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  1. Belisar tried on his best suit and bowtie in anticipation for the event. As he checked himself out in the mirror, he sang a quick tune - "I'm bringing sexy back, yeah."
  2. Regards to the Raven @Halt _____________________________________ “Is this the place?” From atop their horses on a snowy hill, Alexander frowned as he and Belisar surveyed the slush-soaked streets of Ravenmire from afar. It was a strange thing to imagine for the Alstion Prince, that worthy foes were holed up in such a cold place, faraway from the rest of mankind. It seemed to be a quiet place, despite the stout stone walls, and the banners atop the ramparts and towers flapped in a lonely, whistling wind. “This is the way he ran,” Belisar answered with a shrug, and impatiently drummed his fingers on the pommel of his blade. “Are we going or not? If I stay in a saddle any longer, I’m going to get blisters on my a -” “Yes,” Alexander cut him off with a grunt, and hiked up his scabbarded sword before he flicked his horse’s reins. “Come on. Let’s be quick about it.” He suppressed a shiver as the northern wind gusted; for all his visits to Stefaniya in Haense, he did not think he would ever grow accustomed to the cold. Alexander and Belisar earned a few askance looks from the smattering of townsfolk as they trot their horses through the open gates, in search of the target that had fled from them earlier. There was only a paltry din of chatter, no longer than the bleats of a flock of goats that a farmer seemed to be herding to a market. Their mission was a simple one - to hunt down the bandits, kinslayers, and excommunicants that took refuge here, and root them out for good. More than one crowned head had ordered it, and, even though it was just Alexander and Belisar who trot down the streets, he knew the world would soon come to watch this stage. It did not take too long for them to get the lay of the place. “This is definitely the place,” Alexander muttered with a misty breath to Belisar, after they spied more than one guardsman sporting an Aurelian cross on their mail. “We should - Belisar?” he wheeled around when he noticed his companion was not there. Instead, he saw the Ruthern had made a bee-line to what looked like a tavern at the end of the street. “For God’s sake.” By the time Alexander had urged his horse to catch up, Belisar had already slid from his saddle, and was tying his own horse’s reins in a loose knot to a fencepost outside. “What are you doing? We’re not here to drink.” “What?” Belisar shot him an unabashed look as he tied off the reins. “There’s no better place to get information than a tavern, Alexander.” The Alstion relented with a mutter, and dismounted from his horse to join him. Their armour clanked, and their greaves trailed muddy slush, as they marched inside. There were a handful of patrons present - all of whom could no doubt instantly recognised the two of them as outsiders - but, after a few moments, it turned out that Belisar’s hunch had been correct; they quickly learned that this place had become a refuge for those defeated in the Covenant War, and that their targets were indeed in this place. “See? Pope man was right,” Belisar whispered to Alexander with a smirk as they stood listening to one of the tavern’s patrons - a soldier of some nobility with a Pertinaxi Cross inlaid on his mail - regale them with Ravenmire’s history. “He is called the Pontiff, not ‘pope man’,” Alexander grunted back. “Oi,” the Pertinaxi soldier barked with narrowed eyes, “are you listening? I’m telling you, we were the heroes in the war! I’m not minded to tolerate you saying otherwise. If you came to learn, then you had better listen.” With a creak of armour, Alexander exchanged a look with Belisar. And there’s our window. “Are you accustomed to being spoken to so rudely, Belisar?” “Most regrettably,” Belisar said melodramatically, “I am not. Where we come from, a duel follows an insult. Should we take this outside, my good man?” With his armour’s cross gleaming in the dim light, the soldier was all too eager to accept. As they made for the street outside, fanning out to face one another, Alexander almost pitied him as he slid his blade - Abyssal Light - from its sheath. In his periphery, he saw Belisar flash him an excited thumbs-up. Alexander indulged in the same battle-trance that had led him to victory in countless bouts before, and each stroke of his blade was a lightning-fast reflex. He barely felt the vibrations of steel as he parried the Aurelianist’s first blow, and cleanly transitioned to a riposte that clanged into his opponent’s shin, and brought him to a knee, before