Marshal Outerbridge

  • Marshal,

    I am Leonard Early Hicksman, Blade of the Purple Dragons in the Old Town Garrison. I've been a Kingsman half my life, watching my street. Protecting my Cormyran neighbors and fending off The Sembian Menace.

    Today, I write you with a grand opportunity for all of us Kingsmen. Oversword Lord Bhaliir and taken myself and your loyal man, Carver, into the Purple Dragons. We are planning an assault on behalf of you, Marshal, The Purple Dragons, and Cormyr.

    In a few days time, myself, Carver, and the brave son of Cormyr, Lord Bhaliir will attack the archprelates. We intend to disperse our decades old foe and take command of their unholy church, which was founded on self-worship.

    Knowing this to be true, and two of your own brave sons of Cormyr helping the Lord, I beg you this favor for Me, Carver, and our Garrison Commander Bhaliir.

    Send us your young and strong, Marshal. Send us the veterans and orphaned sons who's father's and Mother's perished on far flung shores. Bless us with the vitality and vigor that is our collective Cormyran blood and March with us to exterminate these heretics once and for all. Partake with us, Marshal Outerbridge, in the bittersweet sacrifice that comes with a long overdue victory for our people.

    We March, Grand Marshal Outerbridge, and all we are missing is you and our Cormyran brothers! Our forces combined cannot be withstood by The Archprlates. Olga herself, even ten Olga's, could not deflect the full brunt of The Purple Dragons, House Bhaliir, and The Kingsmen!

    Join us! And be seated in a proper command of a proper garrison! We will be there regardless, you need but arrive with a place at our table waiting for you!

    -Blade Early, Kingsman.

  • Marshal,

    Something has come up and we are turning our attention to an even more treacherous foe in Old Town. I will inform you when more is revealed.


  • Admin [DM]

    the good marshal reads the letter, and jumps to his feet drawing his sword- shouting that they shall charge the goblin lines. He stumbles forward a few feet, then collapses from exhaustion, dragged back to his throne by his old comrades who watch the dementia plagued old man ramble about his 'glorious old days'

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