So.. it's war. Yes, yes friends. Something that holds itself to be
self-evident. But perhaps it needed restating, just so all who didn't
know.. now know.

Anyways.

I'm sitting in the taproom of the Silver Harp Inn after a raid where
we'd killed some 50 odd guards, mug of mead in one hand and a steaming
hot lamb shank in the other (You see, friends, I was hungry after much
righteous kicking of Stavennite behind) While I was sitting, I began to
ponder the truths of the universe. The City of War is failing in a war,
something they are supposed to excel at. The Imperator of Stavenn slays
novices, something very unbecoming of a city leader. Self-Important 32
year old Diavlous-wannabes threaten an entire city, when all they do is
sit around in a room filled with 36 guards and let their soul wander.
How can this be? Has everything that was once right in the world gone so
very.. very wrong? Fear not, my friends, for some of the truths of the
universe remain. Yes, that's right. I'm still the sexiest Lycaean ever.

But back to my story.

So sitting in the taproom, and I'll admit I might have had a bit to much
mead, we began bragging about our accomplishments in this "war" and
coming up with new strategies to use against the City of War. Believe
me, friends, nothing feels better than sitting back with friends and
talking about much righteous smoting of Stavennites and devising plans
for more such righteous smoting. This is about when we began tallying up
the costs for each side. Stavenn has lost upwards of 200 guards.
Kinsarmar.. has lost 3. Stavenn has spent over a million sovereigns
rebuying guards, totems, monolith sigils, etc. Kinsarmar.. has spent 0.
More Stavennites have defected to Kinsarmar than Kinsarmarians have
defected to Stavenn.

This is about the time I took a bite out of my lamb shank, piping hot
and covered in herbs and spices, yet it was a bitter sweet bite. For
while the shank was good, tasty in all its shanktitude, it burnt me..
and that burning hurt.

So.

After much drinking of mead to cool my burnt tongue, and much teasing
from my mates, we began our talks again. These talks went on and on.
Until I saw on deathsight that Iriaen had slain Myraus.

"What's this," I thought, "Iriaen, the mighty Imperator of Stavenn,
slaying mere newbies?"

I was quite impressed at the gall. When not so very long ago Iriaen
complained about the Anarion slaying some Stavennite children. Anarion
prompty apologized, and it has yet to happy again. But then.. poor
little children can defend themselves with big bad Stavennite guards. A
lowly Bard novice, an Understudy if you will, outside of Kinsarmar (It
was in Caanae, I believe) with barely a grasp of their own voice and
thespianism skills can hardly defend themselves against one so big and
bad as the Imperator of Stavenn, Iriaen Nessaja.

This is about the time I took another bite out of my shank.. and prompty
recieved another burning.

Some people never learn.

So, after much ranting, much raving, and much burning of my ever so
luscious Lycaean tongue my posts comes to a close, a question, and a
moral.

Can the people of Aetherius, neutral Bard novices in particular, expect
such behavior as this to continue from the city of war?

The moral of the story, friends, is slaying children barely out of their
teenage years(or in this case not even out of them) is a bad.. bad
thing.




Sexy and Burned,
Sir Darus Murne, Guardian of Truth

Penned by my hand on the 9th of Letum, in the year 418 AD.