Alexander lifted the sword to his neck. “You are defeated,” he said softly, only vaguely aware of the modest crowd that had formed to watch in the streets. “You -” He cut off as blood splattered onto his mail, and a blade bloomed in the Aurelianists’ throat. He was only mildly surprised to see Belisar holding the other end of the blade, standing over the soldier. Some of the blood splashed through Alexander’s visor, and he twitched as he felt it on his cheek. “I wasn’t finished.” “What? You were the one who said to be quick about it,” Belisar hummed as he withdrew his sword with a fleshy squelch, and let the soldier collapse on the cobbles, motionless. “You can do the next one.” Alexander was about to ask what he meant by next one, but it was then that he heard hisses of steel as swords were drawn from the crowd by others wearing the Aurelian colours, who glared at the corpse of their fallen companion. There were three of them in total, and what few townsfolk there were quickly dispersed from the street with frantic gasps as the soldiers closed in around them. “Three of them against two of us,” Alexander said softly as he backed against Belisar, watching the soldiers approach. “Three Stassionites,” came Belisar’s dismissive reply. “It’ll be fine.” Belisar had the right of it again. Alexander could not have said if the fight lasted five minutes or five hours, but, by the time it was done, Ravenmire blood had stained Alexander and Belisar’s mail. As Belisar brandished the disembodied head of one of the soldiers with a whistle, the remaining two took off running - as best they could, at least, with what injuries they had sustained. “Well,” Belisar chimed cheerily as he bounced the head in his hand. “I’d say that went about as well as expected. Wouldn’t you?” Alexander loomed to the blood running through the grooves of cobbles, and the two corpses dead at their feet. With a flourish, he flicked the loose blood off Abyssal Light’s gleaming surface. “For an opening act? It’ll do.”
  3. TO THE BASTARDS OF BALIAN To the Barrows who call themselves Rutherns, Let me first offer my congratulations to your ascension to Duke, Demetrius. It seems your starved group of Barrows finally begged enough to be thrown a title for them to chew on. To go from lowest of the nobles to dukedom is perhaps the only recent accomplishment your lazy line of Rutherns have reached. To that, you have only my laughter. It is not enough that you lower the prestige of our name, but you insult those who give power to your pretender line. It is only through the rightful line of Rutherns that your stolen name has any significance, and yet you insult us. You’ve insulted my sister, my father, and my ancestors before me. Your very existence is an insult. I would want nothing more than your head on a spike, but I am merciful to the weak and stupid. I will graciously allow you to accept my diplomatic terms. TO THE PRETENDER, I. A formal apology to Lady Tatiyana and the House of Ruthern for your slights. II. A payment of 500 minas for your grievances. III. Forfeiting the title of ‘Head of Rutherns’ or any title that implies it. ON DECLINE, You will meet me in a field battle. The Black Company and her allies will march on Reutov. If you shy away from battle, I will scourge your petty Kingdom for harboring such cowards. Do not be a fool - accept my generous terms. I expect your response within the next few days. Signed, Belisar var Ruthern Captain of the Black Company
  4. THE SKIPPER WENT SKIPPING “A Captain who charts a course to victory in all seas is revered as a master of voyage, but a crew that reaches every destination without guidance is simply carried by the tides of fortune” - Captain Banjo4 To the Losers, It is the Captain’s job to lead his crew to victory, but where were your leaders now? Since I have been on the opposite side of the battlefield the Ferrymen have lost every single battle. Our compustats division have calculated that the all-time Ferrymen win record is under 0.5 (50% loss rate). Where are those who thought they could so easily fill in my shoes when I left? Did the Skipper go skipping? In an attempt to bolster your strength, you let every wimp join your merry band of losers instead of being an elite fighting corps. When I look across the field of battle, I see former fans donning our teal bandana with only a few of our founding members present. Has it not dawned on you that perhaps you are fighting for the wrong side? Just as I offered many of my former companions forgiveness, I too will extend my arms graciously to any Ferrymen who wish refuge within my little jolly band. For those interested, reach out to Wrangler Jerry with the code name ‘SAVING PRIVATE JERRY’ to redeem your free coupon to join the winning side. For those who continuously cling onto the name ‘Ferrymen.’ The real Ferrymen do not stand with you. Banjo, Andronikos, Jerry, Vydrek, Andronikos, Leonidas, and Jesus (in spirit) are all fighting on the Covenant’s side. Quit now. Resign with some dignity and hang up the mask. Signed,
