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Through Ash and Blood: Outcast Tales

Sir Papeth


Sir Papeth had humble beginnings. Born into poverty, living in the dregs of Prevalia, overlooked and forgotten by society. His father was a boat worker, and smuggled at times. Ended up rotting away in cells due to him smuggling. I am not hear to bore you with origin stories though, for that is the past. I am hear to gift you with stories of the present.


Sir Papeth and the Hood Bandits (as well as other criminals who fought with Hood) were passing by what some people refer to as "The Haven." Sir Papeth enjoyed coming here from time to time to rob and loot people affiliated with the guild known as The Pathfinders. Not only that, he found the architectural design pleasing to the eye. The large Path keep towered above the tree tops, thick exterior walls made the keep impenetrable. Sir Papeth had heard stories of others breaching it once, but he had never been inside. He took pleasure in chasing and killing anyone lingering beyond it’s protection. Sometimes he would throw rotten eggs at the walls. When the sun was hot, the egg yolk could stain for months.

The gang hung around and then suddenly, a battle was upon them. A company of Pathfinders, dressed in armor and wielding weapons of war, came rushing towards the gang. One of them used a magical rope and within seconds he was right in the face of Papeth. The warrior swung his sword towards Papeth. Papeth pulled back on his magical mount and swerved away from the blade. His comrades were also taken by surprised, everyone was struggling to get space between them and the Pathfinders defending the area. The Hood Bandits were forced to ride south down the road. Earlier they had discussed this, if needed they would run towards Ogre Valley. The narrow mountain passes would make for a suitable spot to defend from.

The Pathfinders pursued, high in morale as the Hood Bandits continued their flight. Soon enough the battle had been carried into ogre valley. As the roads narrowed the band of mages suddenly turned. Commands were shouted and a volley of coordinated curses flew towards the Pathfinders. The Pathfinders were caught off guard, their formation had loosened in the chase and their position was unorganized.

They turned to retreat back out of the narrow pass but they had inadequate room to maneuver in. They ran into each other, their mounts clashing and their heavy armor slowing down their ability to turn and rotate. From the skies above lighting bolts rained. Soon enough, the company of Pathfinders were nothing more besides burnt corpses.

A wandering healer, just down the road, watched the events unfold. He didn’t intervene, but he gave Sir Papeth dirty looks. A ghostly spirit was brought back to life. Sir Papeth saw that is was one of the warriors he had just slain. He felt a bit of envy. That warrior had probably never spent time wandering the underworld like Papeth had. It was easy for life to be restored to those deemed “virtuous”. But for Papeth, it was agony. Wandering around, restricted in time, lost and cold in the void. Sometimes it took days for Papeth to find a healer to bribe to return him to his mortal state. The after life was bitter to him, he never wanted to return, but knew eventually he would. Yet, that day was not today.

The warrior came up, staggering back and forth weak from the resurrection. Before Papeth could speak the warrior blurted out incoherent statements. It made no sense to Sir Papeth.

Sir Papeth figured he was just delusion from his recent death. He didn’t care to make sense of the man, he had little care to understand the Pathfinders. The bodies had been picked cleaned and his comrades were eager to move on. Sir Papeth simply warned the man, lit his pipe, and then road off into Ogre Valley.


One day Sir Papeth was riding north of ogre valley. He came across a miner, he didn’t know who the miner was but for some reason believed him to be a hard and honest worker. The man was struggling to hold his packhorse still when Sir Papeth rode up.

The man did not try to run, instead he begged just to continue working. Sir Papeth chuckled and told the man not to fear him. Papeth did not want to bother him, Papeth respected his dedication. Only a brave man would be in the back hills of ogre valley half naked, and mining.

Sir Papeth gave the miner his blessing and protection, all that he asked was that the miner hurry.

The miner was grateful for the help. Without a second to waste he went back to swinging his pick ax into the mountain side. When some bandits came to try and rob the miner Sir Papeth quickly summoned magical creatures that held off the attackers. Sir Papeth, not needing the ore, told the man to keep the ore he was working for.

The miner worked and conversated with Sir Papeth, sharing bits about his life and family. Soon enough, the ore had been collected. The miner had loaded his packy, and he was all ready to set off. He thanked Sir Papeth for his help. Sir Papeth wished the miner good luck and gave him a small blessing before he recalled away to Prevalia. Sir Papeth lingered on some old memories of Prevalia before ordering his magical mount to ride off down the road.

