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  1. UBUNTU MUST FALL THE DEMANDS OF LURAK “You admonish the land, you tear down the ancient trees, you annihilate all life and replace it with its twisted contort. The Shamans say the Spirit Freygoth and Zagbal are angered by the ruination of the jungle, the destruction.” The demands were set for the “Queendom of Vikela,” demands that many saw as too light a sentence for the desolation. "Remove your castles surrounding the capital and attempt to reforest the ancient land which lay scarred and barren; desolated." These demands were denied in council where it was brought to them upon the dissolution of the Confederation. With these demands denied there lay no pathway open to saving the jungle but through war and the replacement of old stewards with new. So it is that with confirmation of the REX and the AUTARCH, LURAK DECLARES AN OPEN STATE OF WAR UPON THE FALSE QUEENDOM OF VIKELA, VIKELA IS TO BE REMOVED FROM THE JUNGLES BY FORCE AND EXILED HENCEFORTH FOREVER. With this announcement, the REXDOM and its allies place themselves in opposition to Vikela and its allies and marches upon them. If Vikela’s allies abandon them to their desolation in their daemon worship, no harm will come to those who lay down arms. The REXDOM makes these demands which will be ceded in full or peace will be denied: The removal of all structures built by Vikela. The replacement of the Queendom with stewards of the forest. The destruction of the daemon statue (it floats upon the waters without voidal intercession!) The destruction of the so-called tree of “five.” Stipends from nations who oppose the just action and prevent it from being a quick endeavor. The permanent exile of the Vikelans from the jungle they destroyed. The Fall of Ubuntu. WARCLAIM: JUNGLE PLATEU 3: THE TREE OF FIVE. WARGOAL: THE REPLACEMENT OF THE DAEMON WORSHIPPERS WITH STEWARDS OF THE FOREST, THE ANNHILATION OF THE VIKELAN DESOLATION. IE: CONQUEST AND SUBSEQUENT TRANSFER FROM LURAK.
  2. 𝕻𝖆𝖑𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖓 𝕬𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝕯𝖆𝖆𝖍𝖉 𝕲𝖔𝖇𝖑𝖎𝖓 𝕮𝖎𝖙𝖞 𝕽𝖊𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘 (𝕺𝕾𝕬)
  3. 𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖆𝖑 𝕯𝖊𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝖔𝖋 𝖂𝖆𝖗 𝕿𝖔𝖕 𝕾𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖋 - 𝕯𝖆𝖆𝖍𝖉 𝕲𝖔𝖇𝖑𝖎𝖓 𝕮𝖎𝖙𝖞 𝕽𝖊𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘 (𝕺𝕾𝕬) @femurlord
  4. A SECOND ENCOUNTER WITH CHIEFTAINS OF REINMAREN YORE [!] A mural depicting Theoderic summoning the Reinmaren people for Moot. As the brave men and women of Reinmar settled down for the night after a day of preparation for the coming war against the Ravenswood, a vision would come to those that had been BLOODED. You would find yourself within what looked to be a tribal camp, your trained eyes darting around for hostile natives. You would feel an air of reprieve as a Reinmaren man in full armor, dented and scratched from multiple battles stood in front of you; the shadowed eyes of the man looked towards you, masked by an iron faceplate similar to those of the officers of the Host of St. Johann. You recognize this man as Theoderic, one of the two most fabled Chieftains of Reinmaren history. Ancient Reinmaren war drums bellowed in the distance. “I called you back here to remind you of the storied legacy you are to uphold, blood of my blood!” The graveled voice of Theoderic called, he would walk up and put a gauntleted hand on your right shoulder. “On your mantle, you carry me and Gelimar’s legacy, much like the Blooded brothers and sisters before you that have passed on and returned here.” He proclaimed, gesturing with an outstretched hand to the Reinmaren that stepped out of their yurts and removed their helmets, here you would see the familiar faces of brothers, sisters, parents, or other family and friends that passed on from your world. Another man in the armor of a Chieftain, much like Theoderic, would stand at his fellow Chieftain’s flank. This one you recognized as Gelimar, who’s gauntleted hand now laid on your left shoulder. “For those who live, fight for the glory of Reinmaria. For those who will die, die with honor, o’ kin of mine.” Rang his voice within your ears, the wisdom of both Chieftains etched into the very corners of your mind. Suddenly, clouds parted and briefly showed the glory of the Fifth Sky as Saint Johann, the namesake of your Host, came down to meet with his kin. “Glory to GOD who watches the world from His throne in the Seventh Sky.” The Saint proclaimed to all within the camp, Theoderic and Gelimar stepped back to allow Johann to talk with you. The Barclay Saint walked up to you, his very presence steeled the resolve within your Blooded Reinmaren soul. “Hark these words from your Father GOD, as His Word is the Absolute Truth: The ground within Ravenswood itself cries out for salvation, this is your purpose in this campaign. Purify that accursed land in the name of GOD.” Saint Johann explained, your focus drawn to his message. “You, kin of mine, may fight for glory, but do so in the name of GOD the Father.” The Saint would walk away from you as his Barclay blue eyes looked at the gathered crowd of Reinmaren. “Honorable are the ones who die in the name of our LORD, glorious are those that fight in His Name! WER RASTET, DER ROSTET!” Yelled Saint Johann, pounding his chest plate loudly with his fist, sounding like thunder, in a Reinmaren salute to all as he began to ascend back to his place within the Seven Skies. “WER RASTET, DER ROSTET!” All that gathered yelled, including yourself, as everyone returned a Reinmaren salute to Saint Johann in unison before the clouds parted and then concealed his pious visage. Once the clouds came back together and calmed, Gelimar’s visage stood in front of you. “It is time for you to return to your brothers and sisters, o’ kin of mine.” His voice reverberated behind his helmet’s iron mask as he laid a hand on your forehead, then spoke in the ancient Reinmaren tongue before everything went black. When you opened your eyes once more, you were back home within the Reinmaren Capital of Kretzen; laying in your bed as rays of sunshine seeped through the windows of your bedchamber. It was morning and in your soul, you held a freshly steeled determination that was ready for the war to come. WER RASTET, DER ROSTET.
