SimplySeo

God speed bro

Username & Discord: SimplySeo # of Characters: 1 Like everyone else, will send refs over discord!

To Sir Ephrem Kervallen The Star of Archangel Michael only has four points. Númenatâr Foronathor of House Arthalionath, Lord-Father of Númendil, Templar of the Archangel Michael, and Knight of the Realm.

"MAY THE HOUSE ARTHALIONATH ENDURE FOR TEN THOUSAND YEARS!" Shouts the Númenedain Spearman, Beleg of Hadeth! Tying a bandana bearing the Radiant Star of Númenost around his forehead.

To Sir Godric Don’t be childish Sir Godric, you lived here for five years, you know damn well that the demonym is ‘Númenedain’ not ‘Numendilian’. Pretending you do not know this for the sake of offering a petty insult is immature and asinine. On the subject of my daughter’s husband. Any Númenedan captured in combat aught to have died in battle, do as you will. Númenatâr Foronathor of House Arthalionath, Lord-Father of Númendil, Templar of the Archangel Michael, and Knight of the Realm.

Art by Conor Burke [!] The contents of this post would likely become public knowledge after it had occurred. From the fury of the Svarlings, O Lord deliver us. [MUSIC] Slaughter. That is what had occurred as the Svarling Warband had battered down the doors to the Temple of the Exalted, they met defiant prayer and terrified screams with the cold bite of their axes, and the laughter of ever-thirsting Dark Gods. The men of Saint Jude were defiant, but they were not enough. Not enough to stem the tide of bloodthirsty Northmen, nor to defend the Temple from plunder, those who survived the encounter maimed lived to see gilded relics taken, and whimpering parishioners dragged off as thralls of the hateful men of Svarland, those cruel parodies of good Jorenic folk. Upon the dais no longer stood the Lorraine of GOD, but in cruel parody hung a corpse, flayed, headless, and with the Eye of Iblees carved upon its chest. The Temple had been reconsecrated then, to cruel, malevolent gods, and all of Aaun would bare witness. Those who defended it had died martyrs- But martyrs of a lost cause all the same. Jormunharr Ingmornesson had taken his plunder, and more would soon come. And if GOD saved them he had saved the Men of St. Jude, then he would soon be a very wealthy undead viking. [!] Nailed to the door of the Temple, a note. To the Krossmenn King and his Priests. You have raised your city on my land, and your temples upon the ancient graves of my warriors. To this, I have taken offense, that the warriors of Svarland would see their deaths made a mockery of by the raising of temples in dedication to whimpering Southlander gods. Your Aaunland is one among many built upon my Kingdom, and therefore, all within is mine by right. I will do you the same courtesy I have done the Ruriklings. You have two winters to vacate my lands or present me with suitable tribute in the form of coin and lifeforce. If you do not, I will take it anyway. Know me, I am Jormunharr, son of Ingmorne, Champion of the Dark Gods, Konungr of Ævajaringaland, Jarl of the Norrsfarling tribe. Warchief of Svarls. And I will have my due.

Please Squak have mercy its been four years we've suffered enough

[MUSIC] TO PLUNDER THE HOUSE OF GOD Row. Row.. Row… It had been a day since the men of Saint Jude had driven him to flee- And the wound to his pride still stung, it would have pained him even, if he still felt pain. Jormunharr Ingmornesson hauled himself up upon his longship- Mail clinking as he did so, and marched his way up the deck, seething in anger the entire way until he stood before one of his Huskarls, the Chiefkiller- Upon whose belt still hung the mummified head of Cunimund, tied by loose, stringy dead hair. He offered his Undead Jarl a nod of acknowledgement, and Jormunharr responded in kind. Silent they stood for a few seconds, as the black eyes of Ingmornesson studied their surroundings- The vast cliffs of the Northflow, leading into the heartlands of humanity. His voice was a rasp, yet all attention of those on deck snapped towards him, Jormunharr, then spoke. “The Southlanders have raised a temple outside the walls of Hvitgardr- I’ve never seen a gaudier place. They spoil their Kross-God. I think ours might be more appreciative!” “Row, or may the Dark Gods curse you all! Row for Aaun! Row for plunder!” Tomorrow, Wednesday 20th, 6pm EST, Aaunic Cathedral, Arranged raid 5v5 between the Svarlings and the Order of Saint Jude, Observers/Non-Combatants welcome to attend.

poggers

powerful

not technically pro anywhere anymore but I can prolly hook u up somewhere in numendil urg or maybe aaun

The Wronged: The Grand Kingdom of Urguan The Assailant: The League of Veletz, the Iron Horde, the Principality of Stassion, House van Aert, House Stassion, Grimruk'Lur, Richard I of Stassion, Gaspard van Aert The Wrong: The Deaths and woundings of fourteen hundred Dwarves during the Battle of Westmark. Date of Wrongdoing: 159 SA. Terms of Settlement: Twenty-eight hundred mannish skulls belonging to the assailants, their next of kin, should they die before the grudge can be stricken. Alternatively, the capitulation of the League and its allies.

