TH3GHOSTWAFFL3

Dietrich is confused by the grammer of the document.

Dedicated to, and with the gracious patronage of, His Royal Majesty King Andrik III and the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska 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. Written by the royal poet Dietrich van Jungingen -Writer and Philosopher-

Dietrich, now an old war veteran, cleans his blade out of habit. He says a passive-aggressive, false statement and blurts out a customary put-down against the opposing side. Then he has a drink and goes to bed, not having spoken to anybody actually present and in the knowledge that no-one had heard him. Then, a passing townsperson who happens to share his exact same viewpoint – yet who is somehow also supposed to be neutral or unbiased in some way – echoes his sentiments.

Dedicated to, and with the gracious patronage of, the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska, in honour of His Majesty King Andrik III’s Silver Jubilee. An Ode to Koeng Andrik III Hail to you, oh great Koeng Andrik the third! Awe-stricken history will record your deeds With amazement at feats never before heard, At how you planted for Haense success's seeds. Now, in feats of drinking you trump the best, And from ashes you've built our new city great. You can wield a sword like a man possessed, And it was your peace that saved your loyal state. So for that, you have Haense's gratitude; And with that, my humble ode now does conclude. Written by the royal poet Dietrich van Jungingen -Writer and Philosopher-

Dietrich notes that this candidate's focus is on trade, defenses and the common classes.

Dietrich notes that this candidate's focus is on trade, the army and events.

Dedicated to, and with the gracious patronage of, His Royal Majesty King Andrik III and the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska Two Crows Two crows fly overhead, over forest and field Their glossy feathers shining with many hues. They soar from Nenzing to the Rezan weald With a common unity no man can refuse. These twin sisters fly overhead, with one vision, With one heart and mind guiding them on they speak With a common wisdom in every decision. They have a common unity, ancient, unique. In their talons they grip the yellow-black banner Which unfurls, spreading, defiant in the skies. The flag both of one King and every tanner Of Highlander unity, that brilliant prize. Written by Dietrich van Jungingen -Writer and Philosopher-

To be fair, just as Rick and Morty requires an extremely high IQ to understand, so too does LotC.

‘No matter whether these Templars can handle the sword, it’s clear to me that they can’t handle the pen.’ Dietrich remarks.

If Dietrich had been there, he would’ve happily pointed out to the men that he had actually already written a poem mourning righteously of the impoverishment of peasants such as they:

“Thanks be to GOD!” Exclaims Dietrich in the Reza tavern upon hearing the news, smiling widely.

Dedicated to, and with the gracious patronage of, His Royal Majesty King Andrik III and the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska And also dedicated to the great glory of the Holy Orenian Empire 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. Written by Dietrich van Jungingen -Writer and Philosopher-