  5. CERULITE SECESSION Issued at Year 174 of the Second Age Music :) With our Most Serene March of Cerulia growing rapidly and dismissal of our Silver Lubba’s duties within Lurin to ensure the stability of the realm through court, we as the Cerulite Council have decided to secede from that which plagues our prosperity while showing mercy to our former overlords by not taking them out altogether. OUR DEMANDS Our demands are simple: Lurin is to secede the midplains in its entirety to Cerulia Lurin is to grant 2000 mina to Cerulia’s treasury Lurin is to grant Cerulia a barrel of Copper Ore Lurin is to grant Cerulia a barrel of Daemonsteel Lurin is to grant Cerulia 10 barrels of Steel Lurin is to grant Cerulia 5 barrels of tanned leather Lurin is to never lay claim to Cerulite lands Lurin is to purge the undead from its council through golem imprisonment Lurin is to deactivate the voidal tear underneath their city Lurin is to have their leader baptized into the true faith If our demands are not met then we will enforce these demands ourselves through any means necessary. ETERNAL WE MARCH signed, The Former Silver Lubba, Mika “The Resourceful” Anarion, Serene Marq of The Most Serene March of Cerulia and Minister of Defense of Lurin, Protector of the Lurinite Floodplains, Lord of Lubba’s Keep, Lubba Knight of Lurin, Founder of Lurin, Founder of Cerulia, Brickmaster of Lurin WARCLAIM: REBELLION WARGOAL: Tile_Floodplains_4 See you on the battlefield.
  6. ☩ ☩ ☩ "Will pride prevent peace? . . ." Over the last month I have penned hundreds of letters and corresponded with every Canonist Leader within the FAITHFUL FLOCK. While I have seen truths and lies among these, and heard sympathies and belittlements my offers remain the same. I will reiterate them publicly so all the FAITHFUL not just the KINGS and QUEENS may understand our position. Our people that choose to remain in the MIDDEN live in FEAR of not just their lives but their very SOULS. We understand that foul magic has made its way into the highest recesses of the HAENSETI court and invested the TSAR. They live with the constant threat of evil looming over them and stealing not just their livelihood and home but that of their children. Because of this… We, the Winburgh Uprising, men and women (formerly called soldiers of Midden, and now resign ourselves simply to be WARRIORS of GODAN) will lay down our arms if the following conditions are met: An occupying force other than that of the HAENSETI EMPIRE takes control of the city, overseen by the HOLY MOTHER CHURCH. An independent and NON-BIASED investigation is launched into the case of ALEKSANDR consorting with the LICH. Furthermore, I, SIR RADMIR MONTALT, will (if sworn on Holy Relics our offer will not be backpedaled) offer myself as hostage to the alliance so long as my host is not of HAENSE. If these conditions are met, my soldiers will STAND DOWN, and follow all terms of agreement. This offer stands, lives will not have to be lost, the security of your nations does not have to be compromised. We, the people of Midden, entrust our lives to the FAITHFUL. There is nothing that justifies an unjust massacre, will the pride of the HAENSETI prevent the Covenant from PEACE? -SIR RADMIR MONTALT
  7. https://imgur.com/eUVAHwd.png ☩ ☩ ☩ "Thus always to Tyrants." This statement has been made by those of all Aevos at some point and yet… Never since the downfall of the Orenian Empire has there been a greater tyrant than the TSAR of Haense. Whatever narrative has been spun to you of the War of the Coalition, you may disregard it. This was always a war of Imperial Ambition for the “Tyrant Twit of Terror, The Lord of Valdev, Aleksandr” (hate be upon his name.) Your peoples have been lied to, your Kings and Queens misled to believe it was the Van Aerts that would create an Empire. They were wrong. The crimes of the rotten festering pestilence that calls itself the “royal family” of Haense cannot be hidden from the light of GOD, and thus upon this last Saint’s day was it revealed that while attacking the Midden for supposed “treachery and collusion with Darkspawn” the Tsar Aleksandr (of whose children were assuredly birthed beyond Wedlock with a fisherman) did collude with the Archlich of foul name and intent. A spiritual aspect of Iblees and ANATHEMA. It is said that ANTI-GODAN would claim to be of the CHURCH and utilize it to destroy hope, love, and all good within the world. It has never been clearer who this ANTI-GODAN is than now. The APOCALYPSE draws ever nearer, and the MIDLANDS were the sacrifice needed to birth the DARKSPAWN EMPIRE. A BASTARD BORN BEYOND WEDLOCK, AN EMPIRE BORN OF TREACHERY. Thusly do we Knights of the Midden and troops loyal to the ONE TRUE CANONIST GOD declare this our intent: Freedom from the Tsardom of Haense and the clutches of the LICH LORD of HAENSE. Independence for the Midden from HAENSETI control, whether governed by an independent Midden State or of a Bishopric under the One Holy Church. That the Church is called to label ALEKSANDR II (hate be upon his name) as ANATHEMA from now until the end of his days (of which are numbered, for he shall be burned at the stake for his many crimes against GOD, COUNTRY, and HUMANITY). That the refugee Midden populace be permitted to return to their homes in the Midden and serve alongside their fellow Canonist States as the SWORD of the Canonist League. These demands shall be brought upon the Midlands however unwillingly the criminal royals of Haense shall oppose their just deposition from the realm of righteous men. “I always believed I would arrive to Valdev as a CONQUEROR, now I know it will be as LIBERATOR.” -Grand Marshal of the Burgundyist Host, SIR RADMIR MONTALT. Warclaim: REVOLUTION. Wargoal: FREEDOM.