  5. INTO THE JUNGLE - A LION - OUT A MOUSE Beneath the southern sun, the armies stood. Across the expanse of Hippo’s Gorge, broken only sporadically by freshly-sawed palisades and earthen bulwarks, the forces of the Grand Covenant stared northward at the Veletzian-Krugmar host. The Orcs and reavers cheered and heckled as their cavalry formed lines between the brush. Though outnumbered, they showed no fear; they were, after all, the great victors of the Battle of Westmark, where they had brought the advance of the Covenant infantry to a screeching halt, and it was they who had left no land unscathed by raids and pillaging over the long Saint’s winter. The mounted legions of the Covenant stared down their foes amassing on their horizon, and they raised no cheers of their own. And yet, as the banners of Norland, Petra, Balian, Numendil, Aaun, Urguan, Hyspia, and Haense streamed in the wind, and thousands upon thousands of steel-tipped lances gleamed in the sunlight, it was not despair that gripped them. Instead, it was defiance. That defiance smouldered in Viktor Daemonsteel. The Duke of Vidaus gripped his poleaxe, from which tassels in the colours of House Ruthern flew, as he glared across the gorge. He had earned his moniker in the heat of Valdev’s forges, where he had hammered countless iron and daemonsteel day and night to replenish the Covenant armoury. That defiance burned in Patriarch Josef. The Patriarch of Jorenus sipped his canteen of vodka as he squinted through the sunlight, and his mare struggled to hold his weight. Throughout the long winter, he had lived in the barns and stables of the north to procure fresh hides to sate the endless demand for leather. He had become the bovine reaper, feared by all cows, and he had defended those barns with every fibre of his being. That defiance blazed in Queen Amaya, the White Flame of Haense. As she sat atop her horse, enwreathed by her gold-worked satin cloak, she no longer trembled as she held her weapon. She had learned the nature of war in that winter, for she had been taken captive when she took up arms to fight in a raid. But she did not fear; not anymore, and her radiance instilled the same bravery in the Haeseni horsemen at her side. When the battle began, that defiance blazed through the Covenant army like an inferno. Like a bolt of lightning, Captain Banjo led his fabled warriors of the Yachtsmen as skirmishers on the rear of the battlefield, biting devastating holes into the Veletzian flank with each pass. Under a hail of arrowfire, the main cavalry under King Aleksandr held their ground as they waited for their opportunity to charge. Beneath their visors and faceguards, their jaws were set grimly, and their eyes burned with the heat of that inferno. When Captain Banjo signalled the first charge, King Aleksandr led the cavalry in sweeping tide of deadly lances into the disorganised right flank of the Veletzian army, and it was with a fury for the capture of Queen Amaya that the Haeseni riders sliced the flank into ribbons. When the second charge came and the Covenant cavalry thundered across the Gorge once more, it was with a vengeance of the Red Coronation that the Balian defenders with a malice never before attributed to them. With the third charge, the Petrine Knights exacted their blood-price for their burnt and murdered clergy. Finally, the Covenant horses turned and fell back to their palisades in a feinted retreat. When the remnants of the Veletzian invaders pursued, it was then that Captain Banjo charged his Yachtsmen through the brush, and slammed into the midriff of the Veletz column; Balor Ireheart, Sigrun Ireheart (stonehammer), Otto Ludovar, Ser Garen, Sigmar, Emilio Jr, Ser Rickard (and his herd), and other valiant Yachtsmen. With the final trap sprung, the Covenant banners were hoisted high as the main cavalry veered around, and galloped into the Veletzians as they were caught in the Yachtsmen lances. The Veletzians, who entered the battle as lions, scurried in defeat like mice from the battlefield. As fifteen-thousand horses bore down on their foe, the Covenant roared with that defiance. As fifteen-thousand warriors charged into the frey, any question of their unity was silenced. As fifteen-thousand lances struck in unison, the Battle of Hippo’s Gorge was won.
