A SUMMONS TO THE COWARDLY

[pkdon]

A SUMMONS TO THE COWARDLY

"They fought with him on foot for more than three hours, both before and behind him"

To the vermin Anthony Coalman and his whoreson collective,

The House of Myrfeld is the most decorated within the realm. The architects of its past and future, planting firm roots for the western folk to thrive. A line of kings and warriors, and though the boy-king sought fit to dissolve the house, our legacy is woven indelibly into the history of the continent. And despite his choice, the wiccans of Myr deserve continued respect. You, however, a craven sodomite, would accuse my son of banditry and worse, you would muster your gaggle of shitfaced dogs to attack my boy, six to one. A strong soul, set upon by his own people. My son. What age do we live in, that a Captain of the Army would butcher a man of Myrfeld.

I have served in five wars, and none have killed me. As you seek to disgrace this house and murder its kin, I challenge you to a fight, to the death. All six of you against myself, an old man. Such a summons may frighten you, for this time the man you fight is prepared. Know this, however. Even if you choose to refuse this challenge, my justice shall be delivered regardless.

I await your response.

-Konstantin​

Spoiler: OOC

Time and date to be arranged in dms

​

 

[STBNL]

Siegfried, another elder man sweats suddenly for some reason.

 

[Dog]

"Shit-faced dogs!" Aldric del Riviere chanted from his craggy mansion.

 

[Darken]

Mithril Combatant, Baby Bee, read over the missive as he went to sharpen his shiny battleaxe, he prepared to meet Anthony Coalman for a plan, A man can not win against six experienced combatants.

 

[`K0ekie]

Oh my

 

[frill]

a craven sodomite

Hectimere d. R. chokes on his lamb-chop, his fireside rocking chair reeling backwards with a rocketing force as he splutters and hacks. "Lo! Tis the worst kind of sodomite! In least old... old-" Hectimere takes some pause to remember the name of a gay rebel count who he had fought against in his youth. "-whoever, could fight in even pair."

 

[ShadowyLord]

Within the walls of the Promdorian temple, a blessed paladin would be sat upon one of many wooden benches, eyes fading away and returning to their worldly realm tired of age and battle, his ashen gauntlets covered with the crimson nectar running through his veins slowly dripping onto the warm floor below, he'd view the words upon the missive shame streaming through his body with each new read word. "Mother above, it seems the corruption of greed has befallen your children, may you offer them your compassion." The paladin would pray to the blazing sky, the very blood upon his gauntlets pulsating as if made entirely of hot ash before finally catching aflame with the blessed fires bestowed to him by the true gods burning the missive into nothing but ash.

Spoiler: OOC

+1 PK stinks

 

[Snavier]

Kinal stared with a gleeful smile as he held the missive, he was giggling knowing that the Velnari killer was going against the old faces of Myrfeld and Westholm.
"I would love to watch this unfold.. Let's see if the bastards can hold their weight or will cheat to their grave."

Spoiler: OOC:

+1, don't mind me

 

[Ryanark]

"It would be unwise to deny," said Viktor.

 

[Swifty]

Anthony Coalman
would frown upon reading the missive. He came to a realisation one of his men had snitched, told falsity when they had comprehended the Myrfeld bandit. With a brief sigh, he would nod to himself preparing to gather those who valiantly battled prior.
"If this leads down a path of cutting through the Myrfelds one by one for their treason against the Kingdom, so be it. They are in no position to demand such, but we shall allow them this fight. We do this for King Jonas, we fight for Mytra against the family who has sinned."

​

 

[Totalore]

A humble bard sits on a log, her blessed lute laying down in her hand. The woman strung her lute, beginning a revelant rhyme.

"And Myrfeld sought out the dog ... held them out to a poisonous fog in the eyes of God ..." The bard muttered, setting down the lute. She reminisced of Calendale's history, laughing to herself. "That man is as good as dead, unfortunately."

 

[De Mik]

Osgar of Myrfeld agrees.

 

[garmidon]

Orryn simply shrugs upon reading this.