  8. ☩ ☩ ☩ "To all true Canonist Patriots . . . " It is decreed that defenses be laid for the oncoming siege. In accordance with the Grand Marshal's vision the BURGUNDYIST STATE OF MIDDEN will adopt the SAMSONIST DOCTRINE entailing…. A resurrection of the HOLY CHURCH OF CANON within the walls of Winburgh to be supervised by the HIGH OFFICE of BISHOP. The Church in Haense has proven itself to be corrupt in arguing against the excommunication of a known LICH-CONSORT, and thus all good men and women of Canondom are asked to flock to the streets of Winburgh in worship and praise. The cities prayers are said, like a forcefield, to repel all false Canonists, ADULTERERS, and LICH-CONSORTS. In accordance with a promise once given to BISHOP CALLAHAN, SIR RADMIR decrees that the idolatry of the BRASS BULL shall not make a return to the city as long as it is ruled by true Canonists. The city of Winburgh calls upon all true MIDLANDERS both domestic and abroad to support the growing war effort against the boastful, false, treacherous, lecherous, deceitful, snake-tonged, liar, feigned, evil, cruel, malicious, disgraceful, rude, adulterer, gross, disgusting TSARIST forces. As the SWORD of CANON we will annihilate the forces of EVIL, or DIE trying. “The APOCALYPSE nears… FIGHT- FIGHT for your SOULS.” -Grand Marshal SIR RADMIR MONTALT, LORD PROTECTOR APPARENT of the BURGUNDYIST STATE of MIDDEN. (Watch Below)
  9. It was approaching dawn when the Knight was alerted of trouble at the heights. Regardless of whatever baseless peace talks were occurring among the diplomats of Adria and the Coalition there was more important matters to take care of. Amidst the arming of the common folk and the training of those who had never held a spear in their lives did he mount and ride to the realm of his uncle. Thus rode the Captain, clad in the DAEMONSTEEL armor untimely ripped from the corpse of an attacker of FREDERICKSBURG. He leapt from his BRASCAN MARE as it neared what little had been constructed in the ways of defense of the Easworth Heights. Blood already soaked the ground before him, but not of an enemy aligned with the COALITION PACT. The self-styled BURGUNDY KNIGHT of Winburgh stepped forwards to the scene, a blooded mouth which spat tooth unto the floor. A deserter. His hands fell to his sword belt as he approached the man, held back by two loyal militiamen placed under the MONTALT-IVANOVICH command. He waved his hand and within an instant the man was released. Silence filled the air, only split by the wailing of horse in the distance and the wind which blew hard upon the heights. Abruptly the deserter spake: "This war is over Captain! We've lost!" He cried, and doom became of the men around. The air blew hard and the clouds shifted black. He knew this man, a BRASCAN refugee who arrived under the care of the BULL OF MIDDEN right after himself. A friend he shared drink with night after night. He had even helped him write a line in one of his many poems. "What do we fight for!?" He pleaded. "Your cousins in Stassion?! They've pulled out! Abandoned us!" The lone eye of the Knight watched the pleading man, though still his lips did not part. "My people? Who's keep has been razed for nearly a decade?! Or your father, RADMIR, who stands in exile with the rest of the MERCENARIES!?!" The knight raised a singular gauntleted hand. Silence. Radmir lowered himself to one knee, and raised the man slowly. Turning to the surrounding militia he watched their faces which sat in terror and fright of the oncoming armies, for they were alone in the world. "My bones ache, friends, and my knees buckle under the weight of my armor which I have worn everyday for years." Radmir placed his foot unto a stump and removed his helm, it fell beside him thudding into the muddy ground fresh with rain. Wind blew his blood-red cape, soaked in water, dirt, and dried sanguine. "My hands numb from penned missives. My eye aches every night for I dream of how it was taken from me by those who call themselves warriors of GOD." "They will call you MARAUDERS. Yet, I have not seen you slay INNOCENTS... SAVAGES yet I have seen you urge CAUTION. MURDERERS yet I have seen you exercise MOST MERCY. IMPERIALISTS but it is not your banners which fly over FOREIGN NATIONS. They will not forget you, nor will they allow you to be FREE. Your entire lives you will be cast as EVIL and be whipped like SLAVES. But my friends, with all their slandering they forget who we truly are... MIDLANDERS take no quarter when none is given, MIDLANDERS fight to the MAN. MIDLANDERS do not FORGIVE, lest we FORGET. Those who started this war, truly, are long gone and have abandoned you to your fate for your honor became too much of you. As the APPOCOLPYSE nears, and DAEMONS approach our land marching in the thousands to the beat of INFERNAL drums, we stand. We are prepared to fight until our wrists limp, until the HOT RED BLOOD of our bodies lay SUCKED from their VEINS to feed the hunger of AGING PRINCES whose only claim to glory is that with ten times the number they slaughtered a weak foe- LET THEM COME. And when they march up this hill with their slings and arrows, let them shower our shields and splinter our spears- LET THEM COME. And should they slay me with their blades MINE BONES powered by GOD and COUNTRY will rise and fight their hordes for MY SOUL BLEEDS BURGUNDY- LET THEM COME!"
  10. MARCHING ORDERS: OPERATION TALIONIS IUDICIUM ACCEDIT Issued by the THE GRAND COVENANT on this 6th of The Sun’s Smile, 1954 https://youtu.be/Sk-U8ruIQyA?si=GO-0bonxbnw3OUOy MISSION TITLE: OPERATION TALIONIS OBJECTIVE: ANNEXATION OF THE NORTHERN HINTERLANDS MOBILIZATION DATE: 15TH OF OWYN’S FLAME COMMENCEMENT DATE: 18TH OF TOBIAS’ BOUNTY PARTICULARS: After the success of OPERATION SOLSTICE, all COVENANT forces are to march NORTH towards the HINTERLANDS on the 18TH of OWYN’S FLAME. COVENANT forces shall then meet at the tip of the NORTHERN HINTERLANDS within VELETZ. OPERATION TALIONIS requires the capture and neutralization of the HINTERLANDS. Expect heavy resistance from VELETZ and IRON HORDE forces. KING ALEKSANDR shall assume command of the main COVENANT detachment (taskforce “MITHRIL”), composed of the forces of HAENSE, AAUN, NUMENDIL, HYSPIA, and NORLAND and shall act as the vanguard of the COVENANT assault. PERCY DE LYONS will command a reserve with forces from URGUAN, BALIAN, and PETRA (taskforce “PALISADE”) to reinforce task force MITHRIL. CAPTAIN BANJO and GRAND KING SIGRUN ‘UNDEADSLAYER’ STONEHAMMER shall assume command of the GRYPHON BANNER (taskforce “GRYPHON”). They will fend off any