Sir Papeth took off his Orc skin mask and let out a deep sigh. He was exhausted and in pain. His face was stained in smoke and dirt, and his body was covered in cuts and bruises. He leaned back in his chair and poured a bottle of rum over his left arm. The alcohol flowed into a wound causing Papeth to flinch in pain. He paused for a second and then poured again. Usually he didn’t worry about magical wounds caused by spells, they were clean wounds. But, he didn’t want to run the risk of infection from the dirt that might’ve gotten inside. He wrapped his arm up in a small bandage and then grabbed a pipe from a table in front of him. He packed away some fine herb, lit it up, and inhaled. Soon enough he found himself wandering into deep thoughts about the day that had just passed.

*Memory begins*

Sir Papeth and his loyal band rode fast down the dirt road. From behind, spells and curses flew their way. A magic arrow came whizzing by cutting through his left arm. A few inches to the right and the arrow would had pieced straight into his back. The deep wound instantly began to bleed but Sir Papeth barely felt it as adrenaline pumped through his body.

Behind them chasing were warriors known as PEC. Ferocious fighters who had decent skill. In the dungeon fighting against a full PEC force was almost certain death. On the field though, it was a different story. Their tamed animals couldn’t keep up and their mounted fighting skills were nothing THAT special. Yet, Sir Papeth knew to respect their capabilities and knew that on the field they were still a challenging and dangerous foe.

The PEC warriors were out for vengeance. The Hood Bandits had slain two of them in the nearby dungeon known as The Mausoleum. This was the reason why they had mustered against Sir Papeth in the first place. They were here to kill him and avenge their fallen brothers. Sir Papeth knew that this fight was personal.


Outnumbered and with the enemy hot on their heels the Hood Bandits knew that they had to make a decision. As the chase continued down the road Sir Papeth noticed that the assaulting PEC formation was starting to thin out and become unorganized. Capitalizing on the situation Sir Papeth used a frenzied volley of spells to force back the oncoming PEC pursuers and give his company some space. With a few seconds to spare the Hood bandits prepared to strike back. Once the spell volley from Papeth had ceased the PEC warriors came charging back.

Sir Papeth yelled out his commands and the two charging sides exchanged fire. Curses and spells flew widely. The scene erupted into brief chaos and echoes of magical warfare carried into the nearby countryside. Just as soon as the clash began, it suddenly ceased. In the wake of the clearing smoke a lifeless PEC warrior laid still on the road. The PEC pursuers were now in a full retreat. The tide had turned.

Back up the road the Hood Bandits chased. Harassing PEC with spells and slowing them down with curses. Eventually one fell behind. His comrades briefly carried on before noticing that this poor soul was in an extremely unfortunate position. Like hungry wolves to a lamb the Hood Bandits devoured him.

The remaining PEC warriors routed at the sight of another slayed brethren. Their rank and formation was no longer organized and they fled chaotically through the woods. The Hood Bandits, not yet satisfied with their victory, pursued. A PEC straggler was chosen as their next victim. Unable to move quickly through the terrain the Hood Bandits closed the gap and were soon right behind him. The PEC straggler desperately tried to run into a wagon and hide but it was too late. The Hood Bandits were simply too fast and too skilled at maneuvering through the trees. In his own home the PEC soldier was brutally executed. His body left to bleed out and stain the floors of the wooden wagon.


*Memory ends*

Sir Papeth found himself taken back to reality when he heard a few guild members recall into the guild house. He stood up, stretched, finished the herb in his pipe, and then walked off downstairs carrying the bottle of rum. He had enough action for the day, now he simply wanted to get drunk.

Sir Papeth paced back and forth. He was eager to hear an update on the situation. Some days ago a unit of Andarian soldiers had taken up a post in the farms east of the city. In a landmark known as The Rolling Hills. It was an elevated rolling valley of fields, most of it farm lands for cabbage, carrots, and wheat.

He disagreed with the incursion,, but it’s not like his opinion was considered anyway. City law had him labeled as an outlaw. Lucky for Sir Papeth, The Rolling Hills were outside of guard zone, he was free to travel and trade there. Sometimes he got lucky and found treasure hunters taking buried riches. He would chase away the diggers and take the wealth, usually sharing it with the local farmers.

