THE WAYWARD SONS OF JOREN

[sarahbarah 7105]

 

Spoiler

 

 

♫ – CARRY ON, WAYWARD SON

 

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THE KASTELL LESANOV WAS QUIET – too quiet for a place that once echoed with laughter and the rustle of golden banners overhead. Nadya moved like a shadow through the reddened halls of the Kastell that would soon be abandoned, the winter wind whispering at the shuttered windows as though mourning with her. One by one, she gathered their children. Maya Karenina, their eldest, still clutching a carved wooden doll in sleep. Jorena Sigmunda and Stefan Otto, the twins, nestled against one another in a cradle too fine for the road ahead.

 

They had packed only what could be carried in knapsacks and saddlebags – blankets, preserves, and a few keepsakes. Everything else was left behind, surrendered as the Kingdom was. Haense, the great stalwart of the North, had bent the knee – and in doing so, Nadya feared even the Haeseni spirit had been lost to their defeat. 

 

But they were not alone. 

 

The wayward sons and daughters of Joren emerged from the fog-draped hills – lords and ladies of the Haeseni nobility, stripped now of rank and lands, but not of spirit. They followed not for power, nor prestige, but out of love. For the monarchs in exile, for each other, and for what Haense had been.

 

Joren had once addressed the nobility and offered them a path forward – not one of conquest or vengeance – but of choice. To remain in comfort, or to leave with him to seek dignity not in a palace, but in a people. He did not demand their oaths, nor their fealty. Even still, they came.

 

House Amador, steadfast and ever-wise.

House Kortrevich, weathered by war but unbroken.

House Kovachev, proud even in loss.

House Leuven, young but noble-hearted.

House Ruthern, eternal guardians of the North.

House Korvacz, fierce and free-spirited.

House Weiss, humble and hard-wrought.

 

They all followed, not because they were commanded to, but because they had chosen each other. 

 

PAST THE DENSE PINEWOODS and the rushing rivers, they found it: a clearing nestled beneath a canopy of stars that the settlers called the Karoslund. In their mother tongue, it was the Land of Crows, otherwise known as the Honored Land – and how honored it felt, even as snow dusted the treetops and hardship clung to every dawn they would see. 

 

It was there that the Nords, whom they had been at odds with for centuries – whose histories were inked in both blood and frost – had built them lodgings. That was a strange mercy, one that Nadya hadn’t expected. Once, she would have bristled at the thought of seeking shelter beneath roofs raised by those her ancestors called enemies. Yet now, as the snow fell softly over the clearing and smoke curled skyward from the chimneys of newly built cabins, there was only quiet gratitude.

 

The homes were humble – hewn from pine and stone and built for warmth rather than grandeur. It was no palace, no bastion of stone – but it was home, or what home might come to mean again. In these pagan lands, far from the reddened walls of New Valdev, there was kindness. And that, too, was a kind of grace.

 

The Haeseni could not help but marvel at the irony of it; that it was the Nordlings – those rugged sons and daughters of the snowbound north – who had extended a helping hand when so many others instead turned their backs. That it was they who had offered hearth and shelter, when the world had offered only silence. The old wounds were not forgotten – but they were, for the moment, disregarded.

 

 

NADYA STOOD BENEATH THAT VAST SKY, the northern lights unfurling in soft ribbons above her; curtains of green and violet dancing across the heavens. Their glow cast a pale luminescence over the snow, painting the world in hues both haunting and holy. The silence was profound, broken only by the whisper of wind through pine and the distant howl of wolves.

 

Behind her, the faint glow of the hearth spilled from the window of the longhouse. Her children slept there, curled together beneath woven blankets; Maya with her doll clutched tightly, the twins tangled in each other’s arms. Innocent still. Unaware, perhaps, of all they had lost.

 

Joren stood watch just beyond the door, his figure still as the trees that surrounded them. No longer King in title, but kingly still in the way he bore the weight of his people. Always the quiet sentinel, her shield and anchor.

 

The snow beneath Nadya's boots did not crunch; it sighed, soft and reverent. There in the wilderness, beneath a sky that shimmered like stained glass, the exilic queen felt something stir within her. A flicker of warmth that no Empire, no surrender, or loss could ever extinguish. It pulsed in her chest like a second heartbeat, quiet but insistent. It was a feeling she couldn’t name at first. Not quite hope, but something like it. 