attempted sallies from VELETZIAN forces. END OF BRIEF. AN EYE FOR AN EYE. AN ARM FOR AN ARM. Penned by Cesar II [!]The fresh ink of the parchment attached to the military brief begins to dry. We do not forget. We do not forgive. If your wish is to bend and break the Farfolk under your whims, then their storms of destruction shall befall you. If your wish is to make the Heartlands bleed, then their stones of retribution shall open your walls. If your wish is to see the Balianese suffer, then their tides of ruin shall sweep through your castles. If your wish is to subvert the Haeseni lands, then their blades of vengeance shall fall upon you. If your wish is to subjugate the Norlanders, then their eternal fire shall engulf you. If your wish is to conquer the Dwarves, then the hammers of their grudge shall end your ambitions. You claim peace, yet you attack our homes. You claim diplomacy, yet you bring an armed retinue who openly lust for bloodshed. Your words do not match your actions. You call us snakes, yet the cobra’s eyes twinkle beneath your masks. Your words reek of hypocrisy. A stench so foul, that the entire world of Aevos can smell it from beyond your borders. Your intentions are clear in your actions. As a wolf disguised in sheep’s clothing you attempt to threaten us into submission. You have no care for the wellbeing of others. We have attempted diplomacy before the war, yet it was met with a threat. Rather, you would lay in bed with the Orcish Horde who crave to see humanity suffer or submit to their imperial rule. You have danced to the tunes of conquest more than we have. If that is your wish, then so be it. You may hide in your straw castle, but the Covenant shall blow it down. For your crimes against humanity, for your lust for conquest, for your desire to sow chaos, you shall be punished. Heed my words Gaspard. Follow my warning Grommash. Judgment is coming. END OF TRANSMISSION WARCLAIM Wargoal: COMPLETE ANNEXATION [Attacking tile 38 from tile 43] Attackers: The Kingdom of Haense, the Kingdom of Balian, the Commonwealth of Petra, the Viceroyalty of Hyspia, the Grand Kingdom of Urguan, the Kingdom of Norland, the United Kingdom of Aaun and the Kingdom of Numendil DEFENDERS: The League of Veletz and its Allies LOCATION/WARPATH: DATE: SATURDAY, January 27th, 2:30 PM EST
  11. A DRUSCAN DEATH TALE Lupus ferox sicut sol ✺ The Lord of Drusco was trained and had prepared for the battle, but the burden of leadership had proven overwhelming. In his darkest moments, he sought solace through the wine that filled his cup. The Savoyard drowned himself in the familiar taste hoping that he would rid himself of his fear and trepidation. For a maudlin time, his thoughts wandered back to a summer spent beneath the trees and the joyful banter that once echoed throughout his empty halls. However, those days had faded away and now his gaze fixed onto the battlements and the enemy that approached from the south. Amidst the cacophony of clashing swords, firing of arrows, and booming sounds of siege weaponry. Edmond stood alone, his armor, once a beautiful set, had bore the marks of previous battles, and his sword stained with the blood of numerous foes. In the heat of the defence of his home, he found himself locked in an intense gaze with the King of the Dwarves. Time had seemed to stretch, the chaotic symphony of battle faded into the background as their weapons drew closer. The two had found an unspoken understanding that only one would emerge victorious from this dance of blades. The air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke, and the ground beneath their feet was uneven with the remnants of fallen comrades. The duel unfolded amidst the swirl of battle, Sigrun Stonehammer's carbarum blade clashed against the Savoyard’s blade and heavy blows from the Dwarven King had caused the lord’s blade to shatter in his hand. Edmond found himself defenseless and attempted to retreat, stumbling over the corpse of his dead guards, the ground beneath him slick with blood and mud. In an instinctive moment, he seized a nearby shield that adorned the sun of Ashford and huddled beneath it. Each strike splintered the shield piece by piece, the relentless assault tarnishing the emblem of Ashford. After enduring countless blows, the shield was left in tatters, split in two under the unrelenting force of the Dwarven King. With the shield shattered, the Savoyard gazed up at Sigrun, his final moments witnessed as the axe cleaved through the air, severing the Margrave's head in two. As Drusco's defences crumbled, the once beautiful castle fell into enemy hands. The legacy of Lord Edmond, tarnished by his descent into alcohol-fuelled despair, met its tragic ends on the battlefield. The Siege of Drusco became a somber chapter in the annals of Aevos, a cautionary tale of the perils of both Veletz and the Covenant conflict. A LETTER TO RICHOLD OF ROUEN,
  12. MARCHING ORDERS: OPERATION SOLSTICE IUDICIUM ACCEDIT Issued by the THE GRAND COVENANT on this 6th of The Sun’s Smile, 1954 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qQfAZ6tmUvY MISSION TITLE: OPERATION SOLSTICE OBJECTIVE: ANNEXATION OF DRUSCO KEEP MOBILISATION DATE: 18TH OF OWYN’S FLAME COMMENCEMENT DATE: 11TH OF TOBIAS’ BOUNTY PARTICULARS: OPERATION EQUINOX has been a success, the nation of STASSION rendered an obsolete force in the war. All COVENANT forces are to remain at STASSION KEEP to maintain a presence on the border with DRUSCO. On the 18TH of OWYN’S FLAME, all COVENANT forces shall mobilize and march WEST from the staging grounds of STASSION. COVENANT forces shall then proceed NORTH into VELETZ on the COMMENCEMENT DATE. OPERATION SOLSTICE requires the besieging of DRUSCO KEEP. Expect heavy resistance from VELETZ and IRON HORDE forces. KING ALEKSANDR shall assume command of the main COVENANT army (taskforce “MITHRIL”), composed of the forces of HAENSE, AAUN, NUMENDIL, HYSPIA, and NORLAND and shall act as the vanguard of the COVENANT assault. PERCY DE LYONS will command a reserve with forces from URGUAN, BALIAN, and PETRA (taskforce “PALISADE”) to reinforce taskforce MITHRIL. PATRIARCH JOSEF shall command COVENANT artillery (taskforce “NORTHERN THUNDER”) with the intent of rendering DRUSCO KEEP defences useless. CAPTAIN BANJO shall command an elite reserve squadron (taskforce “YACHT”). They will fend off any attempted sallys from VELETZIAN forces. END OF BRIEF. WARCLAIM Wargoal: COMPLETE ANNEXATION [Attacking tile 43 from tile 3] Attackers: The Kingdom of Haense, the Kingdom of Balian, the Commonwealth of Petra, the Viceroyalty of Hyspia, the Grand Kingdom of Urguan, the Kingdom of Norland, the United Kingdom of Aaun and the Kingdom of Numendil DEFENDERS: The League of Veletz and its Allies LOCATION/WARPATH: DATE: SATURDAY, January 20th, 2:30 PM EST