The thought of soldiers occupying the area sickened him and he desired their removal. He asked a comrade, a skilled and feared warrior known as Suzy Rivers to complete the task. She was cool with the request, especially because he offered her bags fine herbs, jugs of aged wine, and stacks of gold. She asked another Hood comrade to assist her, a skilled shadow archer. He happily agreed.

Using the recall spell Suzy and her partner were quick to The Rolling Hills. The camp was spotted in the middle of a field. The unit of soldiers were caught off gaurd when one was hit with an iron bolt. The metal tip penetrate the soldier’s leather gorget and struck his jugular. Blood spurted out staining the ground. Suzy used both her sword skill and magic to cut down her opponents. They were little match for her abilities. She out manuevered the footmen and blocked incoming arrows with magical charms. She summoned lighting bolts and casted mindblasts, the shield formation the footmen tried to make was easily scattered. A few were picked off by her spells, magical fire arrows tearing into their body and limbs. The captain tried his best to rush her but she casted an energy bolt that tore through his breastplate. He tried to hang on to his horse’s reigns but a crushing blow from Suzy’s halberd sent him toppling. The soldiers lost heart when they saw their captain fall and tried to flee. The Hood shadow archer took them out.

The skirmish didn’t last long, the camp was now empty besides for Suzy and her comrade. She searched through some crates and bag. Nothing much, just some food and ale. The captain also had very little on his body. Just a book and some bandages.

“Poor and in service to the rich.” She thought to herself. “Sent to the slaughter like lambs, here to enforce the will of the elite.” She felt a little bad, but began rationalized within. Tthey had made their choice. They had turned their backs on the land when they made their oath to the nobility and not to the commoner. They were on the wrong side of history, or so she thought. She departed from the area, leaving the bodies to the local wildlife.


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Sir Papeth

A cold sea breeze blew softly. With it followed a light spray of ocean water. A tall and broad man stood before a crowd of individuals dressed in black.

“He was a good man, maybe not always abiding by the laws of kingdoms, but he was a good man none-the-less. What do the laws of the kingdom have to do with a free man of the people anyways? He treated everyone fairly and would give the shirt off his back to another who needed it. All Frank Lucas wanted in life was to provide for his friends and family. He didn’t want riches, glory, or fame. He just wanted simple happiness in life.” Funeral stood at the front of a sorrow filled crowd. They were silent, some soft whimpers and sniffles could be heard here and there.

“His life was robbed by Sir Black of Hailstone. Murdered in cold blood in Pulma, for reasons unknown. While we will not go silent over this act of barbaric violence, we will briefly give Frank his moment of silence.”

The rest of the ceremony was carried out symbolically. The whole time the widow of Frank and her three children remained motionless and blank, still suffering from the shock of losing a loved one.

After the ceremony had finished there was food and drinks for all the guests. Above the event floor sat Sir Papeth and his comrades. Their mood was grim and dismal. They sat quietly, drinking and blowing smoke clouds.

“So what are we gonna do boss?” Asked Paul, a comrade to Sir Papeth.

“I’ve sent Superman to send Sir a message, I want an answer for this. I have always been friends with Sir of Hailstone so I will give them a chance. The Sir Guild says they are ‘followers of the virtues’ yet they do this? We will find out their reasoning for this and we will have justice.”

Suzy Rivers and PLC scoffed, they didn’t want answers, they wanted blood.


Super arrived at Hailstone with his message. To his surprise, he was greeted by none other than Sir Black. He delivered the message from Sir Papeth, questioning his decisions and why Frank didn’t receive a fair trial. “You carried out capital punishment with nothing more besides accusations and suspicious. You murdered a man in cold blood.”

Sir Black laughed and scoffed at Super. “Yeah I killed him,” he boastfully claimed. “It was a righteous killing. And I would gladly do it again.”

Superman tried to argue that the execution was unjust but Sir Black continued to mock him. When other Sir knights came to spectate the scene, they too agreed with Sir Black. They had no remorse, they had no conviction. They truly believed that the execution of Frank Lucas, a man with a family to take care of, a man who had done no wrong, was just and righteous. With the message delivered and with no more to say, Supermen returned to inform Sir Papeth of what had happened.