  6. Banjo collects his grammy for ‘Jerry the Orc’ and places it beside his grammy for ‘Emperor John’s Mom’ on his shelf. He quotes himself from his grammy-award winning speech, “Everybody want to know what I'd do if I didn't win. I guess we'll never know.”
  7. ONE LAST SWIM TEST “Poor is the pupil who does not surpass his master.” - Captain Banjo As Captain Banjo looked out from his war camp - his gaze met his former students on horseback repping their green bandanas. Hidden from his soldiers, a smile enlightened Banjo’s face as he recognized many of the faces of those fighting against him. He thought to himself: “Perhaps, this is the day my students surpass their Captain.” He chuckled at the thought of it and as the bombardment of the siege equipment commenced, he charged out with a small detachment of the Covenant’s finest - Garen and Sigmar Baruch, Vasili Vanrov, and others. His men engaged the horsemen with their bows, but seeing the war camp pummeled with fire - he decided to charge upon the enemy’s cannons. “Charge!” He yelled, commanding the entire Covenant force to charge at the enemy’s entrenched positions. Fear must have struck into the poor Van Aerts & Ferrymen’s hearts who were manning the cannons as they saw the legendary Captain Banjo at the forefront of the charge and the first on their battlements. As the skilled captain and his personal guard quickly slayed the enemy’s fear-struck soldiers, the remaining Covenant forces poured into the enemy’s position quickly slaughtering the enemy and destroying their cannons. Satisfied from their push, the Covenant forces pulled back to their camp to continue their bombardment of Brasca. Not shortly after, the enemy returned to their positions on the lower cannons. Captain Banjo pondered: “Why? Did Vyllaenen, Istvan, and Gustaf Van Aert not learn?” Upon seeing this, the mighty Captain and his companion, King Aleksandr III, ordered another charge upon the enemy lines. The enemy died just as quickly as they did returning to their beloved cannons. As Covenant artillery battered the enemy fort with their fire, Captain Banjo took his special force - Yacht Team 6 - to the western tower of the fort where many of the Ferrymen were. His small band clashed with the Ferrymen and their allies before the Ferrymen retreated back into their tower behind their gate. It was there he laid his eyes on his pupils - Django and Vyllaenen - and right next to them the gate controls! He raved as his former apprentices attempted to leverage one of his own strategies - gate trapping - to beat the Captain! “Ah - the classic gate trap strategy. It has a 100% success rate against Orenians” As soon as the gate opened once again, the Captain stormed the tower, but when they closed the gate thinking they trapped him, the Captain outwitted his students and used the gate controls to let in his remaining soldiers. It was in fact here where Vyllaenen met his blunder, as he was slayed, along with his Van Aert companion. “Perhaps the student still needs to learn a bit more - at least Django was smart enough to live!” He rejoiced knowing at least one of his students had learned something. As he reunited with the main force, the Covenant men committed to one last final push to break the remaining Adrian & Ferrymen forces. It was here where most of the enemy ultimately met their fate. As he reflected on his victory, he could only be disappointed by his former men’s performance. He wrote to his former ferryfriends, “Today’s lesson of the day: the swim test. Those who cannot swim should follow the Captain on his ship - not drown following those who cannot lead.” Signed, Banjo, The Captain of the Ferrymen, Savior of the Common and Free People, Pillager of Elvenesse, Liberator of Man, The Bringer of Equality, Capturer of the Bastion, Defeater of Racism, Debearder of Grand Kings, Sailor of the Seas, 2x Mr. Almaris, Emperor of the Roads, Lord of Shipwreck Keep, Occupier of New Providence, 40 Star General, The Greater Lobster Fisherman, Premortem Saint of Epic Ballads, Grand Admiral of Haense, Emancipator of the Scallywags & Sailors, Steward of Breakwater Ruins
