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St. Charles’ hands hath built this home

 

St. Otto’s wisdom guides it

 

St. Julia’s touch hath warmed its hearth

 

St. Emma’s steel defends it

 

-Haensian Folk Hymnal

 

wuhs5UhUBB8LAj2A8Cv8apYw5x2N7mDlvC3B9cktV7uhVcYqobLosP1amKqegueOVkP00biiYnKuJhy2scP87kR7_Fp0431UrwPliaRCw-VYRVtp_kcEX9E_pvi0nEkimFzDTUBo

 

Siegrad at Nightfall, Unknown

 

Over the high moores of the southern wastes, a great fog began to build. It descended low over the sleetfells, suffocating the forlorn homesteads of frontiersmen in a cold blanket, choking the life out of the lanterns that warded them from the night. Like a ghostly avalanche, it rolled down the Czena, swallowing the tiny docks that jutted defiantly into the thundering river. Fishermen fled before it, for their hearts had grown faint at the touch of the fog’s chilled hand. It crept up the rocky edifice of the Krepost, spilling over the walls in a silent torrent. Shutters slammed tightly shut as the streets ran white, and the city drowned.
 

The tranquil morning is broken by the clamor of church bells, nine, paced knells signaling a death. Whispered word spreads quickly among the townsfolk.

 

Too young, he was, sighed the young maids of Markev. Too young to die like that. Young aye, answered the old maids. But he had the walk of an older man. Indifferent, like his life was already spent.

 

The Crown had little solace to offer the population, save that Franz, cousin to the King and acting Chancellor, would be assuming the throne, his coronation due in the next Saint’s Day. There were no great outpourings of grief, no murals, no pomp or fanfare to mark the passing of a man deserving of all those honors, and more.

 

For the dead King had left the People of Haense with a certain, dignified spirit that didn’t tolerate such extravagances. A quiet cremation ceremony, attended only by close friends of the Barbanov family, was all the occasion seemed to demand.

 

Karl Marius Barbanov, the Defiant, second son to Otto and a brother to all who knew him, is dead - taken by worms.  Iv Joveo Maan! May his soul find eternal peace in the Seven Skies.

 

 

 

Edited by Kingdom of Haense

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Rickard Kovachev would sigh softly, recalling his many discussions with the late King.

"May your soul have safe passage through the Soulsteam, Karl Marius Barbanov…"

The Ascended shedding a tear as he gazed upon a newly brightening star in the night sky.

Edited by GildedDuke

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 Rhys Ruthern weeps as new arrives at Helmholtz, he'd cry out to the sky, "May the young King find peace in the Seven Skies, something he hoped for here."

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Simon Birchenwald frowns upon hearing the news. “What? How did this happen to the King, of all people?”

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Helena vas Ruthern retired to her chambers. She would sit down on her bed, unsure of what to do. It was true that she was not head over heels for Karl, the man she was courting and most likely to marry. Though she could not help but to feel an emptiness in her heart after she had heard of the news. Tears now spilling down her cheeks as she looked up at her roof.

 

"The world never meant for us to marry, my dear Karl. I kept waiting for you, yet you leave me... I shall not forget you, you fool of a King" She would say, chuckling at her last words before she closed her eyes.

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Long live the king “commented Ithilian when he hears the news”

 

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