Sir Papeth was irate. He had given Sir Black and the Sir Guild a chance to explain their reasoning and own up to the mistake. But instead, the opposite was done. Sir Black happily admitted that he killed Frank Lacus and the Sir guild claimed it was justified. In reality, Sir Black had acted as if he was judge, jury, and executioner. A man, slain over a mistake of “stealing” when the only evidence was accusations. Initially, Sir Papeth was hopeful that the Sir Guild would do something and handle it. Unfortunately they had shown their true colors. Time for discussion had passed, it was now time for action.

Sir Papeth sent out word calling others to come and join him in his plight, justice for Frank. With many loyal warriors ready to aid him in his conquests a company of skilled mages was quickly formed and within a day they were marching towards Hailstone. When they arrived, a young Outride of Sir was lounging in front of Hailstone Hall. When he spotted Sir Papeth he wasn’t aware of the ongoing feud and was caught by surprise by his magical spells. He met his demise before he could even speak. Sir Papeth felt some pity for him, a young soul caught up in a battle not his. But, this was part of war and Hailstone had to pay for their intolerable actions.

Sir Papeth expected this to draw out the knights from Hailstone Hall, but they hid within, refusing to leave. He figured they’d at least come and claim the body, but they did not budge. The defensives of Hailstone Hall were intimidating, the walls stood tall and were unable to be breached. Sir Papeth knew that a siege was unlikely, as he did not have the manpower, supplies, or the time. In an attempt to draw them out again he ordered his company to light the front fields on fire and he hurled insults at the knights inside, but again, they did not leave their walls.


While letting the lawn in front of Hailstone Hall burn Sir Papeth received scouting reports. Some Sir knights and a man involved in the murder of Frank Lucas, a man named Shoes, had been spotted outside Aegis Keep in the surrounding land east of Horse Shoe Bay. Since Sir Black was not coming to justice, Sir Papeth figured the best approach now would be bringing justice to Sir.

The skirmishes around Aegis Keep were quick and ruthless. Sir Papeth showed little mercy to his opponents who were easily cut down in the fray. Several knights, unaware of the truth behind the situation and blinded by fanaticism rode willingly into combat and ultimately, their death. Shoes, the man who was also involved in the murder of Frank Lucas, was dealt an especially cruel demise. He was paralyzed, poisoned, and pierced with over a hundred magical arrows before life left him. His lifeless body was stripped of belongings and he was left naked and charred just outside the boundaries of HorseShoe Bay. As Sir Papeth and his company rode from the scene the smell of burnt flesh filled the air and smoke rose from the singed body of Shoes.

By day's end word of Sir Papeth and his hunt for Sir Black had spread rapidly. Others were lending their ears to hear of the injustice, while others, allies of the Sir guild, rallied behind the abuse. With many eyes and ears watching the scene unfold it was only time before the whereabouts of Sir Black would be discovered. Night was just starting to set in when Sir Papeth was informed that Sir Black and a bodyguard from Path, a man named Michael, were seen just outside of Hailstone.

Sir Papeth wanted this justice to be bought with honor. So with that, he disbanded his company of mages and sent them home. He only chose one to ride with him, his loyal comrade PLC was chosen for the task. Together they rode fast to Hailstone and figured that if Sir Black and Michael saw both of them waiting, they would never confront their justice. Sir Papeth devised a quick plan. He ordered PLC to stay outside of Hailstone near the bridge leading to Urkton. Sir Papeth was going to lure them out and trick them into thinkin that the fight was going to be two against one. It was a risky plan, but Sir Papeth knew that he had to do this in order to finally ensure justice.

Just as he thought, Sir Black and Michael took the bait. The moment they spotted Sir Papeth alone they rushed him. Michael casted spells and Sir Black readied his ax and they charged his way. Sir Papeth rode north, blocking the mediocre spells from Michael and staying away from the blade of Sir Black. After moments of chase, Sir Papeth and PLC sprung their trap.

Michael was the first to fall. Bow shots from PLC and energy bolts from Sir Papeth knocked Michael from his mount and to his doom. He moaned like a back alley Prevalian wench as life was taken from him. Sir Black, stunned by the ambush, tried to flee. Yet he too was dispatched in the fray as arrows and magical curses knocked him from his mount. As he lay on his back, paralyzed and in despair, Sir Papeth muttered a few words “Justice for Frank” before delivering the final blow that ended his life.