  8. ADRIFT; A NEW HARBOR “If you’re going to be onboard - be onboard. If not, just sail away because you’re just a scallywag” - Captain Banjo “Django… Vydrek… Jesus… Brick… Andronikos… Leonidas… Valentin… Adzy… Lyulen… Father…” He murmured as he looked upon his depiction of the original founders of the Ferrymen in his galleon. As he sat on the helm of his newly acquired galleon (financed by his victory over the Van Aert family), a dream in his sleep - a message from Godan himself. [Chat GPT write a message from God calling Banjo to fight for Haense/God] As Banjo awoke abruptly from his slumber, he reached over to his night stand and grabbed his green bandana once more - one last final time. He made his way to the helm of his galleon, making way to the shores of Aevos. Invigorated, he put up his sails and walked to the hull of ship where the previous name of the ship read: “King Phillip’s Folly” And put an X through the name of the ship, before writing next to it: “Vyllaenen’s Blunder.” As he docked in the harbor of Haense, his oldtime ally, with his newly revised and upgraded flag, he strutted off his ship and made way to the royal palace. THE FOLLOWING TERMS HAVE BEEN AGREED UPON BY BANJO AND ALEKSANDR II: I. Captain Banjo and his yachtsmen will rally their banners to fight with the Covenant. II. Captain Banjo will be titled ‘Grand Admiral of Haense’ and given supreme authority over (naval) wartime decisions. III. Captain Banjo will be given stewardship of Breakwater Keep ruins for the rehabilitation for any Post Siege Stress Disorder (PSSD). IV. Captain Banjo will emancipate all sailors and scallywags from the influence of Van Aerts. V. The agreement between Banjo and Aleksander II will be voided at the conclusion of the war. HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, Aleksandr II, by the Grace of Godan, King of Hanseti and Ruska, Grand Hetman of the Army, Hochmeister of the Order of the Crow, Prince of Bihar, Dules, Lahy, Muldav, Slesvik, Solvesborg, and Ulgaard, Duke of Carnatia, and Vanaheim, Margrave of Korstadt, Rothswald, and Vasiland, Count of Alban, Alimar, Baranya, Graiswald, Karikhov, Karovia, Kaunas, Kavat, Kovachgrad, Kvasz, Markev, Nenzing, Siegrad, Torun, Toruv, Valdev, and Werdenburg, Viscount of Varna, Baron of Astfield, Buck, Esenstadt, Kraken’s Watch, Kralta, Krepost, Lorentz, and Rytsburg, Lord of the Westfolk, Protector and Lord of the Highlanders, etcetera. Banjo, The Captain of the Ferrymen, Savior of the Common and Free People, Pillager of Elvenesse, Liberator of Man, The Bringer of Equality, Capturer of the Bastion, Defeater of Racism, Debearder of Grand Kings, Sailor of the Seas, 2x Mr. Almaris, Emperor of the Roads, Lord of Shipwreck Keep, Occupier of New Providence, 40 Star General, The Greater Lobster Fisherman, Premortem Saint of Epic Ballads, Grand Admiral of Haense, Emancipator of the Scallywags & Sailors, Steward of Breakwater Ruins
  9. [!] A missive is posted to the front of the Ireheart Clan Hall: “Perhaps Sigrun cannot read, the terms are to do your trials or be stripped of your clan. If you claim you do not want to act like an Ireheart, then you can very well not be one.” Signed, Durorn Ireheart