 

Persistence. 

 

Titles had been stripped and thrones surrendered – and even in the midst of such defeat, when many would scoff and proclaim their cowardice, their persistence endured. It clung to the calloused hands of farmers who now built homes instead of tilling fields. It warmed the songs of mothers rocking babes beside shared hearths. It echoed in the laughter of children chasing each other through frostbitten grass. There was dignity in surviving, in carrying forward what little could be salvaged from the ruins of legacy. It lived on in stories, in memories, in the stubborn strength of the Haeseni spirit.

 

 

THE FIRST LIGHT OF DAWN crept over the horizon, painting the snow-laden trees in hues of rosen gold. The stars faded one by one, and with them, the last remnants of night’s sorrow. The village would soon begin to awaken.

 

Already, Nadya could hear the faint creak of cabin doors, the low murmur of early risers stoking hearths and shaking off sleep. Footsteps crunched softly against the snow, and somewhere nearby, a child laughed – light and fleeting, like a birdsong in the dead of winter. It was not the bustling chorus of New Valdev’s streets, nor the resounding bell of the Basilica – but it was life, unabated and unadorned. They had survived.

 

The Karoslund was not the end of the Haeseni. It was only the beginning.

 

 

 

Spoiler

Thank you to everyone who made this possible, and thank you to everyone who contributed to Haense over the last ten years. This community will always be close to my heart.

Feel free to keep in touch by joining our Discord here:

https://discord.gg/pmdQqtGge5

 

[prophetisms 982]

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Fierce and free-spirited are the Korvacz, yet there was a time when the latter was lost upon Dszamila. The Matriarch, no longer a viscountess, was born for both roles. The closer she came to their peership, though, the further she lost her freedom. Cuff by cuff with her age rites, link by link did her chains grow with each duty and each title bestowed. Those chains embedded themselves within the cracks of Xéniavaros. It would’ve been her first and final resting place, shackled, but with her ancestors. 

 

Her chains were shredded, though, that day cannonfire ripped through Xéniavaros’ stones. Those bands about her wrists were pried off one by one; by Nadya, by Alekszej. With lightened shoulders and hands, she could carry her children to safety. From the eerily silent walls of Lesanov, to the warm and dim hall of a longhouse. It was a new home for Dszamila’s children, as Baltasar and Dszenifer took well to the fur-draped bench and firepit already. 

 

Between ferrying family, supplies, and hounds, the Matriarch found a moment of respite on the road. She sat upon her white steed, where snow and maple leaves cascaded together to give the woman and horse company. The dirt path held not a single soul but Dszamila’s, idle by the edge of the Crimson Grove outside Vjardengrad. 

ㅤㅤㅤAnd thus, she rode. 

ㅤㅤㅤIt took only a cue of the stirrups, before Dszamila’s feet returned to resting. She sat deeply as the mighty mare surged into gallop through the woods. Snow and leaves passed Dszamila by, red and browns becoming blurred as she found her voice again. It was naught but howling, out of joy. Freedom.

ㅤㅤㅤShe was a wayward woman indeed, who found home.  

 

Spoiler

I am so thankful for the memories I’ve made with the community, and I am excited for the ones we’ll keep making together. Best of luck to everyone and their future endeavors on the server <3

 

[Melpomenne 2032]

Nerida Amador, ever the proud, led her house, and stood by her people.

[_RoyalCrafter_ 5285]

Tihomir Ivanovich would hear rumours of 'haeseni' settling up north. "No real marian, son of Joren or any other true identity within Haense would bend the knee to a pagan. The pagans we have been in conflict with for generations?" He scoffed at such notion, moving his personal belongings from Valdev to Basarab. "Brokering deals with Norlanders. At least the colborns are with Numendil." he shook his head in dissapointment.

 

Spoiler

All the love to all the players from Haense, I enjoyed being Lord Marshal while it lasted <3

 

[Terry 2680]

Ser Sigmar, ever the patriotic Haeseni, would view the new village with a hint of pride. His people had survived, perhaps not as whole as it once were, but he came to the realization that it was never whole to begin with. 
 

