REQUIEM WIKI

Article by Francis Model

For any man or woman who was not present of late it is highly suggested to be seated before reading the following article. The peace on the streets of Fort Praesidium was rendered no more on that fateful day, the Twenty-fifth of Flowerbloom, 1347. Fort Praesidium was suddenly and deliberately attacked by Sewer and Above-Ground forces of the emergent Ratman Kingdom. It is true: ratmen are real and many were proven ignorant in forsaking the warnings of our forefathers.

The Rat Kingdom gained much ground in the first hour of the invasion. Many were killed on the streets but a militia force soon formed led by local business owner Jahandar. The battle was mainly fought at the intersection of Dock Street & Bank Road. As the tides of battle ebbed and flowed the Militia fought a dogged rear-guard action down Dock Street towards the Premium Storage building.

A bloody stalemate was soon reached in the streets though casualties mounted for the rallied residents of the fort. The Gendarmarie and Whitecloaks dealing with rat fronts elsewhere had no reinforcements available to the militia, so temporarily lifted the brandishing laws to shore up defenses. At the intersection of Dock Street & Fort Road the Militia made their stand. Jahandar cried out for all warriors to retreat to this point where he seemingly believed the terrain was more to their advantage.

Having had found advantageous positioning the Militia battled their way back up Dock Street, driving the rat hordes back into the whole whence they came. The Ratmen were extended the full honors of war by Jahandar and were offered the opportunity to discuss terms. The Rat Leader, name unknown, agreed to such.

The negotiations that followed were intense but ultimately for nought. The Rats demanded the handing over of a local chef whose culinary delights they were very keen upon. A counter-proposal was offered: a variety of foodstuffs would be delivered without delay to the Ratmen in exchange for an armistice. Things soon became heated and a local man who was late to heed the call for the militia arrived on the scene and drew the blood of the rat negotiator without hesitation.

In anger the Rat Horde sent a punitive expedition thereabouts of platoon size to counter-attack. The battle being renewed, many of the fort were maimed and wounded where they stood being caught off-guard by the counter-attack. Fighting once again dipped down Dock-Street but firm sword-hands, keen aim, and astute leadership won the day once again and the ratmen were beaten back to their principal entry-point.

Negotiations renewed for a second time, but with a condition. The Ratmen insisted upon a delegate coming down into the sewer, as for the first round of negotiations they themselves had come to the surface in peace and been killed without cause. There was much trepidation among the Militia, but Jahandar stepped forth to brave the sewers. Before departing, he issued a single order: Local Jester Gryhun and another wounded individual were sent to the foundry storehouses to fetch materiale to barricade off the entryways of the Rat Horde should the parlay fail. Gryhun beat feet in a hasty retreat towards the Foundry storehouses.

Treachery in their hearts, the Ratmen likely grinned wickedly as Jahandar descended the stairs unarmed with his message of peace. Once he had been in their grasp it is unknown exactly what occurred but Jahandar was in the depths for several minutes and returned bloodied. Being reached for comment after the battle, he refused to elaborate.

At that moment, Jahandar made a declaration: The Ratmen would know no peace, and they understood no language other than “blood and iron”. Battle was renewed against the Rat men but they were held, and a barricade put in place sealing off the ratmen.

The Rat War was only beginning, however. The format of the Frontier Herald will not permit any further on the matter: that much this reporter will leave to the historians.

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Article by Quincy Everhard

Being myself a fairly new arrival within Fort Praesidium’s general area, it naturally occurred to me that getting well acquainted amidst other fellow citizens is a key factor to one's success; though it might not guarantee it by itself, such posture may indeed provide the much needed shove in the right direction. I made annotations regarding what could be bought in the marketplace and who sold each type of wares, yet sadly not a soul dealt with musical instruments (a service I still desperately need).

However, I had not solely mercantile aspirations upon my amblings around the First Province: people had all sorts of interesting life stories to bestow upon the attentive listener although these would not often be the joyous kind: desperate escapes by the skin of one's teeth, orphaned children learning their own way through life without a guiding hand or simply the promise of establishing yourself anew. Whatever they were, I never really got tired of getting to know them, as you live vicariously through their words, imagining what one would do in their shoes against the same problems they faced.

I have met a few residents worthy of mention, such as the generous publican or the brave man-at-arms obsessed with the desecrated monastery to the far west. Notwithstanding, I will share the account of my encounter with a fellow citizen who chose a path akin to mine: “the man by the fountain”, as I like to call him.

Heading down Main Street, I was maybe past the Quinte Armorer Shop when I spotted a humanoid figure by the fountain. He was very still, which made me approach with caution. As the recent incident shows, you're never really as safe as you assume to be regardless of how many able-bodied sentinels you have beside you. But after a short while I could see the man was seemingly in some sort of trance, but not what people say Torment puts you under: a pair of deep blue eyes were locked firmly on the water's surface on the fountain, and I even assumed he was deaf as he failed to hail me back. However, he did greet me once freed from the fountain's mesmerizing splashing therein.