The Poet Outside the poet’s window, the first rays of the morning sun rolled in, gently piercing a light mist in the street and staining his desk with a soft light. The sunlight was outshone by a cheap tallow candle which flickered with an odd sort of care-free happiness, creating prancing shadows over the woodgrain and the parchment. Dietrich van Jungingen sat in a pensive mood, his eyes tired from a sleepless night. In his hand was a fine Fennic dip-pen, made from a pallid wood edged with gold; ink stained his palms and fingers, the result of a writer’s habit. He leaned forwards to his desk and put his pen to paper. Maybe, just maybe, he had found the right words. Then, with a sudden feeling of unsatisfaction, he slowly drew back in a manner he had grown accustomed to and threw down the lovely pen exasperatedly. He unconsciously reached for a bottle of Carrion Black, a drink which he had recently begun to stash under his desk, without bothering to look and grunted with disappointment as his fingers felt an empty weight. He inclined his head with a sour gaze and saw with surprise three such hollow bottles. The poet’s mood only decayed further. He swept the many small piles of scrunched balls of parchment off the desk and glowered at the candle. It continued to taunt him with its good mood and light-hearted manner. It danced with a merry flame, as its brothers had done during the long night. Dietrich snuffed the candle, and then only the weak, greyish cast of dawn lit the room. He looked at the waxy stump with mixed feelings of satisfaction and self-loathing. He leaned back against his chair and looked up at the portrait of Marius the Brash, which hung on the wall to his left. He gazed into the King’s eyes. The artist must have had a talent for such features, because they gripped him like a monk in prayer. He felt a strange kinship with the dead man, an odd sense of understanding stirred by his deepest thoughts, and he reminded himself yet again of his own fragile mortality. He studied the portrait for a long time, reliving the days he lived under that unfortunate king. The horrors of war came flooding back to him, and he sat transfixed, until he was awoken by the harsh cawing of a crow. With a desperate sigh he arose and flung open the window, letting a cold breeze flood in, before returning to the seat he so often reclined in lethargically. The royal poet reached again for a bottle of Carrion Black and met with the same disappointment as before. Thoughts ran through his mind as he slowly traced the mortar-lines of the wall with his eyes. The crow cawed again, louder this time, and Dietrich thought of his kinsmen who had been slain by their many foes. How he had caused their deaths, by being at Rubern. How he had caused the slaughter of innocents, the burning of crops and horrific mutilation of men and women across Arcas in attacks of petty vengeance and mindless, endless violence. He thought of that violence that had been released from its cage by a madman, roaring and defiant, with no other purpose than to shed blood and wreak revenge. The mocking laughter of his past spectres rose once again, as they so often did, to haunt him, to torment him. The poet suddenly seized a piece of parchment, inspired by his overwhelming guilt. His eyes, rimmed with the black mark of sleeplessness, scanned the floor for the Fennic pen many times until he finally found it. He took up the pen, lowered it into the ink bottle and went once more to place the nib against the wrinkled sheet. He stained it not with ink, but with tears.

‘Hmph, I wonder what the charges will be. Oh, yes – of course, it doesn’t matter. We all know how this ‘trial’ will end – with a death.’ Dietrich says, troubled.

A HAESENI THEATRICAL PERFORMANCE 9th of Joma and Umund, 296 THE CROW’S THEATRE TROUPE IS PROUD TO PRESENT ‘The Tragedy of Ser Ulric Tiberan and The Woman Dun’– a sorrowful tale of love and betrayal, written by the royal poet and playwright Dietrich van Jungingen. After much preparation and meticulous planning the famed Crow’s Theatre Troupe is pleased to finally reveal its first foray into the world of drama. This re-telling of the famous Haeseni folktale is certain to excite, thrill and entertain audiences - weep at the doomed Woman Dun, hiss at the dastardly Ljudimir and praise the noble Ser Ulric. This mighty monument of Haeseni culture will cement itself as a masterpiece of the stage, the envy of the other, lesser troupes of Helena, wider Oren and beyond; it shall mark the bold beginning of a theatrical golden age for Hanseti-Ruska. Signed, HER EXCELLENCY, Kamilla Julya Stafyr nee Baruch, Lady Chamberlain of Hanseti-Ruska

Dietrich van Jungingen sighs as he reads the document. “The longer I live, the longer I believe this to be simply a fair dream, as sad as that conclusion may be. If only, good man, if only...” He picks up his tattered notebook and, in what would be an act of shameless advertisement if any would’ve been present, he flips the pages until he reaches the poem he wrote on the topic...

Dietrich agrees with Daniel’s sentiments

Dietrich enjoys reading the newspaper!

SURNAME: van Jungingen FIRST NAME: Dietrich ADDRESS OF RESIDENCE: Reza, Black Street V DATE OF BIRTH: 1697 Are you registered and eligible to vote in the province of Haense?: Yes Do you have any other title, peerage or public service that may conflict with becoming an Imperial Senator, as per the Edict of Establishment (1736) or Edict of Election (1736)?: No If yes, do you understand that you will be required to resign or abdicate from this position should you be elected to the Imperial Senate, and if this does not occur your seat shall be considered to be vacant?: N/A ((MC NAME)): Ghost_Waffles

“Ave!” Cries Dietrich fervently as he reads the missive.

'The sun shall not set just yet.' Dietrich repeats fervently.

Dietrich sheds a tear as he reads Peter's response. 'We'll gladly die to save the North! We'll gladly die to save Oren!'

