Erilobar

Val smiles back to Erika as he irons and folds one of her dresses, humming the tune with her, "Indeed! A whole new world awaits us!" he says

Val is 100% listening to this at 4am in an empty park 'cause he can't sleep.

Brother Berengar starts to hum the rather catchy tune as he shines his shoes that evening.

Turri tilts his head, "Devika?" he asks, in his quiet monotone voice, "What does this say?" He shuffles his very large figure over to the log where she's currently resting. After having had it read to him, squinting at the page, he smiles, "That sounds nice," He says. Picking up his hurdy-gurdy and starting to lumber down the road, he munches on a small morsel of what is left of a Haeseni pasty. "I think I'll go visit them. They sound friendly."

Turri Songbird adjusts his comically small violin as he sits cross-legged on the ground outside. As Katerina walks past, he gives an awkward smile and half a wave. "Have a nice day!" he says with a smile, before starting up a slow tune on his instrument, humming deeply.

yes yes yes. i want

The Sturmholm Folio The works of Vorloin Baruch Vorloin Baruch, shortly after the Athera Expedition Vorloin Baruch, practicing a stage-play With the recent death of poet Vorloin Baruch, it has been requested by his will that his folio be published to the world at large. All that follows is the work of poet, who used the pen-name of Vorloin Sturmholm Editor’s note: For some reason, all of Mr Baruch’s writings refer to himself as ‘Vorion’, instead of ‘Vorloin’. Regardless of whatever caused this error, it has been corrected. ‘Almost all of these poems follow iambic pentameter, and most of them also are sonnets, with three rhyming quatrains and one couplet. Their themes range from loss and death, to love and life. May they strike your hearts, as they struck at least a couple’ - V. Baruch ((Music:)) O Father O Father, years have passed since fall of void, Yet I am left to sit and weep in prayer In days of freedom, Grief I have enjoyed Not, for that was the gift you chose to bear. O father, son of the herons marine Will you still love me as you once did then? To be a stouter son of meager means Or born a lesser prince of greater men? O father, torn from life, curse me now, words born from an acid, venomous tongue Will far outstip those that no longer vow To those whom once you genty, softly sung. They say the blood of covenant should wear Pains fierce; yet still I weep for water's share The Good Men I wonder, where have all the good men gone? I saw them ride unto the setting sun, One which they would never again see dawn, Fighting a battle that is still not won. I ask you, where do all the great kings lie? It is under a pile of ash and ruin Deathless since they were forced to cast the die, They lie, resting beside their royal kin. I pray you, where do all the lost souls go? For we see them no more, eternally They lie, lost in silver linings of snow. Lost to wisps of time, waiting, merrily. We wait for when the time should finally bend To meet again at last: all the good men Katharina’s Song If only the swans were as fair as I, They could shatter the moon with their beauty, They could ensnare the mighty lords on high, They could make Kingsguard flee from duty, If only the swans were as fair as I. If only the autumn leaves had my grace, They’d flutter as if dancers on a stage, They’d rustle as if they’d no other place, They'd read far more than any written page, If only the autumn leaves had my grace. If only the stormcrows could sing like me, They would enchant the creatures of the grove, They would lure sailors, like sirens on the sea, They would be diamond to all those who rove, If only the stormcrows could sing like me. The Sunset I passed through mists, and peered beyond the veil To see thee, at least, what seemed to be. Towards the earth the sun had set her sail, And her beauty almost matched your degree. For first I found the flowering lips of rose When, burning bright, a wildfire they blazed. How could the setting sun compare to those: The memory that shall never be erased. But soon I fell into a tender blue, The eyes which could the oceans entire keep. How could the sky hold a candle to you, When epics could be wrought for those eyes deep? And so I promise: you shall never die If here between these sheets of me you'll lie. Godan’s Muse I've ventured 'cross some cold, bleak, distant peaks, But there is naught to e’er compare to thee. The peerless blue above those velvet cheeks: The moonlight to calm every stormy sea. I rolled on waves and I’ve seen dawnings fair, But their beauty can only ever yield To radiance cast by golden strands of hair: The sunlight to sow every fallow field. I’ve cleft the ocean twain on mighty ships, But thus you made the nightingale cry: None could hope to reflect those rosen lips, A flower to charm e’ery wandering eye Then, since lands and sky all hold beauty, I so conclude that Godan’s muse was thee. The Holes of Wintertime Deep in the holes of wintertime I woke Next to your side, by a warm fire of oak. You whispered so quietly in the cold, From your lips wisps of mist did twist and fold. You spoke to me about the spring softly, Said it was made by the lord above, for me. That he made it so we could gently lie Betwixt these hills until one day we die. Hidden way from the warmth of a summer’s Sun, away from the march of the dummers’ Drums, lying under golden oaken leaves, I told you I love you beneath those trees. And yet at last, when the autumn leaves fell You said you were no more under my spell I thought I’d stay together with you, so fair, But you left me there. Soeng Karoseo And the common translation: A Song of Crows Usaer zezr haulyy haldae haenzi Wiem hag dercurvsk denraat, huil zwyzi Padrevar Ybiseo vzrarev kuz koeng Luzeng weld ag wauldlund: Kholv ag walic They poured ‘cross sea upon coasts haeseni At dawn slaying the weak and lame, then these Sons of Iblees set out unto the king Along woodlands, marshes: cold and soaking. Karos kyghyntae zwyen bottel routae Karos trazk raez humovsk viktry velyae. Krusae vatragan ag Godan zakisk: Kursin ag zvaerd usaer byk drazativsk And as honour demands that war be brought The crows struck out to seize the victory sought. Of hearth and faith they were a stalwart shield: With coats of arms and shining blades of steel. Nat lund vatragano supaes szar triek, Va rotasseran nie vokja byk tuek Tamort lafsk hauchoxtzen, lauderre, herzen. Zejr kvesja, warae laujisk aestbrein Upon the fields of flame their spears did meet And dawn ‘til dusk no army knew defeat. There fell warriors great, peasants and lords Above the mud, where Godan’s heavens poured Wiem mortesk feinvrago, tiz stratlyy rot Ag zinsk maeno weo fitsk dlum supaes Got They broke the horde, the rivers stained with blood And sang of men who gave their lives for God. ‘May the storms part in your passing' - Sturmholm family proverb