This war had only confirmed such to him, and he realized that any that saw this move otherwise had never placed their whole faith in Haense to begin with, and so he would treat them as such.

 

A Marian never forsakes their oath, not whilst the Barbanovs still draw breath. He would ensure this continues up to and long after his death, for he had a part to play in the Karoslund, and this part was his alone.

 

”The Conquered do not bend to the Conqueror.” He’d be heard saying, more than once.

 

Spoiler

Replying on mobile, will fancy up later.

[BlauRps 545]

A Hearth-Brother of the Red Faith, Mimesis, would give the feeling of a smile from the porcelain mask that sat upon his being as he strolled through Karoslund when he was not busy with reading and maintaining the Hearthflame beneath the Ashwood Tree.

 

Though faces of confusion, fear, and suspicion fell upon the robed and masked construct from the Haeseni people that observed him; the young Sorvian only cared to help those in need to the best of his abilities.

[GhostSHTR 1205]

"They have the gaul to say they are 'truly' haeseni....they forget the hundreds of years of history we have fighting with norland, they ran away from their homes, Talking like becoming a Nordling is great. They betrayed their people, betrayed their blood, and even more so, betrayed their history. Nieh Marian would convert to Paganism, yet they did. Niet a Real Haensemen would run away when the battle was barely beginning." Edvard Ludovar would spit as he read the missive before looking out from his family keep in Isaakev. "The once proud house of Barbanov-Bihar has fallen into the folds of cowardice and heresy. Joren's Pride was his downfall. I thank GODAN that my eyes have been opened to weakness within my kingdom. Perhaps it is time to leave these traitors behind and forge a new people."

[psychra_notte 618]

Spoiler

 

 

 

Fierce and free-spirited are the Korvacz, traits Alekszej had carried with him for the eight decades he had been alive. Yet, there was a guilt that lingered, a failure to show his children and grandchildren such freedom. The elder had been much in life: a mercenary, a politician, nearly a knight and nearly a templar, but the experiences he had were not all mutual with his kin. Perhaps he had been blinded by the prospects of titles and land, unseeing of the chains which would take hold of his daughter and her daughter.

But there, amongst the snow and frost, his chains shattered. In the pines and maples of the North could they find solace and freedom once more. No longer were they bound by the white walls of their keep, but they could now roam the wilderness as their ancestors had. Perhaps it would be in pagan lands that he would see his great-grandchildren grow.

The month was a blur, moving supplies from the now-empty capital to their longhouse in the Karoslund. Another move, yet he was still home. Comfort among family, friends, and the kind of wilderness Alekszej longed for since his youth. The Hanso-raev gods, too, were around him once more.

Alekszej found himself reminiscing on all of these things while wandering the woods, quietly humming an old Raevir song about loss and liberty. He, too, found freedom again, and he would sing unto the cliffsides in the coming years.
 

Spoiler

Been an absolute joy to be apart of this community, I cannot wait to see where we go next :)

[Parasolii 182]

Sosina, the moment she could spare time away from the work of the newly-minted clinic inside the walls of Vjardengrad, looked around the village. Those she held dear had found a refuge, despite what they had to endure. Soon, they'd have a clinic, once her and Mikhaila sorted things out. With a pep in her step, she began to write in her journal.

[libertyybelle 6187]

The princess Ipera sat within the tavern, mourning those friends who hadn’t joined the Haeseni trek to the fellow Highlandic lands. Though for the first time in a long time, with the raising of Karoslund, she felt a swell of pride in her chest. 
 

Finally, just for a moment, she allowed herself to hope again.

[MrMojoMordor 2413]

From somewhere along the way - unmasked & unmakeup'd Gazak Da Glob (who's real identity is totally secret) would look on at the quiet, funeral march of the Haense people in mourning for their lost Dual-Kingdom. He'd turn to the camera & shrug:

"Hey, mi offered Karl IV my council & propheciez az ahn court-jezter. Alaz - izi iz wub izi iz."

The goblin would go & ponder his orb:

"Haenze will have no tik to rezt - new dangerz are around da korner & more wagh to kome."

Spoiler

GL homies o7
Losing always sucks - but this is nothing but an opportunity to take your community in an interesting & fun new direction!