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TH3GHOSTWAFFL3

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About TH3GHOSTWAFFL3

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    Ghost_Waffles #1729
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  • Character Name
    Dietrich van Jungingen
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    Highlander

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  1. THE NATION AWAKES THE LAST WORDS OF SIR DIETRICH VAN JUNGINGEN, KML First of all, you must forgive the meandering thoughts of this cluttered address. I am so very old now, and thus my mind does not go as straight to the point as it once did. You must also forgive this document on account of the nature of it, that being that it is transcribed; my eyes are not what they once were, and neither is the deftness of my fingers. I would firstly like to clarify, for posterity’s sake, my thoughts and beliefs regarding the relationship between Haense and Oren, as I am sure that these things are not only in the public eye now, but will also remain relevant in the foreseeable and unforeseeable futures. Perhaps unsurprisingly, I am totally jubilant, utterly ecstatic at the news of Haeseni independence. We are a proud, mighty people who deserve the right to self-determination, and we have fought to either seize or maintain that countless times. The terms negotiated between our great and proud King and the state of Oren are perfectly acceptable. No longer will we suffer the indignity of foreign laws, or the shame of being a subjugated people, for let us not forget that it was only by force that we were Imperialised, conquered by a Pertinaxi tyrant, conquered by an army whose officers would much rather have seen us wiped from the continent. Therefore any relationship between us and Helenians was destined to be marred by the stain of our overlords’ previous crimes. It is far better for us to be free yet less certain of the future of the Orenian-Haeseni relationship, than to live under the aftermath of such a sure dishonour. This initial suspicion and distaste of the Empire was amplified when the first official statement of the Basrid ministry, ostensibly discussing and displaying Orenian culture, failed to mention my work. It was unthinkable, and still amazes me even today. I, the greatest poet of the contemporary era, not only in Haense but in all of the Empire, in the entirety of Arcas. I was without mention - and not only that, but no man of Haense, no cultural work of Haense, nothing of Haense, was mentioned. How could the state with the richest, strongest, most lasting cultural legacy of all humanity go unrecognised when Adria and Kaedrin, petty and irrelevant backwaters, were celebrated? It disgusted me. But my disgust only grew after I published Sons of Horen. I shall not lie, so I shall clarify first: Sons of Horen (and The Calling of the Will for that matter), my only major work of the time not featured in my Troubles anthology, was written as a purely pragmatic piece, and furthermore has been falsely interpreted. Falsely interpreted, because the sole reason it was written to raise morale for the Orenian forces, who naturally did not inherently possess the sheer spirit of brotherhood that every Haenseman does. Pragmatic, because I was willing to put on some show of pan-Imperial sentiment if it meant strengthening our coalition forces in the face of a bloody Norlandic purge. The idea of a homogenous humanity makes me feel sick, to be especially blunt. It shows the arrogance of the Orenian aristocrats, that the only official praise I have ever received from them for my work was a single letter sent to me by the Imperial government. They praised the false ideals of Sons of Horen, of course, and made some show of analysis of themes and such, but I was left feeling insulted. The Orenians knew nothing of my previous, superior work, because I was but a wild northman to them. They had only recognised the song which praised and uplifted themselves. The arrogance. The sheer, horrible arrogance of the entire business left a bitter taste in my mouth. There is a reason I did not follow up on the invitation to the Novellon. They had insulted me, and I swore then never to write anything in honour of the Empire ever again. In the years that followed it seemed that Haense had been totally forgotten by the Orenian government, and as our traditions and customs came under renewed attack from all Imperial quarters - the racially aggravated attacks in Helena, the sustained attempts to homogenise our cultural heritage, the insulting nature with which our King was treated and the insistence by the very highest of Orenians to refer to us as ‘Haensers’ - I published my Letter to the Foes of Hanseti-Ruska. As I am sure we shall be attacked many more times by the weak, the jealous and the dishonest in the coming months and years, I would like to re-publish it here, with a new dedication. This comes in the wake of a certain document recently distributed by a supposedly civilised man of the Imperial Everardine College. Dedicated and directed to every Orenian, from the highest to the lowest, who dares to disrespect Sigismund’s lands and heirs in matters of dignity and honour, that is the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska, her King, and every one of Her people. TO THE FOES OF HANSETI-RUSKA To the Foes of Hanseti-Ruska How long have We survived? How much have We outlived? Too long, and too much For any ordinary nation. She is a lasting state, A fair state, a strong state, She spreads her wings Over the Highlander traditions. So hear Us, and hear this, you who hate Us, you who fear Us, you miserable skuke-people, you who would see Our customs gone you who would try To dominate Us: you are not different, you are not special, As all others, Haense will outlast you. your hubris amuses Us! you will soon be dead, But you cannot kill Us. Hanseti-Ruska is one. Gorm sees your defeat, though you cannot. We spit on you, you who are less than filth, We laugh at your whining, We take joy from your hate. you who stand against Us: Good luck to you, for why not? For neither luck nor skill can defeat Our nation, destined to last forever. We will never perish, Because We always persist. Siegmund's Kingdom is immortal. Our traditions are