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7/17/2025, 1:54:16 AM
Amidst the constants of creation, rarely do they surpass warfare; rarely are they such as warfare, rarely do they betide such as warfare. It is a disaster born not of the tides nor of the sun, but of the nature of men and beast, of crown and country, of the realities of the world as it was made. It is a sordid affair, all too rife with the death and destruction of good men, of the loss of what is built, of what has been developed; yet nonetheless, it cannot be stopped, for much as forests must burn to be reborn anew, so must men fight to retain their honor.
Not the honor of kings, of nobles and knights, whose valorous flights of combat do see them rise to the heights of their station, or sink into the depths of destruction, but the honor of civilization, of one's tribe and country, of one's hometown; for how may they survive, if those guards which keep them safe lay in waste? As the wicked fight their wars of tyranny, of barbarism and plundering, what can just men do but take the sword as their response, and vanquish them on the field?
But not all conflicts end in the field, though it is most favorable when they do so. If a king will not lead his men into the fight, if a nation will not come to terms of defeat after having seen their marching men cut down, then the fight must be taken to the home of men, to their villages and their towns, to their cities and their castles. And what pain does not arise from the fighting of such battles? As men raise walls to defend their homes, men make engines to tear them down; as the walls grow in their complexity, so do the engines, ever veering towards longer conflicts, bloodier and more brutal - years, decades may be wasted in the taking of a single city.
It is the year 1524 in the Age of Our Splendour, the 1,524th Year since the races of men were graced with the knowledge of our most good maker, since the wisest of prophets and holiest of men, graced with blessings from on high, founded the church upon with the Faith has been built. With the arrival of the age of gunpowder, the walls of men have risen higher than they ever have before, and sieges have grown to scales which had never before been seen. And soon, you shall be partaking in one of them.
Not the honor of kings, of nobles and knights, whose valorous flights of combat do see them rise to the heights of their station, or sink into the depths of destruction, but the honor of civilization, of one's tribe and country, of one's hometown; for how may they survive, if those guards which keep them safe lay in waste? As the wicked fight their wars of tyranny, of barbarism and plundering, what can just men do but take the sword as their response, and vanquish them on the field?
But not all conflicts end in the field, though it is most favorable when they do so. If a king will not lead his men into the fight, if a nation will not come to terms of defeat after having seen their marching men cut down, then the fight must be taken to the home of men, to their villages and their towns, to their cities and their castles. And what pain does not arise from the fighting of such battles? As men raise walls to defend their homes, men make engines to tear them down; as the walls grow in their complexity, so do the engines, ever veering towards longer conflicts, bloodier and more brutal - years, decades may be wasted in the taking of a single city.
It is the year 1524 in the Age of Our Splendour, the 1,524th Year since the races of men were graced with the knowledge of our most good maker, since the wisest of prophets and holiest of men, graced with blessings from on high, founded the church upon with the Faith has been built. With the arrival of the age of gunpowder, the walls of men have risen higher than they ever have before, and sieges have grown to scales which had never before been seen. And soon, you shall be partaking in one of them.
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