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Carts Before Horses

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TomFunks

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Nathannenel Eruedraith, once hailed as Hadrian the Hero, smiled to himself while the world sleeps. He snacked on his mixed nuts that were in his packed lunch for the day, tossing them into his mouth and seeing if he could catch them in his mouth. "My favorite noble house! I know you just arrived down south, but I am glad you are carving your own path." Nathan penned a letter to Baldric then, careful not to stain the paper with grapes and pomegranate bits. "John's path does not lead to the Crown and neither should you serve an unfaithful man. Forgive and rebuild." 

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Ivona Stroheim cast her gaze over the missive with furrowed brows. It was the right decision that they had made, of course, but it did not make it any less frustrating that the family found themselves intent on relocating once more.

"Good on you, Vourkehardts... A shit city anyways. They sell no cigarettes."

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"Ah, I thought I made it clear that no one from the line of John I of Novellen deserves the throne at this time until they have proven themselves true to the LIGHT due to this family's recent shenanigans." The Cardinal-Regent murmured in thought, "Perhaps I should release a missive, proclaiming such, along with the minutes of the Peer meeting taken by Don Achillius." 

He then raised a brow at the middle paragraph. "Hmm...August did indeed say such, for John wished to hunt down those spawns of Iblees who had harmed the virtuous Reverend Stefaniya, although I do not recall chanting this young man's name. But I do remember telling him scoldingly to admit to his fallibility in San Adriano. Odd hearsay, I can only pray to GOD that humanity seeks truth not hearsay. Nevertheless, if they wish to leave then so be it. No harm shall befall them, I wish them the best of luck, a good family they are albeit I dislike any politicking and chicanery from either side of this situation." 


 

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"I suppose it is wrong to chant for a man who wishes to battle against the darkspawn.. we should recall the context for such chanting but alas." Thought the Amiratus as he nodded along. "Or perhaps we should release his dealings."

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Esfir nervously looked to her husband. ". . . The meeting did niet go well, Ea presume?"

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Baldric Vourkehardt hoisted up a crate, setting it firmly into the cart. He let out a sigh of relief, a job well done and now finally concluded. He looked back towards Portoregne, reminiscing on the memories, yet all that he could bring himself to do was shrug.

His stallions had been safely transferred to a separate ranch for holding, but he had found a helpful rancher who let him borrow a Balianite Mustang instead. It had an odd affinity to trotting behind his cart, however.

“Oh well,” the former Baron thought. “A strange preference, but how will the cart move forward?” He joked to the horse, managing a chuckle despite his exhaustion. Then, he realized he was talking to a horse and sighed.

Wrangling the horse into its reins, he set off at a slow trot, thinking back to his last few saintsdays. The way that they had treated one who had stood against their faith was concerning. He hoped communication would rend such an exodus unneeded, yet any time he attempted to speak to his fellow Balianites, he had found that their opinions only formed or changed after a night’s rest, when they fell asleep. That morning, he seemed to have a gut feeling that the Conspirator would have his inheritance restored. Only as he was leaving did this Balianite custom find him.

 

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Artyom Kasimir Sarkozic, the current patriarch of House Sarkozic var Helenz, sat at his desk within his office alongside his eldest son, Edmund Joseph Sarkozic. A faint sigh slipped from his lips as he read along the massive. As he continued to read, he'd take faint sips of a glass of fine wine. "Y find it rather unsettling that vy speak of a mure child as a traitor, or someone whom vy view as a harmful man. It's sad that someone who seeked the best for vy're family, vy now slander. " The male slid his chair back, before pulling out a dagger from the table cabinet. After doing that, the male brought the dagger up, before stabbing it into the paper that layed on hsi desk.  "It's disgusting that the same nation, the same blood whom granted vy a home within their walls vy now slander. Y would say good Ridens with vy all and take vy're mixed bloods to a nation that vy allow such actions, from men who claim to be canonist." Upon concluding his statement, he took one last final sip of his glass, before taking his leave from the office alongside his soon.

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Valeska Vourkehardt yawned, smacking her lips. 
 

"No hate, but I hear 'eugh, Balian' more than 'Ave Balian'."
 