everlasting. And what are you? Poor child, you are skravi. I do not hate Oren, however; I hate the idea of pan-humanity, but I do not hate the idea of the state in Helena. I hate the way in which they have acted towards the Haeseni people, and I hate Godfery’s conquest of our nation, but there are also significant ways in which Oren have honoured us, by way of military aid, for example. My rhetoric towards them may previously, in this very text, have been harsh, but it is because I love Haense, and because I love to see her free, and because I hate to see the great light of freedom snuffed out. I am therefore immensely satisfied with the agreement negotiated by Josef the Liberator - I would be saddened to see all ties cut with Helena. The alliance pleases me greatly, as does the continued economic and social ties. We have once again taken back our freedom, but not only that, we have retained the greatest, most beneficial parts of our friendship with Oren. Let the Haeseni and the Orenian finally stand side by side in an equal partnership, forever, unsullied by the fetters of dependence or the useless hostility of a rivalry! We are entering a grand new age for the Haeseni people. All my life has been preparing for this - all my contributions to our culture, all my acts and my words, have been preparation for these last moments of my life, my brothers and my sisters, proud men and women of the North. We are the heirs to Exalted Sigismund himself, the inheritors of his vast and bountiful lands. At last, the manacles have been cast off, the vision of freedom I once saw in a distant time, long ago, has manifested. I present my final work. Dedicated to King Josef I of Hanseti-Ruska, the Liberator. On behalf of all your loyal subjects - thank you for fulfilling our dreams of liberty, thank you for seizing that which was once stolen from us: the reins of our own destiny! Long may the Haeseni remember your glorious deed, and long may you live! LET THE NATION AWAKE Rejoice, my brothers, Your homeland is free. My sisters, do you feel her soul? Do you know that she is reborn? Do you sense it in your heart, Do you taste her words, See her burst from the break of dawn? She loudly proclaims - Go forth, my crows! Go forth, my children, I have scattered your foes! I have shorn off their fangs, I have vanquished your woes! Sigismund's nation, awake! My life is leaving me, I can feel it. I have led a varied and full life, I know that much: I have seen kings come and go, I have talked with some of the greatest Haensemen of this century and I have helped spur a glorious period of Haeseni culture. Though there has been tragedy, too: I have lived to see the deaths of almost every one of my few friends, I have seen poverty and hardships and I have endured so very many battles. I am one of the last veterans of The War of Two Emperors and my memories of it have never left me. When I became a man, I was expelled from my home, and left to wander in search of renown - , I am grateful to have served, not only because it directed me to the poetry by which I have earned so much fame (it could be said that the horrific Siege of Helena was the catalyst for my entire career), but because it gave me the opportunity to perform the most glorious patriotic duty: to tease one’s own life about the jaws of death for no reason other than national pride. It is a beautiful thing to endure the most terrible of hardships, not because of the act itself but because of the sheer force of will and the utter conviction of belief it necessitates. Is my life leaving too soon? Perhaps, as there are still anthologies and miscellaneous poems and works that remain as of yet unpublished, though it is my hope that they shall one day grace bookshelves, even if they are not quite as tweaked as I would have liked; but ultimately, my work aside, I feel that I have done enough, that I have lived a life to be proud of. For nearly a century have I unfailingly dedicated myself to Haense. I have never taken nor desired a wife - my homeland is enough for me! Nothing can tempt me away from serving Her. Though I be formed of flesh and bones, the flesh shall wither, and the bones too shall be ground to nothingness by time himself. What, then, shall remain as evidence that Sir Dietrich van Jungingen once walked and laughed and thought? The answer, my countrymen, is the power of the word, not just in ink but written on the hearts of men - the influence my poems have had, the joys and sorrows they have elicited. I shall act on the last words my friend the great Wilheim Barclay said to me, and say myself that I do indeed leave behind a legacy to be admired. Am I not a founding figure in this great resurgence of Haeseni culture? Am I not the father of modern Haeseni poetry? Am I not in fact the preeminent writer of poems of this age? And so that is how I shall be remembered. Armed with this knowledge I now prepare myself for my death. My beloved countrymen, from the most honest of the common folk to the Liberator himself - I salute you. May Hanseti-Ruska prosper until the end of days. Dravi. Sir Dietrich van Jungingen KML 249 ES - 340 ES Vzmey and Hyff There is a poet whose pen lies deadly still, The words once wrought have wrung their final rhymes. The pages long were lost to eyes until The letters read, they were but ancient lines. A man may stare into the void and fear, But staring back, I shed but joyful tears. - Tharik Sturmholm OOC: I may not have done much actual roleplay for the last half of my character’s life, but I’m glad I did. Chances are I’ve now turned my back on LOTC roleplay for the foreseeable future, but I’m glad that I decided to join the server and do some roleplay, ultimately. Dietrich was my first character, and therefore partly an author-insert; but I’d like to think that he slowly moved away from that as the new-player syndrome left me. It's kind of amazing to think that my love of poetry, both in appreciating the work of other poets and in writing poems myself, grew directly out of LOTC. If I promised anyone a poem, don’t panic! I’ll write it eventually. On a final note, I’d like to say thanks to everyone I’ve roleplayed with, everyone who has further engorged my swollen ego by way of complimenting my poems, and to the general Haense community for being such awesome and supportive people.
