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The Fate of Kasimir Carrion

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OOC Note: I am not the one who wrote this, save the precursor to the actual diary entries themselves. This was written by Knox213, who asked me to post in his stead.

 

Karloman had always reserved a special place in his heart for old relics. The issue was, of course, obtaining them in the first place. Though he was an adventurer at heart, he had never had the funds to launch a full expedition to any of the fabled lands of beyond. With a long travel to a new continent, young Karloman knew that the few relics that existed now lay in the possessions of others. His recent employment under the Duchy of Adria had piqued his interest for anything even remotely related to Adria, for to find something valuable in the name of Duke Paul or Good Timeo would bring him not money or fame, but the fulfillment of knowing he had done his duty to his liege and friend.

 

Karloman’s daily stroll throughout the pleasant, if busy, streets of Ves had now brought him to the marketplace. The trinkets, tools, and odds and ends interested him little. What did catch his eye, however, was a stranger sitting atop a filthy, tattered rug. Before the stranger, an older man whose thick, black beard was just beginning to grey, sat a few uninspiring bibelots and knick-knacks. However, almost hidden behind him was a small, leatherbound book. It had few pages, and looked to be as old and worn as the rug. Though it likely held nothing, to Karloman’s surprise the man offered little for it, only a few spare minae that Karloman had planned to spend at the tavern later. After the transaction, Karloman strode away, taking great care to protect the decaying book as he returned home to properly inspect it.

 

Upon reading the contents Karloman immediately set to work making copies, rushing the first of many to Duke Paul himself. The rest would be spread among Ves, and later the other great cities of the Empire.

 

 

 

The Fate of Kasimir Carrion.


 

The year is 1697, my twin brother and I originally came to Atlas in pursuit of our father, though my brother was savagely killed during a trial by ordeal. Though I was young at the time, I had never felt so alone… in a distant land far away where I would find few friends and instead find myself being dragged into political intrigue.  I was young and naive, which I suppose many people took advantage of. Growing up I had always imagined that my brother and I would travel the known world, he as the prophesied Stran and I his trusted advisor, however, the tables had turned and I would bear the responsibility of the title. I kept my intentions hidden, concealed from the world before disappearing entirely and with the blessing of my father following an incident with my betrothed departed from the lands aged eleven to pursue the knowledge of our Mother Ruska and the teaching of what it had meant to be Stran. I have not thought much of Atlas since my departure, though the few people I encountered sometimes dwell on my mind from time to time. I do wonder what could have been, were I to stay.

 

Signed,

Kasimir

 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

1700

 

The company I keep are unlike any other I have encountered before on my travels, many of which distinguished Cossacks of our great family whom I have befriended on my travels. We have the likes of Tomasz and Ivan, war veterans who are deadly with both sword and spear, though past their prime I imagine one day will make ideal Stranniks. Though a boy of seventeen it amazes me how these people would follow somebody as inexperienced as myself. The search for the last fragment of Stran’s spear continues, our journey has taken us through rain forest and desert, long forgotten tombs and dungeons. Did I mention we saw a flying serpent? Though terrifying I could not help to think that it was somewhat majestic in a way. It is strange to think that our lord Godanistan would create such beasts though I am sure he has his reasons.

 

Signed,

Kasimir

______________________________________________________________________________


 

1701

 

We have come across what I believe to be the ruins of Brelus, a town once held by one of our cadet branches… It’s bizarre to think that though this land now long forgotten and ruined was once teeming with life, though wildlife has returned and the carrion crow flies, it is hard to imagine humanity settling here.

Our search set us upon an old ruin, a days ride from the town of Brelus within a swamped marsh with a sinking ruin, the owner of this once formidable fort thought well in its positioning. We used the various keys collected over the past two centuries to open its vault, various family standards stood amongst what looks to be lost relics, though their significance and worth would amount to nothing due to the damage they had sustained over the years of decay and damp. Though tattered and ruined, a few of these banners include House Stafyr, House Vladov, House Varodyr, our own house and last but not least House Ruthern. Our search for the last scroll which will lead us to the spearhead continues.

 

Signed,

Kasimir

______________________________________________________________________________

 

1701

 

The scroll has been recovered, in the unlikeliest of places. Upon leaving the ruins and travelling one of the men noticed a blade had been planted in the ground, which had been easily missed given the over-growth which had taken the area over. This blade is magnificent, unlike any kind of craftsmanship I have ever seen. Ivan insists the material it was created from is from a meteorite and the wielder of such a blade must have been one of the mightest of swordsmen. A few names come to mind, do you recall them, father? Upon pressing the emerald within the pommel and pulling up on it a note fell free from the tang.

We will not linger here much longer, our journey takes us to Mount Augustus.

 

Signed,

Kasimir

______________________________________________________________________________

 

1703

 

The order of the Stranniks has officially been restored, with all those in my company being added to its ranks. We’ve some work to go before we can officially be recognised like the warriors of old. I wonder if my predecessors are watching over me. What makes a good ruler? How does one decide who lives, and who dies? More recently these questions weigh heavily on my mind. Did my predecessors have these worries? Who knows. The spearhead has been reclaimed, for the first time in seven hundred years all the fragments have come together. I will return home shortly, but we have one last piece of our journey. To the Krelmstad within the march of the Raev, our ancestral home.

 

All of my love.

 

Signed,

Kasimir

______________________________________________________________________________

 

1704

 

We have arrived at the eternal emperors grave, alongside King Heinrik and my predecessor Fredek. Over the hill lies the Krelm, though still incomplete all these years on it remains as formidable as one would’ve thought. I wonder if any of Diedriks work remains. Ivan and Tomasz say they’ve seen lanterns in the distance, we’ll take position within the Krelm.

 

Signed,

Kasimir

______________________________________________________________________________

 

1704

 

We are besieged by an unknown foe. I fear we are outnumbered, rations grow short and the men look for inspiration for a fight that will inevitably come. I believe this is the end father, Ratibor and who else may read these letters. I apologise that you never had the chance to see the man I had become or the feats I had accomplished. Remember me as the boy who sat at his piano idly playing whilst the world went on around me. I hear the battering ram approaching the gate, the spear has been hidden deep within the vaults. As the lady Ipera of our house once said…If crows don’t come as crows, just a crow as a crow, we’d be all harrow and Barrow.

 

The enemy is at the gates. The Stranniks lead the charge.


 

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Matthias signs the cross, deeply mourning at having lost another friend of his childhood. Kasimir used to pull Matthias around by the runt’s suspenders, thus the reason Matthias no longer wears suspenders. He only wishes he knew where the rest of the Jolly Ruskan Children went.

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Aleksandra Sophia peruses the accounts of Kasimir’s life upon his departure, the frown etched unto her countenance creasing further within as the assumed death of her once-betrothed wafts through her consciousness. ”Dream well, Kaz’. I sort of forgive you for knocking me out of that tree,”  She mutters lowly to herself, cradling her bundled children within her arms.  

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