Sir Papeth returned to his domain. Filled with a mix of emotions. He had brought justice for Frank, but the justice brought would never bring Frank back. He felt a void. A void which he had filled with revenge, thus it was empty. His comrade Frank, a loyal follower, someone who had been his right hand in serving the people and peasants, was forever gone. A widow and three children, now fatherless. They were delighted by the news, but the news would never bring Frank back. Sir Papeth and the fatherless family stood silent for some moments, pondering the future without Frank. All Sir Papeth could offer was gold, which the widow accepted. But in the end, Frank was gone, and Sir Papeth could not offer the children their most valuable possession. Their father….
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Sir Papeth

The Second Great March

Here lies tales of the united warlord army that can also be referred to as: The Great Heathen Army, The Great Red Army, The 5%.

Life is not simple. People can try and categorize life and place boundaries on what is good, and what is evil, but life doesn’t work that way. Life moves in all directions, it is not binded to our plain understandings. Even though many try to classify good and evil based on “red and blue,” the reality of it all is that, it doesn’t work that way. It never has and it never will. Morality is complex and the battle of good and evil is often blurred and interchangeable.

Sir Papeth had only heard stories of the old Great Red Army. His mentor, the legendary Suzy Rivers, had told him tales about it. A time where warriors banded together to march towards something bigger than themselves. Not for simple gain like riches and loot, not even for glory, but to change something. To send a message and to challenge the “normal” way of living and thinking. It came at a time when it was needed and then once it was no longer needed, it became no more. Yet despite this, the armies of wannabe righteous “No nothing heads,” continued to mass imposing their will.

(No nothing heads) = Nickname given to the anti-pk players. The majority are dexxers with low intelligence, hence why they are called No Nothing Heads. And, like a mad bull, when they see red they charge blindly. They are also easy to trick and their only strength lies in overwhelming their opponent with massive numbers.

Enforcing their code, enforcing their ideas, all the while declaring it “virtuous”. Anyone who dared to differ in opinion or object and debate would simply be slain. Over powered, dragged down, and slaughtered. The poor bard who took some extra gold from a wealthy aristocrat, chased down and slain because he was a “criminal.” The starving farmer trying to make a living by taking near spoiled cabbage from prosperous land owners, mercilessly executed. But, they were criminals, they were “evil.” The no nothing heads didn’t think or consider the reality beyond the bounds, they only saw what was not “innocent” and killed. They didn’t see who the person was, they didn’t see the humanity. They marched and gathered unchallenged, boasting of being "virtuous saviors of righteousness." All the while overwhelming and butchering any opposition.

It was because of this Sir Papeth knew the world needed to change. Change isn’t rapid, it is gradual. And change cannot be done alone, it must be done together. He didn’t know what the change was going to be, he just knew that a change was needed. The current narrative of "order and virtue" needed to be challenge. He knew the mountain before him was massive, but every journey begins with a step. So with that first step he began his adventure. He needed to muster the warlords.


Sir Papeth first rode out to one of his old companions. A man he had fought alongside in many battles. A great war lord with a great army, The Lord Funeral of the Iron Alliance, a man he revered and respected.


The two enjoyed their time together in the back champagne rooms of the lavish keep. The wealth of Lord Funeral was impressive, all of it gained through the glory of combat. And unlike other rich lords, Lord Funeral was open to any and every man being able to obtain wealth. All that was needed was bravery and perseverance, he did not discriminate against a mans trade. He embraced the variety of how one made their fortune.

Lord Funeral listened to the words of Sir Papeth, nodding and agreeing. Sir Papeth wasn’t sure if he truly agreed or if he just wanted the glory of war. Either way it seemed that by the end of the discussion Lord Funeral had agreed to join the cause.

Sir Papeth traveled across the lands to meet with another dear friend. Pleonexia the Bubblegum Brute. In a wooden hall the two sat and Sir Papeth pitched his proposition.



By the end of their time, and after many drinks, Pleonexia was eager to join the cause.
Sir Papeth had met the warlord Johnny Lawrence of Cobra Kai on a few occasions. He had heard tales of him, and had fought him several times. Unlike with Lord Funeral and Pleonexia the Bubblegum Brute he did not fully know the warlord. Yet, Sir Papeth didn’t let that stop him from approaching. He first sent a messenger, waited a day, and got his response. Johnny Lawrence agreed to meet. Sir Papeth rode forth to the “Dojo” of Cobra Kai.