  2. Who's your favourite character someone else has played? Who's your favourite haense king? And who's your favourite real historical figure?
  3. PRIVESKIY ‘OUR OATH’ BY SIR DIETRICH VAN JUNGINGEN, KML 326 ES | 1773 AH PREFACE – BY SIR DIETRICH VAN JUNGINGEN KML This song is for you, my fellow crows, sons of Sigismund - Karovians, Alimanians, Leuvians, we are Haensemen all. This song is for every man, woman and child who toils to make our people great. Let the children learn this - let them know their rights. Let them know that their liberty shall never end so long as there is a King of Hanseti-Ruska. This is our oath as proud Haensemen - we shall never give up the Jeremic Rights or fail to see that they are enforced. For the poets that shall come after me - my brothers, we all share but the one spirit in these matters. And so with each successive generation, let another add his verses to mine, for this is not my poem, this is ours. I take credit simply for penning the fire that blazes in every Haeseni heart - and thus, not for the inspiration, because that is from you, my dear Haeseni reader. It is of me in some minor way, and yet it is more than that, this poem belongs to all of us. And thus, let this great work reflect our nation. Let it grow in length and power and meaning as the years pass - in a hundred years this shall not be a thing of an earlier age, it shall yet be a living testament to the continuity and will of our people. Now, I have rambled long enough. This is priveskiy. Our oath. Dravi. --- A farmer walked a muddy track, Soon after dawn had broke While nobly shone the sun at his back, The stride of lordly folk. Then he stopped his hum for greeting, And with a smile of simple joy, Because for him no joy was fleeting, He spoke as honest as a boy: Until there's no more days or nights So long as there is breath in me No man may deny my Jeremic rights No man may deny my liberty A wise smith worked hard with gold, As the sun loosed still young rays, Foreseeing a beautiful vision bold He hammered on with praise. Moonlight gleamed on a lovely ring, It perfected his creation, He did not vainly obsess on the thing, But offered this dedication: Until there's no more days or nights So long as there is breath in me No man may deny my Jeremic rights No man may deny my liberty A farrier I met at noon, Before a flighty mare As he lead her on with his playful tune, And stroked her night-black hair. He exulted a truth of the north, While grinning his slyish grin, For this his wolfish tongue brought forth, And for once conceived not a sin: Until there's no more days or nights So long as there is breath in me No man may deny my Jeremic rights No man may deny my liberty I came across a sergeant old, Upon that grizzled eve His countenance grey and yet mirrored gold, Though aged, he did not grieve. His eyes blazed with a veteran's glare, And marching off to bloody war, He met my gaze with a youthful stare, As he pronounced this timeless law: Until there's no more days or nights So long as there is breath in me No man may deny my Jeremic rights No man may deny my liberty A trapper out in woodlands white, I came upon by chance While the stars above on that frozen night, They crowned our lands with dance. These words he spoke with hunter's pride, And swore as one who is free, And clad all complete in rugged hide, That woodsman spoke and said to me: Until there's no more days or nights So long as there is breath in me No man may deny my Jeremic rights No man may deny my liberty And as the dawn breaks yet again, Our fair maiden I behold - See her loving gaze, with a smile ordain Lands forever of our people old. Our Haeseni hearts strain to serve This vision, this dream made true With forever triumphant will and nerve She raises the black-gold banner anew: Until there’s no more days or nights, You must breathe each breath for me - Let no man deny your Jeremic rights! Let no man deny your liberty! OOC:
  4. I feel like a lot of people need to see this post. It’s fairly excellent.
  5. THE TROUBLES BY SIR DIETRICH VAN JUNGINGEN KML 322 ES | 1769 AH --- PREFACE I am not one to write a lengthy introduction for my own works, as I know that it will simply bore any reader - but if I do not, I will not be satisfied, for I am conscious that these poems cannot stand simply bundled together with a title. Here, then, is your preface: the works contained herein were written during the bloodsoaked, lawless years of the Troubles. They encapsulate the spirit of the age - the raw horror and violence, the murders of children and the ruthless, domineering cruelty of power-hungry men. Read, then, and recoil. Above: A scene from the Rubern War, depicting the cruelty of the men of Morsgrad. --- THE IMPERIAL PEASANT I walk often through these sodden fields And mine tired eyes do often see A weeded land with barren yields Where a poor man slaves in misery For meager pay, no real reward; A thankless job, for his thankless lord. No clothes upon his wretched back Save tattered rags, wet with fog And a cheap, filthy, worthless sack Shot with holes, not fit for a dog Let alone for a man made by God; Yet forced to suffer a strong birch rod. At his side he bears a mark of war And when he toils it creaks and groans For once to the Emperor he swore And fought, yet nobody even hears his moans For nobody cares for those like him; See how his body is bony and slim. His wife clings to his side in the rain A woman with nothing to her name And nothing but death to hope to gain For when he dies, there's nothing to claim And no money to pay for a marked grave; For this wretched man is paid as a slave. --- THE CALLING OF THE WILL Our union's been slighted, here's a fight - When your Empire calls will you assist? Here comes war, to cowards' fright - For freedom's sake will you enlist? Here's your home, in the enemy's sight - When Morsgrad comes will you raise your fist? Here comes Godric, duke of blight - In foul tyranny's face will you resist? Here comes war, the long black night - We'll perish, if we do not persist! --- THE GLORIES OF STRUGGLE I saw a woman, sat by the wayside Once a low noble, now starving and shaking I saw with dismay her tears as she cried Her poor, emaciated body's aching Her traumatised mind's close to shattering. She calls for her mother, killed in this war She calls for her lover, struck down in battle The poor thing begs for bread, or a bed of straw And begs for alms. She lives worse than cattle And soon she'll die, and pass tragically unmourned. This is war: indiscriminate sorrow. This is the 'struggle' of which sick Godric speaks In high, praising tones.This is the tomorrow He offers us. His misguided vengeance reeks Of vain, blind 'justice' for entire peoples. This is his 'struggle'; pointless destruction Driven by a proud whip of 'retribution' Smothered with fake humility's seduction And disguised as reason, war's solution: He's blind to the pointless deaths he causes. Godric, of course, wouldn't spare that woman's life. He looks past her cries and her ragged clothes For Godric can't risk that she'll be a wife For she's nothing but a 'future font of foes' So for her noble birth she must die, of course. --- RAIDERS! Look south! A column of smoke rises, Far away, far off in the distance. They'll now be looting stolen prizes - Those raiders, I mean, squashing resistance. It's the second attack this fortday, The second poor farm to fall that is. Maybe the army'll make them pay - But those bandits, they'll be off in a whizz. Are they from Norland? Or Elves, or Orcs? There's no way of knowing right now. Perhaps we'll tell from the wounds of a corpse - Anyway, we always find out somehow. The horizon, see it cloud, dusty; Those men are moving off - surprising. These didn't stay long - these weren’t lusty - But look west! A column is rising! --- JUSTICE The judge looms over the convicted, A wig of steel sat upon his solemn brow. He's ready to sentence, unrestricted. The criminal, she cowers in a bow. There's no jury, no risk of dissent. Defendants or subpoenas, a petition, The judge does not care, he does not relent. The judge demands complete submission. The small child, she cries, her eyes bleed tears. This is not a satisfactory defence. Her innocence and her eleven years Will not save her. Justice will now commence. The judge raises high his station's sign - The sword, where legitimacy arises. Between law and crime there's no real line; Death is a sentence that fits all sizes. --- A FINAL DEATH? The darkness is quiet tonight. Now, life seems instant and War's breath Comes fitful in the singular moment. The stars glance at man's folly And wait, eager to look upon a new world. The waning moon gleams on a bloody sword. And as he wipes the thirsting thing clean of gore The blades of grass seem to melt in the wind. He sheathes his blade, and finally The instrument of death is forgotten. There are no mourners, None for this wretched creature, This murderer and destroyer. He sits, dying in a blood soaked world, With the weight of thousands dead upon him. He throws off his armour, He casts down his spear, he feels His bloody and endless sweat Cool and disappear in a peaceful wind. His heavy eyelids close for the first time. Mankind is freed. For now
  6. "The Josephite cause is the only way to reach a fairer society," remarks Dietrich.