  13. Chronicles of the Reinmaren The Siege of Fredericksburg Issued by the HAUPTMANN OF REINMAR On this 17th day of Tobias’ Bounty in the Year of our Lord 1959 To The Reinmaren People: On this day, a force of Reinmar Horsemen rode down to the steps of the fortified keep of House von Theonus with the Grand Covenant against the forces of Veletz and their allies. The action started with a devastating Covenant volley of cannon fire, trebuchet, and arcane power directed at the enemy’s own siege weaponry and their meager fortifications of dirt and stone. The Reinmaren Warband, standing five-hundred strong and led by His Serene Highness Leon Barclay and His Princely Grace Alfred Barclay, descended from the Coalition’s fort and stormed the throne room of Castle Aurelian with the rest of our holy host. Those of the green and blue held the throne and courtyard captive as scouts called out the positions of the enemy. As the throne room and courtyard was completely within Covenant control, our pious band, prayed over and assisted by the Prince-Emeritus and Cardinal of Albarosa, and the Coalition’s own cavalry drove the Horde of the Anathema into a befuddled frenzy and routed them. All but ten cowardly men were slain, those surviving ran as the bodies of their brothers and sisters-in-arms laid scattered among the rubble of the Stassionite keep and surrounding hills. After everything was said and done, victory was taken in hand with the raising of our banner and a cheer, echoed by the Reinmaren Warband before riding back home to live and celebrate another blessed day. Saint Edmond, as my brothers go to battle over the coming years, grant them fortitude and protect them. Pray for GOD to show mercy to the dead, and that in hoping for victory today, we may win the peace tomorrow. GOTT MIT UNS, Hauptmann of Reinmar Meyster Alchimist of Reinmar
  14. THE FATE OF THE MARCHLANDS Penned at the request of His Royal Majesty, John, the King of Aaun, in the year of our Lord, 1959 PREAMBLE Peace and prosperity unto the Lowlands, united at last. After seven years of struggle, following the death of His Majesty Edmund II, our cause of liberating the Marchlands has come to fruition at last - our most western province with the help of the Great Covenant of Nations has been seized from the hands of the rebels led by Richard of Stassion, the Prince of Nothing. They have been butchering our people ever since they departed from our Kingdom and insisted that our citizens were the ones to first break the peace established by Edmund’s successor, our merciful King John. We have seen past their treason. Richard Stassion had made a holy vow upon the relics of the Saint Alexander of Furnestock not to take up arms against the Holy Mother Church and the Crown of Aaun in an armed conflict. He shamelessly broke this vow within days of his merciful expulsion. The men of Stassion, armed, resumed raiding that remained under Crown authority, harrying the peaceful subjects of the King. They saw no shame in breaking their holy vow, believing they could escape God’s justice and the Crown’s rightful retribution. With the blessing of His Holiness, Sixtus VI, our Realm assumed a resolute stance and took up arms against the rebels that dwelled in our western province for nearly a decade. Together with our stalwart allies of the Covenant of Nations, we extinguished their resolve in the lands they called their home. Our cause was righteous and just. Our Realm and her peaceful peoples never sought to be embroiled in conflict, yet it was forced upon them: we did not fire the first shot, but we fired the last. Now, on this 12th of Tobias’s Bounty, 1959, we stand triumphant. THE FATE OF THE MARCHLANDS Following the liberation of the Stassionite land, the reformed Crown of Aaun will endeavour to remove any structures erected on the territory of the Western Marches that may remind the people of Aaun of the House of Stassion and their crimes committed against them. It is declared what follows: I His Majesty, the King of Aaun, demands that the only building to be spared within Fredericksburg is the local church. II His Majesty appoints a governor to keep watch over the Western Marches, namely Father Yann. It is among his duties to rid the western borderlands of the Kingdom of Stassionite infrastructure and return this region to nature by planting trees and sowing new fields. Approved by His Majesty, John I, at the Royal City of Whitespire on the 12th of Tobias’ Bounty, 1959
  15. “STASSIE, GO HOME!” AND OTHER AAUNIC HITS The songs of the Aaunic patriots Originally penned by HRH Charles Alstion and Father Yann, in the year 1959 WITH DEDICATION TO OUR VICTORIOUS KING His Apostolic Majesty, JOHN ALEXANDER ALSTION, by the Grace of GOD, King of Aaun, Prince of Alstion, Duke of Vienne, the Lowlands, Corazon and Balemena, Count of Enswerp, Florentine and Whitespire, Baron of Blanchet and Protector of the Realm. STASSIE, GO HOME! Well, your time has come to leave Stassie, don't you act naive Tuck your tail between your legs and flee this land! There's a boat down at the pier Aeldin's nice this time of year Ditch the Marchlands and free Aevos of your band! Go home, Stassie, Stassie, go home! Nobody will cry and mourn for you! Aaun will be a better place When you're gone without a trace To pack your bags - the only thing that's left to do! Now it's pointless to resist Don't think you'll be sorely missed If you plan a breakout in the dead of night; If you hang, no tears we'll shed Run to save your Stassie head Better you should disappear to Aaun's delight! Go home, Stassie, Stassie, go home! Nobody will cry and mourn for you! Aaun will be a better place When you're gone without a trace To pack your bags - the only thing that's left to do! OH AAUN, THOU ART GRAND IN MIGHT Oh Aaun, thou art grand in might. In honour and in fame. Thus may thine exc'llent glory fight, Gaints those who mock thy name! Thou stand'st firm as thy mountains do, In lands of East and West. And may thy spirit fly so true, As that hawk from his nest. Thus hold firm! Thus hold firm! Let the Alstion banner wave! Show the world! Show the foe! That not ever shall we die! That the glorious Aaunic strength persists, When the fearsome cry of war insists. Thus hold firm in the fierce storm! Thus hold firm! In the fierce storm! TANDEM TRIUMPHANS. OOC: This post will be edited if more songs are written.