  10. RESPECT THE BONE THRONE 23rd of the Deep Cold, 123 SA “Those who defy the Bone Throne will end as a decoration to it” - Durorn Ireheart To Sigrun and my clansmen, The assault upon myself from my fellow kinsman, Sigrun, is a direct violation of everything the clan stands for. We are kin and even through our disagreements we stand for each other. I have lived and fought through many of the grudges our ancestors fought and died for with no help from other dwarves - solely relying on our strength as a clan. Our clan’s strength is not from our dominating presence on the battlefield - but our unfaltering loyalty. An Ireheart is only as strong as his clansmen on his sides fighting alongside him. This is why I find the assault and slandering upon myself by Sigrun a grave violation of everything our clan stands for. Division and petty squabbles will not be tolerated within our ranks. Sigrun’s accomplishments in the clan and within Urguan are worth noting, but they do not exempt him from the very basic code that all Irehearts live by. FOR THE ASSAULT AND SLANDERING OF THE CLAN FATHER, I. Sigrun Ireheart will be stripped of his gryphon feather and all honors he holds within the clan. It is by my mercy, and my mercy alone, that I will offer Sigrun his last and second chance to right his wrongs and become a blooded member of the Irehearts once more. TO RESTORE HIS HONOR: I. Sigrun must present five elven heads of noble lineage that hail from Celianor to decorate the Bone Throne. II. Sigrun must present fifteen elven ears to be added to my necklace of elven ears. If Sigrun does embark on these trials to restore his honor once more, it is our job as his brothers and sisters to help him along his journey. May Kjellos guide you all. SIGNED, Durorn Ireheart, Grand Marshal of Urguan, Grand Champion of Urguan, and Clan Father of the Irehearts
  11. TO FACE KHORVAD 21st of the Sun’s Smile, 122 SA To my kin, I have seen with my own eyes the horrors that live beneath our capital - creeping in the dark, awaiting their moment to strike our home. Rumors have heard that the so called ‘Mori’ have attacked the capital of Norland, Alisgrad. When will they strike us? Will we be prepared? It is my duty as Grand Marshal to protect my people from such threats, but this is not just my fight. It is our fight. It is our fight to survive. It is our fight for our existence. Our fight will require more than just the handful of loyal dwed who have signed up for the legion. We must put aside our greed and self-interests and make sacrifices so that our people are safe. For this reason, conscription into the Legion reserves is hereafter mandatory. If your profession is not as a fighter, we require any and every skill available to us from healing to building. Those who do not comply will be charged with insubordination. Those who may take this invasion as an opportunity to further their own agenda and cause chaos amongst the populace. You will be treated as agents of Khorvad and will be tried for treason. There is no room for traitors in such desperate times. Let the preparations begin. SIGNED, Durorn Ireheart, Grand Marshal of Urguan, Grand Champion of Urguan, and Clan Father of the Irehearts