  7. Yes. Personally, I'll probably never use a firearm in roleplay, I much prefer pretending to be a guy with a sword. But one of the servers largest playerbases very strongly wants firearms. Why shouldn't they have them? Because other communities dont like them? Ha, those communities need to realise that someone else's fun doesnt need to infringe on their own. I myself had to come to that realisation. So introduce firearms. The people who like them will use them, the people who don't, won't. And I'm very sure that the firearm yes and the firearm no crowds will be very strongly based around community lines; I'm sure that whilst there will be commonplace firearms in Oren and amongst the dwarves, there will be very rarely or never firearms amongst the elves for example. This is based on conjecture, but probably true, and means that the people who dont like firearms most likely will rarely, if ever, see them irp. So introduce firearms and let people enjoy themselves, the yes/no split is roughly 50/50 anyway.
  8. Dietrich can’t help but smirk at the acrostic poem, despite agreeing with the message.
  9. Dedicated to all Josephites of all stripes, everywhere and at any time, both the old who bled in the great struggle and the young blood which struggles now. A Josephite Remembers My eyes see yours hung upon the wall, So do you see me and judge your servant? My emperor, for whom I bled and cried See these marks upon this mortal's flesh See them burn as grass and hurt with pride As the terrors within my mind grow fresh. My heart still burns for you! Man of letters, philosopher-emperor, I serve you still in ideals, with mind And I uphold your wisdom so sweet Though in times I weep, as man is blind I weep the most for your defeat. Do not judge harshly, I serve my best But I am but a man, and a man forgets. Written by the royal poet Dietrich van Jungingen -Writer and Philosopher-
  10. An open letter, dedicated to the Foes of Hanseti-Ruska, written in the honour of Hanseti-Ruska A Letter To the Foes of Hanseti-Ruska How long have We survived? How much have We outlived? Too long, and too much For any ordinary nation. She is a lasting state, A fair state, a strong state, She spreads her wings Over the Highlander traditions. So hear Us, and hear this, you who hate Us, you who fear Us, you miserable skuke-people, you who would see Our customs gone you who would try To influence Us: you are not different, you are not special, As all others, Haense will outlast you. your hubris amuses Us! you will soon be dead, But you cannot kill Us. Hanseti-Ruska is one. Gorm sees your defeat, though you cannot. We spit on you, you who are less than filth, We laugh at your whining, We take joy from your hate. you who stand against Us: Good luck to you, for why not? For neither luck nor skill can defeat Our nation, destined to last forever. We will never perish, Because We always persist. Siegmund's Kingdom is immortal. Our traditions are everlasting. And what are you? Poor misguided child, you are skravi ~ Dietrich van Jungingen, A Haenseman from birth to the coming of Ioranija
  11. Dietrich frowns. 'Now is not the time to be nitpicking legalities. What a clumsy response.'
  12. Dietrich rips up one of the missives in rage. “How dare this puffed-up bastard insult our ancient traditions, our Ledianism! He is nothing but skravi!”
  13. The Lupine Instinct All others have an enigmatic passion - It is the lupine instinct, of the randy beast, The kind that urges man on, To ensure that mankind is plentiful, Or to enjoy himself in private. And yet, what is that feeling? I do not know - how can I know? I do not think I feel it, this urge This lusty and supposedly enjoyable urge. How can a man not know what he lacks? It is unknown to me, this primeval desire, As old as time and more frequent than rain. But is it unknown? It is definitely an enigma, or perhaps simply It is some riddle for me to unravel. I do not know my own self - I am on the unknown waters of the soul, Rowing towards a shadowed point - On lonely nights I think on all this, And it is a great trouble to my mind. Written by the royal poet Dietrich van Jungingen -Writer and Philosopher-
  14. Dietrich nods his head in approval. “Indeed. A human state, for humanity. Since when have the elves ever cared about us? And why should we do the same?”
  15. I accidentally posted the same post twice. I flag one for removal and link the other in discords. The staff remove the one i linked and keep the one i flagged. Very annoying indeed

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