Creator_Alan

A snarky knight laughed in the background "Hahaha! You underestimate my ability to metagame fool!"

A certain Veletzian knight opened the doors of Valhalla welcoming in the fallen monarch. As Aleksandr entered with his back now turned, the knight pulled out a 20 sided dice and chucked it at his head before bouncing off and landing on the floor. It was a nat 20 of course. With that he charged toward the monarch gripping him into German suplex body slamming him into the floor. "We've got shooters in death too boy! Woo!"

Dain was handed the missive as he finished bench pressing 350. The messenger seemed shocked at the elves physique. This may be medieval fantasy but two guns were at the ready. Their names were fire, and power. He simply nodded and upped the weight to 425 and got back to work. "The next time you interrupt me, you become protein."

Renault furrows his brows as he wonders why his sister is hiding behind the barrels outside the city

Sir Ethan (Irons) of Winburgh Sir Ethan, bloodied and battered from confronting what felt like the entire population of Petra, sought refuge in a familiar and comforting place. The aromas, sounds, and swaying crops enveloped him, creating a sense of normalcy. The seasoned knight acknowledged his predicament, finding a certain dignity in it. "Who tends to these fields?" he inquired, his gaze fixed on the lush landscape. Alberic, visibly weakened from the recent clash, approached. "A family and their farmers, I presume," he replied, devoid of any trace of resentment. Alberic pressed on, addressing the knight's seemingly indifferent outlook on life. "I can only assume you came here with no intention of surviving. What makes you hold life in such low regard?" Alberic's words hung in the air. Sir Ethan lay there, defeated. What could he say? "I do what is necessary to protect my people, just as you do now," he exhaled, his breath growing heavier. "Now, **** off." he uttered calmly. "Let me die in peace." The surviving soldiers gathered, witnessing the noble knight's life ebbing away. Memories danced through his mind—the people he encountered, the battles waged from Adria to this moment, with his fallen Greycloak and Burgundy comrades alike urging him onward.

Sir Ethan shed a single lone tear as he listened to the masterpiece

Sir Ethan nodded to the young knight "These people will say anything to make themselves believe they are right. They burned two forts and believed they were winning. Now we deplete their armories while they send hoards to die. Just as they had done during the Adrian wars."

Sir Ethan had just crushed the wind pipe of a Balian knight he had dragged through the window. He stopped mid fight. It was time for a juice break. As the battle waged on around him he pulled out a tiny juice box gifted to him by none other than Lady Brasca. He lifted the straw to his mouth and stuck the tiny tube into a hole in his visor. Across the city the loud slurping of a juice box could be heard. The old knight was very content with his current situation. Finally he returned the juice box to his satchel forgetting to remove the straw from his helmet where it remained for the duration of the fight "No, this is OUR peace!" He shouted as he gave chase within the church

Everyone is okay with the rules until they are used against them lol

Sir Ethan handed off the parchment to Lanre as he watched the Barons process of making the sweet tasting Hot Cocoa. Taking notes along the way "They may have him back once he has finished spilling all of his nations secrets to me. Taking this recipe will be their undoing." He'd laugh maniacally before putting a Christmas themed apron over his armor "Now when do we add the marshmallows?" he asked in a flat tone which sounded oddly enthusiastic.

Sir Ethan looked down at the elven woman who his horse had just trampled to death. He looked at her with a hint of disgust. "The orcs would have done far worse. This is OUR peace." He muttered before the orc had hopped onto the back of his horse. They both set off for Krugsmar. "Remind me to send Bishop Callahan to pray for that one."

Sir Ethan, absent from the battlefield that day for otherworldly reasons, gazed out from his window at dawn. Below, hundreds of Veletzian comrades rode forth to confront the coalition's vast hordes. Amidst the morning light, a spark of hope promised victory. Once his brethren had departed, he retired to his study, where an open book and quill awaited. As the day unfolded, Sir Ethan immersed himself in writing, recounting tales of past conquests. Hours passed, and with each stroke of the quill, he delved into memories of Acre, and the valiant Greycloaks of Adria. Upon completing the last page, he felt a strange emptiness. Stories remained untold, lingering in the unscribed spaces. His solitude was broken by Bo's triumphant return, heralding a Veletzian triumph. Sir Ethan closed the unfinished book, its ink still wet, and cradled it in his arms. Despite its completion, a void persisted. Unseen tales haunted the unwritten pages. Hesitantly, he approached the fireplace, letting the flickering light dance over the untitled cover. "Victory." he whispered, his hand resting on the book. "Victory." he repeated. A prolonged silence filled the room before Sir Ethan, wearing a subtle smile, consigned the book to the flames. As the embers embraced the stories within, his satisfaction grew. With the unfinished tales now part of the fire's dance, he emerged to greet the victorious return of his comrades, a spectral grin adorning his sickly face.

"The heartland accord was set in place to protect your people from unlawful intrusion on your lands. It will only get worse from here." The excommunicated knight chuckled "Fear not. Veletz will settle up the mess you have made and hopefully you come to your senses."

Sir Ethan pondered the notice and very slightly lofting a brow at the sight of his name "Hrm... The **** did I do this time?"