  12. TO CUT THE HEAD OFF A SNAKE 19th of the Grand Harvest, 221 SA A plague of heresy has infested the halls of Urguan since the absence of the Legion and their policing presence in Urguan. The Rhun Cultists have assimilated themselves into Urguan, secretly undermining our very religion and Grand Kingdom at every turn. I have taken upon myself to cleanse the Kingdom of these extremists causing chaos in our beloved Kingdom with the proper backing by the Kirkja Dverga. Their crimes are listed below for all to see and those who help, associate, or participate in the Rhun cult will be put under investigation and tried. THEIR CRIMES AGAINST THE PEOPLE OF URGUAN To be a part of the High Courts, one must follow the Brathmordakin as according to da Kirkja Dverga. I. The Rhun Cult teaches falsehood, in that the Rhun Prophet is the only Dwed capable of speaking for the Rhun. This violates articles 1.1, 1.2. FOR, No other office or institution may punish anyone for a crime against the Brathmordakin unless a clergy writing explicitly says otherwise. The Rhun Cult imprisoned Ursus Grandaxe without permission or authority of da Kirkja Dverga. II. Treason FOR, The attempted assassination of Bakir Ireheart & Dravil Ireheart. III. Vandalism FOR, The vandalism of Hefrumm, by destroying statues and placing crude signs around it. FOR, The sacrilege of Paragon Bjor. IV. Disrespect of Holy Relics FOR, The pouring of a tanglefoot potion upon the Paragon Bjor V. Impersonation of a Public Official FOR, The Rhun Cult falsely acts with authority, such as in the case of illegally imprisoning Ursus Grandaxe VI. Vigilantism & Kidnapping FOR, Putting Ursus Grandaxe under House Arrest VII. Insubordination FOR, Describing the High Prophet as a heretic and kin-slayer when proven false by the High Courts. VIII. Conspiracy FOR, Conspiracy to dismantle the Clergy and the Workforce to reduce the Grand Kingdom of Urguan’s rightful rule over Dwarfdom. This was done when both institutions were dissolved before the exodus to Khron’Hundmar. FOR, Upon their return to the Kingdom, their desire to usurp the clergy. IX. Tax Evasion FOR, Failing to continually pay the full amount of your tax liability on time. THEREFORE, THE FOLLOWING ARE UNDER ARREST BY ORDER OF THE GRAND MARSHAL: Norli Starbreaker Durin Hammerforge Thromdrick Irongut Thalgrim Goldhand Rylanor Goldhand Damona Goldhand Dor’Nal Hammerfist …AND ANY OTHERS RHUN CULTISTS. SIGNED, Durorn Ireheart, Grand Marshal of the Legion, Grand Champion of Urguan, Elder of Clan Ireheart Agnar Grandaxe, Grand King of Urguan, Clan Father of Grandaxe, Defender of Kal’Ordholm, Master of Punji-Sticks, Protector of the Dwarves Garedyn The Green, Grand Steward of Urguan, High Chief of Hefrumm, Chief of the Mossborn, High Prophet of da Kirkja Dverga.
  13. BEATING A DEAD HORSE PACT OF SAILS AND STEEL Agreed upon by: THE KINGDOM OF HAENSE AND THE FERRYMAN BAND On this 17th of Wzuvar and Byvca, 433 ES | 9th of the Sun's Smile, 12 BA “When the Orcs kiss Frederick’s behind, where do the tusks go?” - The Ferryman I. The Ferrymen shall receive a payment of 10,000 mina for partaking in the ongoing war between Haense and Krugmar, and any adversaries who wish to intervene. II. The Ferrymen shall receive an additional payment of 5,000 mina that is owed to them for the previous Sinners War or otherwise known as the War of the Wigs upon the successful conclusion of hostilities. III. The Ferrymen Quartermasters shall be given authorization to command and lead skirmishes, battles or any other conflict. Signed, The Ferryman IV JOVEO MAAN, His Royal Majesty KARL III by the Grace of Godan, King of Hanseti and Ruska, Grand Hetman of the Army, Prince of Bihar, Dules, Lahy, Muldav, Solvesborg, Slesvik and Ulgaard, Duke of Carnatia and Vanaheim, Margrave of Korstadt, Rothswald and Vasiland, Count of Alban, Alimar, Baranya, Graiswald, Karikhov, Karovia, Kaunas, Kavat, Kovachgrad, Kvasz, Markev, Nenzing, Torun, and Toruv, Viscount of Varna, Baron of Esenstadt, Kraken’s Watch, Kralta, Krepost, Lorentz, Rytsburg, Thurant, Venzia and Astfield, Lord of the Westfolk, Fidei Defensor, Protector of the Highlanders, etcetera.
