More grudges to be settled. Woe to Oren when New Providence falls as there will be quite a retribution.”

Theroden smiles after reading the missive "I truly am beginning to think that there may be hope for the House of Horen after all. This one's heart certainly seems to be in the right place. Perhaps there can be an end to Orenian atrocities once we've gained victory in this great struggle."

Theroden shakes his head. “The Imps sure are proud of a victory they only won because of help from the turncoats. One would think they would be less vocal about it considering how many Orenians died to the Ferrrymen and Blackvale. I suppose those sacrifices are acceptable to forget in order for Oren to salvage a win.”

Ever since Orin informed him of Viktor's passing, Theroden had felt a sense of profound loss as he hadn't in a long time. He ultimately decides to have a drink and quietly reflect for a time at his current home, so far away from Varhelm. He muses to himself as if Viktor were present to hear him. "You're an example I've always tried and failed to follow. You believed in me when I had no belief in myself. You advised me as best you could when I felt at odds with my faith. Even when I decided to abandon the Purifier order before my final trial, you didn't blame me like you could've. I don't know if I'll be deemed worthy to enter the Allfather's Halls when I pass on, but I know you're already there. So, if we don't get to share a drink in the afterlife, here's one final toast to you." Theroden then raised his glass of ale and drank.

((Absolute props to you Hyperdron. The Order was a lot of fun with you at the helm and it left a big impression on me in return. I'll always wonder that too, such is rp.))

Theroden scowls upon reading the missive. "Craven. The Silver Lubba cannot force me to stop fighting Oren. No one can. This changes nothing."

Petrel shook his head. "Looks like these folk didn't learn their lesson the last time we scattered their raiding party. I suppose it's time to teach them yet another lesson."

Theroden grins upon hearing the news "I hate the House of Horen, but perhaps this one isn't so bad. At any rate, this'll surely enrage the Imps. That's more than enough for me."

Theroden smiles as he reflects on the victory he participated in. He feels peace of mind he’s not had in a long time. “I swore I would see vengeance had for the War of Three Kingdoms. Now, such is truly within grasp. Long live the Tripartite Coalition. Iron from Ice!”

Artyom sighs. “And so the storm begins. I had hoped it would niet come to this but I will never of back down.”

When the news was announced, Artyom found words difficult as he rarely had before. It was not so easy to articulate who Daibhidh had been to him. He’d taken Artyom in at a time when the Rosik had barely anything to his name. He’d had just enough to pay for a lodging and a few tax cycles. Daibhidh had always been a friend to him, ensuring that there was paying work available to him. Artyom had even served as an unofficial advisor to the Jarl at times. “I will of do all I can to help your family as I have tried to help you, my friend. Rest easy. You will niet be forgotten.”

Artyom prepares his equipment and his gaze is ever wary of threats to himself and his fellow denizens. “I have niet ever been of the overly skillful in combat. But a Rosik niet runs. Whoever these folk are, they are of the mistaken if they think they can take what we’ve worked so hard to build for ourselves out here.”

Artyom raises his tankard as he reads the missive while in the Dùnrath tavern. “It is of the good that more hardworking folk are joining us. The opportunities are without limit. So, here is to those of the having a strong enough will to seize those opportunities.”

Theroden shakes his head at the news, chuckling. "I keep missing all of the major fights. Seems like the Orenians might manage to lose entirely before I see much of the war. I must say I expected more from them."

A certain mercenary chuckles, muttering a phrase from a forgotten past war. "ISA...ISA. How many babies did you slay today? Sounds like not so many these days. You struggle in real fights."

Petrel grins widely upon hearing of the return of the order. It was a tie to the great warriors of old and serving would be quite an honor. He ensures that an enlistment form is received from him.

"The Svarlings had best start running now. A new age is beginning. Iron from Ice!"

Name: Petrel Volaren
Race: Elf
Age: Unsure really
Notable Feats: Fought against the Svarlings and the Sirens.
Current Residence: Barracks
(OOC)
MCName: RetiredGoon
Discord: CrymsonBlade#9727