  16. ACT I - The Jungle The sun... shown its rays for the last time as the youngest Montalt trotted into the jungle's edge. The stories were true, the canopies removed all light from the world and plunged the forces of Veletz into darkness. Orders were that he was to diverge from the main party and splinter into the mountains, hopefully to catch the enemy flanks by surprise. The force carried on as planned, if only slowed down by the horses... Perhaps something was amiss- his horse had never been so frightened to buck him from his saddle, even during the thick of battle... yet all the horses seemed to remove rider- regardless they followed their orders. After hours of scaling the mountains he took pause over a large ravine with his Father, "Beautiful from up here isn't it?" Radmir asked. "Nay, as it were I'd rather be breeding cows." Philip replied. It was true, his father was known commonly in Veletz as the "Cow Count." Cow had a more literal meaning in Veletz than in Aaun, where the people ate heartily. ACT II - The Slaughter The forces began to move eastward, though the thick forces halted their advance, men seen only moments prior faded into obscurity as Radmir rode. He looked back to see many of his comrades sinking; fear took in. The very earth below their feet began to drop and men began to die before even seeing action. Was this dark magic cast by the Coalition? Most likely. But perhaps the jungle was simply more dangerous than first expected. Finally a path was spotted for the linking of the forces, and to the road the men of Veletz trotted. The forces of the Anathema spotted light on the third hour past the high sun, catching glimpse of a large fortification raised upon the open plain. "What is that?" Radmir inquired to his fellow cavalryman. "Don't you know? The Haensers have turned this into a siege. See that?" Radmir took a long glance at the horizon, the Cavalryman continued. "They erect walls instantly. As if they paid builders gems to get it done." "Ah." said Radmir in response, for he did not know what the man spoke of- but it did sound correct. "We do not engage in battle." The order was given by Radmir's commander, and the order would be followed. "Retreat and pepper them." Radmir acknowledged the merits of this order without question, and tried his best to follow. The order given, did not last long. A fight had broken off on the west flank- and men began to surge to settle it. The Montalt followed suit, striking the Duke of Aeltarys from his horse. He saw another man slain beneath his sword shortly after. But something was amiss still- he knew it since the horses, he knew it since the earth fell, and it was all too late. A surge of men and women rode towards the Western flank- one moment they were kilometers away- the next they were upon the Veletzian forces. Was this a a trick of the light? Foul Black Magic? Radmir knew not, but he followed the order to retreat. Radmir rode and returned a hail of arrows to the oncomers, he would follow the non-engagement orders. Until he saw the Captain General removed from his steed. He would defend his leader. Charge sounded as he lanced a common soldier from his horse before being struck from his own. The Montalt narrowly escaped with his life from the muddy slogging of ground troops and headed to the treeline, glancing back in dismay. Another lance struck his iron plate, the rider retreating before he could muster a counter attack. The surge carried, the light not allowing a proper vision of the enemy. Radmir moved into the forest line and attempted to return fire- but was quickly rode down. ACT III - The Return The rays of the sky faded as the clouds fell over the land and submerged the dying Montalt into darkness. His father, nowhere to be seen since the retreat was sounded. His eyes opened at once to see the stragglers of his force slaughtered as the Coalition moved forwards slaying men around him... he knew he was soon to be slain. His eyes shut, opened, shut... It was the seventh hour past the sun's height when he heard the Coalition Spearman approach upon him, he spoke a gutteral tongue only known to Radmir as the brutish language of a Valdevian. Mustering all his might he turned to his back and raised his shortsword, and his thoughts took root. Radmir was not the strongest warrior of Veletz, he knew this to be true. He was not the bravest- for why would he flee the battle if this were true. He was not even the most witty, for the Ferrymen he grew up around could banter him into the ground. Radmir was nothing, a fleeper, a young man with a vision so far away. A cold throne, once promised to him by God- taken at this field of crimson at the edge of the world. He was weak, cowardly, mildly intelligent. But he was no traitor. When given the opportunity to fight for an eight army band he chose to stay with his kinsmen even after they had lost their home, and Brasca. He rode at Westmark with the almost assurance that he would be slain. He rode into the jungles of doom- where ground fell beneath men, where horses threw their riders, where a wall had appeared from thin air. He rode because he had faith in his Captain-General. Montalt... he thought. He was the most loyal. To Gaspard. To Veletz. To Family. And as the Pikeman went to thrust Montalt's heart, a blade sliced open the man's neck. "Rise soldier. This is no place to die."
  17. 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.
  18. The Balian Crown Penned by Radmir "Avant-Vanguard" Montalt For the Balian Knights who stayed whilst their Queen fled, and the Legion of Burgundy. ☩ ☩ ☩ Written in parody of "The Balian Sound" an old Balian Sea Shanty, sung by the Legion of Burgundy Choir and one Orcish Krugmarine. Oh, Balian, is a beautiful country, Way, hay, roll and go. And we rolled all night, And we rolled all day, To raid the Balian Crown. Oh, Balian has a bright young ruler Way, hay, roll and go. But without her crown, who will back her? Way, hay, roll and go. And we rolled all night, And we rolled all day, To raid the Balian Crown Well, her father was an old adulterer. Way, hay, roll and go. And we rolled all night, And we rolled all day, To raid the Balian crown. Ah, Balian loves their throne room Way, hay, roll and go. Such a shame fire does too Way, hay, roll and go. And we rolled all night, And we rolled all day, To raid the Balian Crown Oh, Balian, is a beautiful country, Way, hay, roll and go. Oh, Balian has a bright young ruler Way, hay, roll and go. And we rolled all night, And we rolled all day, To raid the Balian Crown. And we rolled all night, And we rolled all day, To raid the Balian Crown.
  19. Little Brascalite Penned by Radmir Montalt, he who is most certainly a poet (and propagandist) For Sir Gaspard, Veletz, and the Legion of Burgundy @M1919 ☩ ☩ ☩ And it’s up along the hillside, that’s where I long to be Lying in the brush with the Ferrymen Company 
A Stassion on my left and an Orc on my right 
And a quiver of barbed arrows for my little Brascalite. I was stopped by a Haenser, he said “You are a swine”
 He beat me with his longsword and he kicked me in the groin
 He kept up his beating though me manners were polite
 Until his head was caved in from a Veletzer Brascalite. And it’s up along the tunnel, that’s where I long to be Lying in the brush with the Ferrymen Company 
A Stassion on my left and an Orc on my right 
And a quiver of barbed arrows for my little Brascalite. When a brave BSK man came up into our street Six hundred Haenser soldiers he had lined up at his feet
 “Come out, ye cowardly Veletzians”, “come out and fight” he cried, “I’m only joking” when he saw the Brascalite. And it’s up along the roadside, that’s where I long to be Lying in the brush with the Ferrymen Company 
A Stassion on my left and an Orc on my right 
And a quiver of barbed arrows for my little Brascalite. So when their knights came to visit us, ’twas in the early hours With Balians and Hyspians and Petran armoured cowards
 They thought they had us cornered but we gave them all a fright With the armour piercing arrows of our little Brascalites. And it’s up along the forest, that’s where I long to be Lying in the brush with the Ferrymen Company 
A Stassion on my left and an Orc on my right 
And a quiver of barbed arrows for my little Brascalite. When Aleksandr came to Westmark, he said, The battle’s won
 Said General Gerard “Sir, we have them on the run”
 But as they exited the tunnel, they were met with the site Yelled “send for reinforcements, it’s the bloody Brascalite”. And it’s up along the clearing, that’s where I long to be Lying in the brush with the Ferrymen Company 
A Stassion on my left and an Orc on my right 
And a quiver of barbed arrows for my little Brascalite. Bras·ca·lite - Noun 1. a: A strong recurve bow able to be fired from horseback b: A netherite armored warrior's number one weakness "Ow, I've been shot by a Brascalite." 2. a: Something Based. "Wow that's so Brascalite!"