I could extract bits of information here and there, but talking to him was rather tricky: he kept mentioning the fountain, and I could see it had quite an influence on his dispositions at the time. He told me his name was Jason and that painting was his trade of choice. “I paint flowers and their beautiful colors”, he said, and with such firm conviction I trusted he trifled me not. Be it with the brush or charcoal, I did my fair share of painting in my tent at our small circus, so I can relate with his glazed eyes. He was rather impulsive, so we chatted a bit through short bursts and then he quite abruptly announced it was time to pick up some flowers…! Quite an unusual individual, but I am also a slave to inspiration, so no harm done.

He left our interview in a dash, but did leave a very interesting prospect: Jason mentioned we could in fact attend an exhibition of his paintings in a few days' time! It would be nice to appraise another artist's strokes, and I do extend this invitation to our faithful readers, especially in these dire times of danger lurking in every corner. Every issue will cover a different Fort Praesidium resident, so don't miss your Frontier Herald fix!

MINSTREL FOR HIRE: Want to spice up your market stall? Are you up for a memorable evening in your tavern, with soothing storytelling by the fireplace? Perhaps a poetry recital to help carve your way into that fair maiden’s undisputed attention? Well, look no further for Quincy Everhard is your man! Palm reading, joke nights, you name it! (I don’t do bloody sports or otherwise weird non-Republican stuff). So look me up, where there’s chatter, I’m probably there! Failing that, seek a generously horizontal well-clad ginger denizen, usually hopping to and fro between taverns within the confines of our beloved Fort Praesidium.

Article by Marie Lhanbrough

Those who seek libations within the dark walls of Fort Praesidium have a new haunt to seek out this Greengrass. Located on the corner of Back Street and Fort Road Meddler’s Risk offers fine food, fine drinks, and fine company and all at very affordable prices.

The décor of the establishment is wonderful: the pristinely taxidermied head of a mighty lion sits upon the western wall, its jaw slightly agape and its ‘brow’ fixed in such a way that it draws the eyes to its countenance, demanding further study. A combination of gas-lamp and candles offer a soft light unlike some competing facilities.

For those inclined to literature and mastication by the Flame’s lights a massive picture window offers a glimpse in and out of the facility, framing the mirth and joy of its inhabitants. The bar-counter is made of a fine mahogany which is kept well polished by the staff. The proprietor of the facility who goes by the name Constantine often staffs the bar himself, and when he is absent the beautiful and witty Ani can often be seen polishing clear-glassed mugs and plates made of a pleasant pewter.

Behind the bar counter the wonders do not come to a stop: The magnificent scents of fresh bread and a variety of soups and other dishes waft across the tavern by day, and the immediately recognizable smell of a smorgasbord of liquors overpower this as the kitchen closes after the serving of supper.

The tavern opened on the 2nd of Greengrass, 1347 to general acclaim. The opening festivities were as marvelous as they were diverse: First, the bar was opened to the public and drinks were available: this was immediately followed by a fine ceremony which involved the display of numerous trophies which would be given to the victor of the proceeding events:

First, there was a wonderful trophy made of above average materials. The trophy was of an acceptable design being made for purpose not only as an emblem of victory but having a secondary use as a container for beverages including wine, water, and other liquids.

This was to be the prize for only one of the events; there existed a set of jewelry which would be bequeathed to the victors of another contest; an exquisite bracelet, a magnificent ring, a necklace made of average materials, and hand-crafted hoop earrings.

A lottery was to be drawn as well, the tickets being sold for a modest sum and a high prize being paid out to the victor of that contest as well.

The gallant festivities began with a two-person race down Fort Road and the final event, a drinking contest, was the most intriguing spectacle this writer has seen in all of his years. Many men and women were intoxicated beyond belief and all drank for free: the final contest came between Ashford Reed and a warrior of legendary repute known only as Conway.

The drinking carried on to the wee hours of the morning but finally victory was clenched by Conway in an upset against the local alcoholic. Mr. Reed was unavailable for comment after the proceedings due to a lack of consciousness.

This writer looks forward to seeing more from Mr. Constantine.

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Article by Mackey Madison

A rash of man eater events is on the rise across the valley. Previously thought to be Tormented terrorizing the area, concerned civilians discovered it was all a rouse. Painted in blood from head to toe, cannibals gurglged and screamed from the shadows before devouring their prey. Their victims count thee dead from Fort Praesidium and dozens more at the Refugee Camp near Rumbling Pass.

During a recent attack at the Refugee Camp, cannibals dropped their afflicted rouse to rave mad words for their profane god. Claiming to serve The Hungering One, they consume flesh as a form of worship and to obtain Ascension. It is unknown at this time what they aspire to ascend towards.

Rumors suggest these Hungering One worshippers are on the move, as they have not been seen recently within prior hunting grounds. Is their hunt at an end or are they preparing to go for bigger game?

REPORTERS WANTED! Interested in writing for the Frontier Herald? Leave word for Jeane Harlow at the Foundry’s General Store located southwest of Fort Praesidium to get involved in the upcoming issues!