Age of Hope YR1 Epistle

Dear Father,
The new age has arrived in Warrior's Oath and the declaration has come to prepare for war. Uncle Edmund has set a high standard and called upon provinces to muster their Dark Elf populations. Yet, even as I write, I have experienced my first war.
In the dwindling months of the past age, great aggression was taken against us by Alti Istari. Their attacks were seemingly unprovoked, but welcome. Wise King Vincent quickly set about ordering escalations in our kingdom stance toward them.
We then received word of a Ruby Dragon project against us and King Vincent immediately ordered the development of our own. A Gold. The kingdom rallied behind our King and threw all possible resource into it's creation, conjuring the beast within a month, and we sent it, spiraling into the heavens at great speed to cripple our foe. But shortly after, Alti Istari had finally financed it's own devil.
Father, in the days of your own glorious kingdom, your beloved followers at length, criticized your refusal to utilize the dragon in war. Even I, your son, at time felt ashamed that such an obvious advantage was never part of your reign. I now know why.
The putrid demon that should never have existed tormented and tortured our people for a month before it was finally killed, if indeed such a thing is possible to kill.
The Ruby Dragon targeted our military centers. It would scream it's wretched, blood curdling, scream high in our skies, sending the population running mad, and then there would be the thick, palpable silence. Countless times it would do this, always right before crashing down from the clouds, or dead on from the blinding sun, or in the dead of night, ripping the roofs off of the barracks and devouring terrified soldiers. No soldier that attacked could live to attack again.
My God, the evil deduction and calculation of the demon was unworldly. Every man that so much as raised a stone against it would live. The monster knew all with sadistic wrath and would let no attacker live, saving it be a short time whilst the abomination mutilated and tortured many in retarded and perverted fashion.
My men were so brave father. The Dwarven specialists would that no more of there kingdom brethren be disgraced as such and cried with one voice that I, myself lead them against the demented sub-animal, and would that I swear an oath not to attack it, that I might tell the tale of their bravery. And I will. And every word is soaked in tears for the example of my beloved axemen.
More than ten thousand along side warriors descended on the hills of Pharia, where the beast displayed it's latest madness. It beat it's great wings upon the roofs, daring the armies of Lord Pharaphet to die. My men begged me to kneel beside them along the hidden side of the citadel of Pharia and recite the Warrior's Oath to give them strength. Then we fell upon the beast. I climbed to the bell tower of the citadel and gasped audibly at the immense size of the Ruby Dragon. I remembered in horror, the much greater Gold Dragon we had sent to the lands of Alti Istari, and felt great sadness for the people of our foes' lands.
I called loudly the commands for our practiced plot... to distract the beast with a sizable ground attack, while flanking the horror, in attempt to bind it down with great lengths of flaxen cord. It was working... I think. Thousands of soldiers held the nightmare down while countless more barraged it with arrow, axe, and spear. It continued to flounder, lashing out with incredible force. It leveled platoons of men with it's malicious spiked tale, and engulfed many more in flame which could not be tamed. It's wrath was so great, it began to minimize my army just as we thought it would end. I called for the last attempt. All reserve units descended upon the dragon with the intent to severe it's spine and cut the monstrosity in two.
A hundred men leapt upon it's back as all others bore down on the flaxen cord in pointless attempt to hold it down. It worked... I think. The men severed the beast in half and it's black blood spewed for great distances, sizzling the ground, homes, and flesh like acid.
I will never forget the sight I saw next. A thousand men still alive, stood cheering their victory as the two pieces of tortured mess fought loose of the slack cord and began without mercy to kill off every last living soul that had taken part. The hind quarters kicked and jumped and flung it's tail in whirlwind fashion through a company of axemen while the head and wings exploded in frantic gnashing and fire spewing terror across the open courtyard of the citadel where the remainder of my forces retreated for shelter.
I looked down at my dieing, screaming men below and drew my sword. My Oath to my men would be short lived. The dragon drew near unto the bell tower and I knew I could finish it with a leap from the great height. But just as I was about to jump, my executive officer crashed into me, knocking me down. His face was have missing from the sizzling blood of the demon spawn. He calmly reminded me of my Oath and without warning, leaped from the tower. I heard the serpent wail in rage as I scrambled to see. The leap kill my officer but his sword struck true, right between it's eyes. It's gaze moved upward toward me and howled an ear-piercing call of madness as it beat it's wings and rose to look level into my eyes, feet from my face. It's stinking breath suffocating me, I vomited as I reached for my rapier, but before I could again attempt to break my Oath to the men, it crashed into the tower, knocking me back against it's inner wall. I heard the tortured scream one last time before the flying head escaped into the burning night, and I lost consciousness.
The war ended with the age in stalemate, much to the fortune of Alti Istari, for Wise King Vincent had placed us in position to be the victors.
Until next year, may the Lords of Utopia be kind, father.
Your son, Romney