The two discussed. Sir Papeth told him of what he believed called for unity between the war lords. They needed to march towards something bigger than themselves, something that they could only do together as one army. Sir Papeth shared his ideas of challenging the order of the land and reshaping the balance. To support those who needed it, and to take from those who had to much. After some time of discussion and ale drinking Johnny Lawrence came to agree.

Sir Papeth knew that in order for this army to have a greater chance at succeeding he needed to secure more “front line soldiers.” Warriors willing to fight at the front line and die if need be. And not just any warriors. Strong warriors, ferocious warriors, warriors that only knew war. Sir Papeth needed the urks. Luckily for him he knew a bit of their language and knew what they loved, shiny gold. He loaded two pack horses with 100,000 gold pieces and made his journey to the fort. He found a company of them gathering outside and just before they unleashed hell on him he quickly communicated his intent.

After handing over the pack horses he saw the eyes of the urks light up. They had their shinies and Sir Papeth had their support, at least for now.

Sir Papeth himself had his own warriors to call upon. From supportive tribal war bands, from allies, and from loyal mages in Hood he gathered a company under his own banner. Just as he did, the other Warlords of Avadon mustered their forces and those that followed them. Soon enough. The Great Red Army was now ready to march on the land. Only fate knew what the future would hold.







“Fight on warriors, fight on for the brother next to you!”

The battle near the entrance of Pulma raged with ferocity. The Great 5% Army had pillaged and purged the deep levels of the dungeon, gathering a bountiful amount of wealth and fortune. All of it to be donated to the impoverished lower class of the realms. Taken from the rich and wealthy marquess, it was only fitting for it all to be given back to the people who needed it the most. On their way out stood a sizeable army of “no nothing heads.” Mere “holier-than-thou” pawns of the already fat pocketed aristocrats. They were here stop them and to reclaim the riches.

The two sides clashed into one another. Spells flew widely, swords struck, shields splintered, arrows and throwing axes rained back and forth across the lines. Blood Eaglewings, a loyal commander of Lord Funeral, was at the front of the conflict leading the men.

“Keep the formation!” He shouted commands as the soldiers followed his lead. “Not one step back! We push through them! Focus their center and break through!” The two sides became interlocked, pushing back and forth. Blood Eaglewing knew that if the army did not get out into open ground then the “no nothing heads” would continue to pour in and over whelm them. They had to break past them and he had to spearhead the move.

A foe came before Blood Eaglewing, a common “no nothing head” by the name of Skuli. The two squared off as the battle around them continued to rage. Skuli shot an arrow from his crossbow towards Eaglewing, he ducked below it. Skuli shot another crossbow but Eaglewing, with magic, turned it into steam. Skuli tried to attack for a third time but Eaglewing, anticipating it, rolled to the left and casted an energy bolt. He struck Skuli square in the chest, collapsing his lungs and taking the life from him. Skuli moaned like a peasant woman being humped on a warm summer night and then fell over lifeless like a rag doll.

“WE GO NOW! CHARGE!” With the slaying of his opponent Blood Eaglewing unsheathed his sword and charged into the opposing line. The men, encouraged and inspired by his skillful display of war and courage, charged with him.

The defensive line shattered under the weight of the charge. One by one as Blood Eaglewing called out commands the “no nothing heads” were surrounded and cut down. Their formation had been shattered, they were now in full rout.


The way out of Pulma was no longer challenged. The Great Heathen Army was now chasing down the foes that once stood to face them. It was easy pickings for them. The puppets of the wealthy offered little support to each other, when one fell behind he was left like a lamb to the wolves. Eventually, the last remnants of the force that stood against them was chased onto the fields outside of Pulma and butchered.

Not a single man in Blood Eaglewing’s company had been slain. Some injured, but not one life lost. The riches secured for the people who needed them and the Red Army, alive to fight and raid another day.

All things must come to an end, and with it, the army that wreaked chaos and has now disbanded.


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Sir Papeth

The Great Red Army has returned. Across the land people are remembering old stories and tales of the legendary force that marched across Avadon enforcing it's will. This time a new term has risen to dub this powerful force. The people call it, The Crimson Army.
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