  14. THE TREATY OF FOREST AND SEA 13th of the Amber Cold, Year 79 SA I. The High Princedom of Malin’or agrees to pay the Ferrymen a sum of 5,000 minae in exchange for services rendered against the Horde and its allies. II. The Ferrymen shall provide military aid to the High Princedom of Malin’or against the Horde and its allies until the conflict’s final conclusion. III. The High Princedom of Malin’or shall not take responsibility for Ferryman actions taken outside the context of the war, including against parties uninvolved in the war. IV. At the war’s conclusion, the Ferrymen shall have a seat at the negotiating table to make demands of the Horde. V. The High Princedom of Malin’or shall promise future lands to the Ferrymen for the purpose of an outpost. Signed, The Ferryman Signed, Vytrek Tundrak, High Prince of Malin’or and of the Elves
  15. The Providence Tea Party “It’s borin’ like Oren” - Sir Django In the year of 1867, the Ferrymen found themselves quite aggrieved. A Tea-Party had been organized - And the Ferrymen had not been invited. 2,000 Ferrymen set out at a pace to set right the wrong, for it is well known that some Ferrymen are quite prone to a spot of tea! Upon arriving at the red walls of Providence, the group did look about. They found nobody to open the gate to let them in! What a travesty they found themselves in. The wrong must be set right, they must find a way inside the city. An unnamed fellow, of the highest respectability within the Empire of Oren, saw their plight and allowed them in. “Put that tea into the river, dear fellows!” The Ferrymen brought up their way to the palace, banging along the iron bars. “Let us in! Let us in!” The young human, Adzy, clamored. He was prone to a small spot of tea, on occasion. He was stuck outside; and he would see the issue set right. Ser Banjo who finds himself no need of introduction, The Dark Elf Iscesi, and the Young Haeseni Grigoryi Vyronov, climbed to find their way through into the Palace. The group thereafter descended into the bowels of the palace. They looked left, they looked right. “Crouch you ******* idiots.” Barked the Captain Banjo, and thereafter echoed by Lukas Vyronov who subsequently added “Are your minds rotting?” The quiet playings of a party in full-swing could be heard within the palace’s gardens. The quiet whisperings and gossipings of debutantes nattering about lesser men than Prince Lucien of Savoy, another of the party's fellows reverbreated against the walls. The group assailed them quickly, with a ferocious spirit - Warhammers in hand. Klaus, a man of great repute in battle, swung his warhammer down heartily upon those assembled. None would be spared, for the tea was to be ransacked and spilled. It was at this moment, tied into a corner, the brave adventurers found themselves surrounded. The retinue of the Emperor had arrived, led by His Imperial Majesty, Philip III. The King of the Dwarves brought himself forward to assail the new combatants. He shook his weapon heartily, that angry little dwarf spitting curses under his breath. The battle had been set. 2,400 of the Emperor’s finest against 2,000 Ferrymen. It was now in the hands of fate. The battle came fast and thick, both sides collided into each other with a great force. Ser Flemius set a man flying upwards into the air as he hammered his shoulder into the enemy. The courtyard was awash with blood, and the swordsmanship of both sides rang true. Yet a most mischievous plan had been concocted. Prince Lucien had moved towards the gate controls in the courtyard. The battlefield now belonged to the Ferrymen, it could only go one way. As the battle raged, Ferrymen were able to relax and enjoy the tea they had acquired inside whilst retaining the gate. Each man was able to take a rest and retire, whilst the soldiers of Oren grew tired and weary. Perhaps one too many cakes had been stuffed into bellies in haste? It was clear that their stomachs had turned, for the fight had also. The courtyard had been conquered, but the Emperor had retreated inside. He had thought himself safe, they fired out of the windows in an attempt to beat off the attackers; yet the Ferrymen were not quite out of tricks yet. They assailed in from a sneaky entrance, and caused the Orenians to be flushed out of their safe haven like rats from a sewer. They went to the greedy clutches of Ferrymen waiting below like hungry sharks. It was simply over. In the last charge of the retinue, the Emperor was surrounded alongside his loyal lieutenants of Andrezj Barrow, ran down by Prince Lucien, and John Aurelian. The Ferryman brought all their spoils of the battle, The Emperor Philip, his son the Count of Mardon, John Aurelian of Huntshill, and Andrezj Barrow of the Ruthern Household back to the keep of Ferrymen to receive justice. Signed, The Ferryman
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