  20. 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
  21. THE BATTLE OF BREAKWATER KEEP A hawk drifted through the morning sky. Its wings spread, it cawed as the rolling green plains of the Aevosian Heartlands spread out beneath it. Over pastures and farms did the hawk fly, casting its soaring shadow on the quilted landscape of budding amber grain, as it flew northward beneath sparse clouds. It rode the wind northward, leaving behind the sparse smattering of keeps, farmhouses, and manors in the vicinity of Winhburg, and it crested the hills in the northern Heartlands. On the other side of those hills, the teal towers of Breakwater Keep, citadel of the infamous Ferrymen reavers, cast long shadows in the morning sun. But those shadows did not fall across the usual barren stretch of fields surrounding the keep. Instead, the sun and shadows fell upon an army. Atop the ramparts of Breakwater, banners streamed. The star of Celia’nor flew alongside the burgundy bull of Veletz above the forces of the keep’s defenders, wearing steely determination beneath their helmets and cowls, while the black-red scorpion standard of the Iron Horde was draped over the stakewalls that ringed around the keep. Across an expanse of trodden and churned mud rose a bulwark of earth and wood, and it was there that the Covenant banners billowed in all their dozens of colours. There was the purple-blue-and-white of Aaun, standard of the 2,000 soldiers marshalled by the freshly-crowned King John Alstion; the regal crimson of the 3,000 Petrine warriors, there alongside their child monarch Queen Catherine; the Ashtree of Norland, carried by its 2,000 warriors from the far north, who made the long march for a righteous battle; the four-pointed white star of the 1,200 of Numendil, rallied to the Covenant cause in the name of justice and piety; the purple-white of King Adrian’s 3,400 of the Balian Armada, who were first to take up arms in defence of their honour; the orange-grey of the 2,000 Urguani legionnaires, ever eager for battle; the rich blue of Cesar II’s 2,000 Hyspian skirmishers; and 7,400 seasoned Haeseni soldiers, many of them veterans of the Adrian War, under the direct command of King Aleksandr, the Covenant’s commanding general. As the morning sun slowly climbed above the horizon, the grass sparkled with the night’s dew, and the light flashed against the thousand of spear points jutting above the stakewood walls of the Covenant’s siege encampment. Instead of the usual calm sigh of the morning wind as it blew through the trees, Breakwater was a ceaseless torrent of noise; countless boots stomped against the ground as the Covenant arrayed their colossal force of 20,000 soldiers and officers’ voices echoed in the air. “SQUAD FOUR AND SEVEN, FALL IN!” “PIKEMEN, TO ME!” “TWO MORE ON THE ARTILLERY!” As that hawk glided above it all, the Covenant forces bustled like ants. 20,000 - one of the greatest armies marshalled in all Descendant history - formed up in their resplendent mail and national banners, their eyes and hearts fixed on Breakwater and its garrison of 15,000 Men, Orcs, and Elves. As the hawk continued on its flight, a lone feather drifted down, stirring on the wind as it fell to the Covenant camp. As it made its slow descent, so too did time seem to lull as the Covenant forces awaited the order. In that calm before the storm, seconds seemed to stretch into hours and the enormity of what awaited the army weighed on them. Marius Lovetts of Valfleur, a Petrine armsman, held his longbow with a tremble. He had hunted deer before, but never had he drawn his bow against another person. But, as he stared across the palisades to the walls of Breakwater, he searched for his resolve. He pictured the face of his beloved little sister back in Valfleur, who was the same age as their Queen, Catherine -- the same Queen who had almost been cut to ribbons by Veletzians who had stormed the city after the Queen failed to do their bidding. “You bastards,” he hissed under his teeth, his breath steaming in the morning cold. As his hand reached into his quiver, it did not quiver with fear -- it trembled with rage. “I’ll never let any of you threaten a child again!” Boon of Merryweather ran an oiled cloth along his sword as orders were shouted all around him. He stared into the polished reflection of his blade, and his scarred and eyepatched expression stared back. He had been among one of the guards in Aaun when the Stassion rebels had murdered King Edmund - the king they had been sworn to obey, and the king he had been sworn to protect. Boon felt no fear as he took to a knee in the middle of the camp, and bowed his head as he gripped the blade. “I failed you then, King Edmund,” he whispered to the steel, “but I will not fail you today.” Farald; Brotherhood of Saint Karl, he stepped back and dusted off his hands once the trebuchet had been calibrated. Unlike many of the greener soldiers around him, he wore an ecstatic smile, for today would finally be his chance to follow in the footsteps of his forefathers. His father had fought the Adrians after their rebellion on Almaris; his grandmother had served under King Karl III when he laid waste to the Kingdom of Oren; and his great-grandfather had been one of the honoured standard-bearers for the Brotherhood at the fabled Battle of Eastfleet. Farald grinned so broadly it began to hurt; for him, killing Van Aerts was simply the family business. The descent of the hawk’s father finally ended as it fell upon the helmet of a Norlandic warrior, and with it ended the calm. A warhorn peeled across Breakwater as the signal was given, and the battle began. The air erupted with roars of ‘Krusae Zwy Kongzem’, ‘Tandem Triumphans’, ‘In Hoc Signo Vinces’, and dozens of other battle-cries as the Covenant initiated their attack. It began to rain, but it was not the soft rainfall of early summer: rock and fire rained down upon Breakwater as the Covenant siege engines sang under the command of Patriarch Josef, Dante DeNurem, and High Keeper Ellenore. The white stone was stained black with soot as the cannons rocketed, and the teal tiles of towers splintered across the keep as trebuchets hit their mark. While the united Covenant siege engineers began their bombardment, the rest of the Covenant forces stood in airtight formations; King Aleksandr II oversaw the main force, alongside Rickard of Valdev and Django Mareno who shielded the artillery team, while the joint Petrine-Balian army under King Adrian, Percy de Lyons, and Villorik var Ruthern assumed the rear-guard of the encampment, while Cesar II’s Hyspians held the gate itself. The defenders of Breakwater, however, did not stand idle as their fort began to crumble. Squads of elite Ferrymen horsemen took to the field, weaving their steeds between occasional volleys of Covenant arrows, encircled the Covenant encampment in small knots and pried for weaknesses with their bows and javelins. Yet, for all their skill, they found no easy pickings at the Covenant