[!] Several later letters are amended to include the following hastily tacked on. PS. If you go through with it, you can eat one of the councillors, half of them don't do their job anyway. PPS. If it increases my chances at all, I briefly had a thing with a Frost Witch in Serrimor.

[!] Flocks of ravens descend from the mountains of Urguan, baring the sigil of Clan Starbreaker, their letters are dispersed throughout the continent. TO THE MAN-EATING WITCHES OF FROST This year marks my two-hundred and forty-fifth yuletide without snow, a sorry truth, for as a boy, I enjoyed the hiking about the snow-capped chalk-alps of Kaz'Ulrah. At this point, many generations of Dwarves have been born that have never, in fact, experienced a white yuletide. Among the many troubles plaguing our society, I rate this one higher than most. Therefore, I write this letter for the greater-good of Urguan, petitioning you to curse the land with winter, as you often make a habit of doing so elsewhere, so these Beardlings might experience the joy of Yuletide as I once did. Furthermore, I wish to force fur mantles and the like to come back into fashion, as I am quite proud of my own, for it belonged to the now-extinct morko bear of Arcas (or was it Atlas? I am too old to recall.) SIGNED Jorvin, son of Kazrin, son of Gardath, son of Osram, son of Koryk, son of Kazraden son of Skalf, son of Gotrek, son of Urguan, Lord of Gotrek’s Folk, Clan-Father of Elder Clan Starbreaker, Holder of the Book of Grudges, High Reckoner of Urguan, Priest of Dungrimm, Grand King Emeritus, Founding Councillor of the Fourth Grand Kingdom of Urguan, Conqueror of the Voidspawn Photania, Conqueror of the Korvassa, Slayer of the Traitor-Aengul, Gazardiel, Hero of the Brathmordakin

An injured Hedgeknight once known as Uriel- Uther, and Tar-Númenatâr, King of the Adunians, wades into the battle, longsword in blazing with white fire. In that moment, a blackness consumed the Templar's heart, and fey was he. For now none lived who knew him as an equal, save the Dwarf, Belekar. This he knew, and this he mourned, to him, Tony was more a brother than any of his blooded kin.

Hows the missus

To the Lady Areesha Nafees Sayyid. I find myself and my household in a similar situation to yours- Recent immigrants to Aaun and, as it were 'fish out of water'. I myself have had the fortuitous luck to find employment, though having been dispossessed and unemployed for a number of years prior, I understand your struggle. Though I yet have any children of my own, I would like to employ you for your other talents, chiefly tailoring (as I have a great need of clothes that are not some form of muddy tabard over armor) and cooking, as I (respectfully) find the Aaunic palette a bit bland for my taste. I look forward to our meeting, whether you choose to seek employment from myself or otherwise, GOD bless. Signed Ser Wulfram von Rademacher, Knight of the Realm, Captain of the Whitespire Watch

To the staff of the Kaktuz Weekli Kindly inform the Goblin Trainees within your employ that, despite their lack of experience, that I can personally attest to the accuracy of their artistic depiction of King Adrian I of Balian, having met the King during his youth. I applaud their artistic skill and look forward to reading further issues of thew Kaktuz Weekli, you have earned yourself a new subscriber. May we meet honorably, on the battlelfield or otherwise. Numenatar of the House Arthalionath, Lord-Father of Numendil, King Emeritus.

"Tantrum trumpet." Said Ser Wulfram, he was still a little new to Aaun, but he had spirit.

Ser Wulfram points at his name. "Look Hod! I'm famous." @Pepto

Jormunharr Ingmornesson looks forward to an easy supply of Lifeforce in the upcoming battle. Mercenary work is has its benefits.

[!] A missive can be found throughout the warring realms. TO THE MEN OF THE SOUTH I, Jormunharr, son of Ingmorne, Champion of the Dark-Gods, reach out to you now with an offer. Since the outbreak of hostilities, my warriors and I have found ourselves wanting for easy loot and prey, gates are closed, and wealth is stashed away in hidden troves. This will not do, this cannot do, not while there is plunder to be had, and lifeforce to drink. Therefore, I offer the services of my undying self, and fifty to a hundred of my warriors, Svarlanders, infamous across the realms, and worth two men of the south apiece, to those willing to enter contract with us. I ask for no coin, only plunder-rights, and to feast uninterrupted upon any my warriors and I capture in battle. We shall join you in battle and kill, maim, and burn your foes, and you will be spared our reaving until the end of the war, at which point, our business may be renegotiated, or we shall otherwise return to marauding indiscriminately. Competing offers will be asked to offer up coin, or items of significant worth. I await your responses; you may direct your messenger ravens to Gashadokuro's fortress. Signed. Jormunharr Konungr, Jarl of Ingmornesborg, King of Ævajaringaland, Undead Champion of Svarland, Warchief of the Svarls

Jormunharr Ingmornesson briefly contemplated if he should've given Gashadokuro a warning.