THE SHEPHERD

[Frawlic 1602]

 

ISSUED BY THE COUNTY OF JEROVITZ

c. 572 E.S.

 

 

The once-Kovachev had never wanted to be a mother. Many times she reiterated throughout her relations with Andrei that it was not a wish of hers. Dima was nervous. Nervous that whatever they may be, they’d be as sickly and rotten as herself or that maybe, she too would find ease in leaving a life built if things got difficult. Though, often did she relinquish her wants and needs to duty, and with the marriage she had built, this became hers. In such trying times, to sire an heir was never the plan, though as the days, weeks, and months stretched, she could only prepare herself for the tempestuous battles ahead, those in office, and beneath the roofs of Emsgrad.

And so, as many battles, did hers arrive, occur, and leave weariness in its wake. But the victory was sweet and her mind, fogged as it was, swayed with reconsideration that perhaps she might be a better mother, as within her arms did she hold a babe so tender. Atop the fuzz of hair on the newborn’s head did she whisper a promise she was sure even his mind would yet comprehend, and she despite the cooing of servantry and her in-laws did she refuse to offer up her hard work. It was not until her husband arrived that she found solace and a moment to speak.

“A boy.”
 

At first, there came no reaction to the newborn at hand, his fixing at his wife’s hair as to discern her condition. Only once Andrei had ensured she fared well did he manage an utterance.

“A boy?”
 

“So we will name him Frederik…?”
 

And, there was amusement found in her words, like they came at a shock with their blatancy. Some form of agreement was offered whilst he settled along the bedside to escape the fray of bustling servants.

 

 

 

It is with great jubilation that we, the Count and Countess of Jerovitz announce the birth of our firstborn son – a healthy and willful boy mirroring the resilience only of his Koravian ancestors. His appearance is similarly Koravian, with darkened brown hair and stormy eyes of blue. 

 

Within the day his name was decided upon,

 

FREDERIK OTTO KORTREVICH

( @garentoft )

 

In honor of the late Koeng Karl IV – by way of his middle name Frederik; a translation of the name Friedrich. We too, adhered to tradition and offered unto him the middle name Otto; due to his status as the eldest and firstborn son of our line. He is furthermore, recognized as the heir-apparent to any titles, lands, and hereditary honors held by us, his parents.

 

With prayers answered all that is left is to baptize him, to let him be shepherded into the fold. He shall be baptized in the coming year, at the hands of Josefina Bishop Gelimar in a private ceremony.

 

 

 

---

 

 

HIS EXCELLENCY, ANDREI OTTO KORTREVICH,

Count of Jerovitz, Viscount of Krusev, Baron of Koravia, Lord of Emsgrad,

Lord Protector of the Koravians, Lord-Captain of ve Bykursain, Knight Paramount of Hanseti-Ruska

 

THE RIGHT HONORABLE, DIMA AINA MILENA KORTREVICH,

Countess of Jerovitz, Viscountess of Krusev, Baroness of Koravia, Lady of Emsgrad, Lady Protector of the Koravians, Knight of the Marian Retinue

 

 

[Gandhi 3225]

Andrei stood upon the walls of Emsgrad, a sword dangling by his hip - enwreathed in his Bogatyr scabbard of leather dyed burgundy. He smiled, such a rare occasion over the last year or so - finally had he begun to establish his legacy.

[Toffee 2843]

As news of her nephew's birth reached her, Erika stood upon the walls of Emsgrad with her astrolable and ephemeris tables and charted the night sky at the exact moment of Frederik Otto's birth. The first natal chart of her creation, using the method she had developed during those long, grieving months in Ba'as. As she carefully sketched the aspects and positions of celestial bodies, she smiled faintly to herself. This boy had great things in store for him and for their House.

[marsloll 1384]

Spoiler

 

[Frostdrop1 1843]

From afar, the devil came to take one of the available missives. His mind had become a frayed thing, scattered from all which he couldn't comprehend and the merging between falsities and reality. In grief and loss, and haunting and entrapment. And yet, some small part of him had always clung defiantly to some semblance of hope. To fight and defy had become his nature. He defied authority, he defied truth, he defied fate. Over time, definace gave way to measure. Measure was good. Except, it was measure that gave way to weakness. And then, his defiance was broken.

A part of him came to squint with bewilderment at the inky scribbles. Then, something bitterly morose crossed him for the friend he had, and all he did recall of her dreams. A part of him longed for something which was so far lost, broken and bound in heavy shackles. Some island, out, abandoned in his mind. And, then, an even small part of him wondered if she was happy. For a fleeting moment, there was comfort in his shatterd mind.

Then, in an irate fit of frustration, he tore the missive. Not once, or twice but over, and over until only shreds remained to blow, frail, in the wind. Clawed hands raised to cover his burnt face - glowing, sickly and blue. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" He hissed to himself, claws dragging into his gaunt features. Sunken and blackened eyes, thin and twisted: he was far from what he was. 

And then there were more whispers of the creature on his shoulder, reminding him of something terrible. It reminded him of what was a lie. Claws dropped from his features as a new reality was made, and the devil bobbed his head to inklings that none but himself could hear. His nose wrinkled at it, but truth could not be denied. And truth was a horrible thing, for truth was relative.

[erictafoya 3276]

A man goes to sleep in the comforts of his home, of which he built through decades of hard work and effort. He came to bed as a father and awoke in the middle of the night as a grandfather. It was time. The family was finally growing on its own without him.

[prophetisms 982]

From across the kingdom, Dszamila found the missive upon her table. She couldn’t help but grin for her Kortrevich allies, knowing the babe is in great hands. Soon enough, he’d do great things for his kin, Dszamila was sure of it. “Y should send something in congratulations,” was a murmur for none but herself.

[Seuss 1056]

A cold, metallic gauntlet held onto the missive that made the rounds across all of Haense. An emotion drawn from the helm, but no expression was manageable on the surface level.

[krispeechips 150]

Mikhaila was sat in her room, desk laiden with different letters and a book before her that she had been writing in when the missive found her. Her cheeks pitched upwards into a smile as her gaze darted about the words "Gudiness, Ea will have to find something for them as a gift... Perhaps a childrens toy, Ea can make it mikself." She nodded to herself with a brightened grin, turning to get to work.