encampment; at the rear, the Petrine-Balian army ruined any hope of a flank, while King Aleksandr’s force peppered any horseman who neared the Covenant artillery with arrows. Eventually, every horseman returned to the keep with an unbloodied blade. And so, for hours, the rain of rock and smoke continued. The Veletzian trebuchets were destroyed before the sun reached its apex at noon, and Breakwater’s garrison were forced to shelter beneath what walls remained standing as the Covenant fired relentlessly. By an hour after noon, the first teal tower fell, and splintered into the earth. By three hours after noon, the second fell. As the sun began to ebb towards the western horizon, the siege engines slowed as ammunition fell scarce and the barrels of the cannons begun to malform from the heat, and the waiting soldiers of the main army and the Petrine-Balian army marched on the spot to prevent their legs from going numb. At five hours after noon, the signal was given. “THIS IS OUR PEACE!” came the splitting roar of King Aleksandr from atop the Covenant bulwark. With Svetjlast, ancient blade of the Ruska kings, in arm, he levelled the tip towards the crumbling ruin of Breakwater. “CHAAAAARGE!” Petra. Balian. Aaun. Norland. Numendil. Urguan. Hyspia. Haense. Not always had these nations been comrades throughout history, and on precious few occasions had they even all thought of one another as friends. And yet, on that day - the day that Breakwater was smashed - they charged as one, and fought side-by-side in one of the greatest armies ever fielded by Descendant-kind. Together, they buried their pikes into the Orcs of Krugmar as they crossed the muddied battlefield; united, they sunk arrow after arrow into Celia’norian Elves on the slope to Breakwater; and, as one, they rent the flesh and shattered the bones of Veletz as they stormed the ruined corpse of Breakwater. Both lines broke in the shadow of Breakwater, but no soldier was dettered as a bloody melee ensued. The splintered stone of Breakwater was painted crimson as the Covenant pressed their colossal numerical advantage, and not even the legendary Ferryman tacticians could stem the tide. Sigrun Stonehammer, marshal of Urguan’s legion, bested a Ferryman lieutenant in the fields outside the keep, while a Captain of Adria was wounded by King Aleksandr in the woods fringing the battlefield. One by one, the banners over Breakwater fell. The scorpion of the Iron Horde was crushed in the melee. The Celia’norian star was shredded by stone shrapnel. The bull of Veletz was the last to fall; as it was sliced from its halyards from the flagpole in the main keep, there was a brief moment of silence as the burgundy cloth drifted to the ground. Then the cheers came like a thunderclap. For on that day - the 16th of the Sun’s Smile - the Covenant prevailed. On that day, history was written. On that day, Breakwater Keep fell. T H I S I S O U R P E A C E .
  22. 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
  23. Issued and averred by His Royal Highness Prince PAUL ALEXANDER in the year of our Lord 1953 PAUL ALEXANDER by the GRACE of GOD PRINCE of the PETRA The Coalition has besieged the Ferryhold – it is no longer. As many as thirty-five thousand soldiers rallied to the call to arms by Her Majesty the Queen Catherine I to aid the Coalition in destroying Our enemies; the Ferrymen, the League and their Allies. There does exist a personal grudge against the Anathema Gaspard, who had viciously ordered my abduction at the hands of the Ferrymen in the quiet of the night. It was then I was hauled to the same Keep that no longer stands. Much recollection from this event supersedes me, but I know mine enemy. We fought, and we won. Rejoice! Ave Le Petrére. “They do nol know of our strength, but the time is nigh for them to learn.” The Queen-Emeritus Renilde, the Prince Paul, and the Prince Marcus holding Breakwater Keep, c. 1953 @tilly@Chorale__ @Andustar WITNESS Ourselves at the Royal Palace on the 11th day of the Suns’s Smile in the year of our Lord 1953 / 98 Astana de Regne Petrére. Faithfully Signed, His Royal Highness, Paul Alexander of the Petra, Prince of the Petra, the Prince of Valfleur, Lord Chamberlaine of the River Court of the Commonwealth, Elector of the Garmont Assembly, Patriarch of the House of the Petra de Valfleur
  24. The Battle of Rolly’s Hill Battered, bruised, but never broken, the people of Adria took to the fields of the Lower Petra awaiting the long-promised battle. Victory would come on their terms now, just as it had over a year ago as the king of Aaun’s army stormed their fair Velec, but were driven out by the defenders atop the barricades. Having hidden for the following months since that defeat, the armies of Aaun fearfully awaited the day when they would be told to march out. That day finally came. Despite their boasts of a great army, only five-thousand took the field of battle for Aaun. An even number flocked to the banner of the Duke of Adria, who gallantly walked out with the infantry, ready to win the day or die trying. His trusty Greycloaks and militiamen of Velec, led by Sir Joseph Vasile, stood proudly at his side as they advanced north. Leonid Vilac and Valentin van Aert made up the left and right flank, respectively, where they and their heavy infantry promised to hold the line and never bend nor break. As the Aaunic army emerged from Minitz, they positioned themselves against the River Reden, catching their backs against its banks. A fatal flaw, for they would now have nowhere to flee to. As Darius of Myrine, leading the Duke’s vanguard, screamed for the archers to assume their positions, a great duel of arrows began. Back and forth, the two armies fired. However, the Adrian ranks were spread out, while the Aaunic host was bunched together. Beset by projectiles and losing men by the minute, the order was given to charge into the weakest part of the extended Adrian line. It was a trap. Within moments, hundreds of soldiers dropped their bows and drew their swords, surging forth to meet the Aaunic charge. Believing a thin section of the Adrian line to be breakable, the Aaunic army tried to charge through and run them down, but what they failed to see was that it was held by the men of Blackvale, who held firm and gave enough time for the rest of the Adrian host to arrive and surrounded the mass of the Aaunics. The battle lasted mere minutes. Surrounded and cut off from Minitz and Vienne, the Aaunic soldiers were quickly cut down by the more experienced, determined troops of Adria. The king of Aaun and his principal lords were able to make a breakout and flee back to Minitz across the bridge, which was then destroyed, but that was the only mercy that God showed them that day. The Adrian host, tired from battle and blocked from pursuing, returned home victorious. The spark of liberation had grown into a great bonfire and the tyrants had been swept up in its fervor. AVE ADRIA
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