Author Topic: A Commoner's Plighte  (Read 67 times)

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A Concerned Commoner

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on: September 14, 2021, 06:52:10 PM
A COMMONER'S PLIGHT

Lissen now to the Commoner's Plighte, long forgotten and long abandoned; we the people demand a voice. A voice not given to us, a voice we will demand, a voice we will procure.

The denizens of the Little Ticker, the thought and the mistyke of LOST CAUSE, we know deep down this movement is less for a Tick and more for the Little Man. That is in the name, is it not?

LITTLE Ticker, is not just a place for the REFUGEES of that place endowed in dragonfire, but it is the place, the sanctuary of the LITTLE MAN. The common man, the man who is the silent and hot-fire churn of the Peerage and its sturdy backbone.

Who, I pray ask, tills the fields? Crafts your steel and your iron? Your potions and your scrolls? Tends to the knowledge if not so lost to us, but thank the Smallgods that the working classe of our growing civilization had opt- had chosen, willfilly and honourably, to tend to our written literature. Words that would be lost to us; words not lost to us, for the Commoner's Plighte reaches many bounds of duty.

I say, LITTLE TICKER no more; BIG TICKER, all the same. But let us sing true this Plighte o'er ours, let us sing true this song of the people. The song of a thousand dead and a thousand still working. Those  who hath lost their home to the MARAUDING GHYL. They were not warriors, but warriors in spirit; in hearth and soul.

Let the COMMON MAN unite. Let the COMMON MAN plant righteous word on the doors of the GREAT HOUSES, to let them know - we will not go quietly into that dark and wicked night.

NO REST FOR THE WICKED.

A DAY'S LONG HAUL OUGHT BE REWARDED WITH LAND AND ESTATE, VOICE UPON GOVERNANCE; CHOICE TO CHANGE, LOVE FOR OUR NEIGHBOURHOOD.

Lissen now, to the Commoner's Plighte all ye of the Peerage. We mean no violence but revolution, to form proper government, to have a seat and a SAY. We demand it, we deserve it, for we are the backbone and without us ye would all STARVE. Ye would all crumble underneath your weight of noble decadence. The Blueblood Swords of Dorvant march on hills unknown, but their bags empty without the COMMON MAN to fill it upon diligent day of work and harbour.

A HIP, HIP HURRAY- FOR THE COMMON MAN.

A HIP, HIP PARADE- FOR THE COMMON MAN.

EN GARDE!

SIGN YOUR NAME BELOW IF YOU ARE A CITIZEN OF THIS PEERAGE, YET NOT A RETAINER; DECLARE YOUR CRAFT, YOUR WORK, YOUR PURPOSE! SHOW THE PEERS IT IS MORE THAN COLOURS THAT RULE THESE LANDS!