Dietrich simply nods as he reads the document. ‘Da, this woman speaks the truth.’

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- On Curonia, Suffonia and the Empire The Holy Orenian Empire is the one true state of a united humanity. It is the ultimate expression of humanity’s nationhood – just as the high elves have Haelun’or, as the wood elves have Irrinor, as the dwarves have Urguan. It is therefore the duty of every man, woman and child to defend it, for by defending it, they defend humanity. The continued existence of Oren speaks to its almost transcendent longevity and incredible immortality – whenever it ceases to exist, there will always be those who succeed in ensuring it returns. The Empire is therefore worth fighting for; it is the ultimate symbol of humanity’s desire to create and maintain a strong union of peoples. Oren brings peace. Oren brings order. Oren brings prosperity. Serving the state is the highest honour required of any man. The state is more important than even familial bonds – nothing comes before it. Every citizen must be willing to lay down his life for the state; the state is more than a political construct. Rather, it is a gathering of similar peoples melded into an insoluble whole. The state is facing dark times; the Pax Orenia is currently threatened yet again. But it has been challenged before, and emerged maintained. If we stand together, nothing and no one can stand against us and hope to prevail, can hope to end the Pax Orenia for more than a moment, can hope to end the state. Now, I did not initially support The Empire – that is a simple truth that I shall not bother denying. But the unfaltering will and steadfast decisions of Petyr III have restored my faith in our mighty union. A lesser man may have abandoned Haense to stand alone – but the Emperor stood by us. He is truly a loving father and loyal brother to mankind. He believes in a united humanity. He believes in defending the territorial integrity of the one true state of our collective peoples. There are not all those who are so steadfast as our beloved Emperor, however. Cowardly, treacherous Curon has done what it does best – betray its allies and back out of promises and pledges at the first signs of danger, as it has done in the past. How Curonia can be respected by anybody at this point, is beyond me. It has foolishly scorned the loving Empire that supported it in times of strife, with no apparent reason aside from a baseless predilection for turn-coating. The only thing Curon is good at is betrayal and treachery. It’s worth citing the words of the esteemed Vivaca Rutledge, who I not only greatly admire, but who also summarises Curon’s situation with first-hand experience: ‘Curon is a failing kingdom … deception is at the heart of Curonia ... this cycle of betrayal is tired and old and must be put aside, once and for all. But knowing Curonia, that may never happen.’ Oh, and Suffonia is simply so irrelevant that I forgot it existed, and I am sure I am not alone in this sentiment – Suffonia, like Curon, simply does not matter in the grand scheme of anything, for it does not offer unique culture, especial military might or any brilliant minds to anyone, nor does it have any mighty monuments or especially famous heroes. It will not be able to survive on its own due to its tiny army and previous reliance on the Orenian Empire. No, when Suffonia, or the land it encompasses, is reabsorbed back into the Empire, no-one will have noticed that it ever left. I would spit vehemently on those spineless traitors, the pathetic Lord Regent of Curonia and the Lord Protector of Suffonia. However, in all honesty, I wonder if they are deserving of the effort, considering that those mouth-breathers are probably drooling such fluids all over themselves at all hours with spasmodic fits of brain-dead, undeserved self-congratulations of their ‘independence’. The only thing they are independent of is the relevance they so desperately crave. So, if any of you, my Haeseni brothers and my other Orenian friends, feel worried at the desertions of these two pathetic, failed states – don’t. If anything, their cowardice only strengthens our resolve and reinforces the awareness of our duties, the duties of loyal citizens, to our own state. The armies of Curon and Suffonia are very small – the viability of maintaining the Empire is not threatened by the lack of them. Nothing, really, has changed. The Holy Orenian Empire is the ultimate expression of a unified humanity. It is therefore the duty of every man, woman and child to defend it. Written by Dietrich van Jungingen -Writer and Philosopher- ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dedicated to, and with the gracious patronage of, His Royal Majesty King Andrik III and the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska And also dedicated to the great glory of the Holy Orenian Empire 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! Written by Dietrich van Jungingen -Writer and Philosopher- ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------