Spoiler

 

 

Edited by melonth
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Sweat perspired on the bridge of the Vourkehardt's nose as the blazing sun beat down on him in the humid jungle climate. The rhythmic ticking from Wernher's right arm setting the pace for his work as he wordlessly toiled. The crates stacked on the cart, one after the other, placed neatly and packed tightly together. He stepped back to admire his handiwork, flicking a piece of dirt off of his gauntlet into the waters outside of Portoregne. Many thoughts ran through The Alchemist's mind during this tumultuous time, but one lingered longer than the others... "I should probably add more cushioning for my potions"

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Ser Alteon Gwynadar saw the missive and began to prepare the fiefdom, cleaning it and making it more presentable.

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Marcel Vuiller would read the missive with a frown, before putting it aside on the table, muttering "You speak of carts before horses, when you seek to break and throw aside your oaths as Peers, Duana, Officers, and Kingsguard because you are to impatient to let the son of the man who gave you your titles, both of whom you swore to guard and serve, seek penance. We swore to uphold the Line of Balian, and John is heir, unless the Regency definitively disqualifies him. Skipping in the line until then is the treason and politicking of vultures, which the Cardinal banned." he'd then toss the missive in the fire, and move towards the shrine of St. Harald to pray guidance and protection from his ancestor in these difficult times.

 

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The elder Ser Robyn de Lyons would read the missive, letting out a dry, humorless chuckle "Seems they have not read the history of the nation to which they moved. I say of them what I say of the fools in the Sarkozics and Kervallens who deigned to break their oaths for political convenience - a man who forsakes his honour and vows for his own ambition is little better than a beast. Seems many have failed to learn that lesson. Even some closer to home..." The old lawman would frown at that, gazing out over the walls of Enderoca towards the sea, bracing his weakening frame on the crenelations of his keep as he'd think of days and oaths past, and of newer matters that have troubled his mind, even close to home.

 

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The young Balianese Prince would read the missive before folding it up and tossing it off so the wind would carry it into the sea outside his window as he'd pout slightly, mumbling "I suppose those sparring lessons won't be coming from them at least..." He'd let out a small sigh, before going back to one of his books.

Edited by SmartScout
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Paloma Galbraith sat at the edge of Cascanova's new property, surrounded by a sea of blueprints. Yet, her attention was not on the carefully drawn plans before her, but rather on the well-worn pages of The Canonist Scrolls in her hands. Her brow furrowed in contemplation, and a trace of indecision clouded her features as she voiced her inner turmoil aloud.
"I must confess a sense of empathy for my former peers—the Vourkehardt's. To witness the throne fall to the will of the Canonist Church - even in this momentary period - diminishes the sovereignty of this very kingdom. Singlehandedly does it uplift the voices of those whose air ought to be spent interpreting the will of GOD, placing themselves in stations once secular."

She paused, her words hanging in the air, before continuing with a thoughtful resolve: "HOWEVER, I should wish for my Kingdom- and particularly those who lead it- to harbor virtue and abide by the word of GOD; whether that be of their own interpretation or those seemingly surfeited by GOD's loudest zealots. Indeed, I do find the methods of GOD to be derived from a relationship between MAN and his or her creator; not one of any state or church. Nevertheless, my time and efforts will remain my own, guided by careful thought and reflection. My adherance and loyalty to my Kingdom and her Governing body - aswell as to my Creator and his word - stays forever my own."

She then recited softly, as if seeking solace in the scripture:
"Shall I worship the strong man? Shall you worship the tallest among you? No, for the glory of GOD is not in mere magnitude, but in His fullness and His perfection."

Her gaze drifted upward to the sky, a brief wince betraying the headache brought on by thoughts of the current political turmoil in Balian.
"Verily, brother, the Lord GOD is the whole and only god..."

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Marius sighed heavily and wiped his brow of sweat as he placed a heavy trunk upon the horse drawn cart, the hot balian sun beating down in an almost oppressive fashion whilst his son read the missive aloud to him whilst he worked. "You know....I only hope those that stay here can figure things out without us and anyone else who jumps ship. Though, then again....maybe its for the best as my commute just got a hell of a lot shorter!"

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