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Vorion Baruch reads the news and sheds a tear as he enjoys his breakfast with the family. “A loss to all Haeseni folk. May your words be still be spoken a thousand years from now, old friend.”

Soeng Karoseo ‘A Song of Crows’ By Vorion Baruch A Haeseni tapestry depicting the Scyfling fleet travelling from Athera to Arcas. It is thought that the leftmost figure of the central ship depicts Bralt the Boar, blowing a Scyfling horn. Foreword: In honour of the recent independence of Haense, I present what is one of my favourite pieces: ‘Soeng Karoseo’. This was a difficult piece to create, and an even harder one to translate well. Nonetheless, I hope that this tale of the Scyfling war resonates with those searching for their national identity in these historic times. Vorion Baruch Soeng Karoseo Usaer zezr haulyy haldae haenzi Wiem hag dercurvsk denraat, huil zwyzi Padrevar Ybiseo vzrarev kuz koeng Luzeng weld ag wauldlund: Kholv ag walic. Karos kyghyntae zwyen bottel routae Karos trazk raez humovsk viktry velyae. Krusae vatragan ag Godan zakisk: Kursin ag zvaerd usaer byk drazativsk. Nat lund vatragano supaes szar triek, Va rotasseran nie vokja byk tuek Tamort lafsk hauchoxtzen, lauderre, herzen. Zejr kvesja, warae laujisk aestbrein. Wiem mortesk feinvrago, tiz stratlyy rot Ag zinsk maeno weo fitsk dlum supaes Got. A Song of Crows (A Translation) They poured ‘cross sea upon coasts haeseni At dawn slaying the weak and lame, then these Sons of Iblees set out unto the king Along woodlands, marshes: cold and soaking. And as honour demands that war be brought The crows struck out to seize the victory sought. Of hearth and faith they were a stalwart shield: With coats of arms and shining blades of steel. Upon the fields of flame their spears did meet And dawn ‘til dusk no army knew defeat. There fell warriors great, peasants and lords Above the mud, where Godan’s heavens poured They broke the horde, the rivers stained with blood And sang of men who gave their lives for God. ooc info:

Vorion scratches his head, and wonders why Buck had to nail the news to the door of his own room.

The sound of wind rattling a window can be heard throughout the room as Robert Gant sits on his bed, huddled next to a lantern for warmth. Shivering in the pale moonlight cast through the clouds, he wipes his eyes with a small handkerchief, ”Ah don’ wan’ t’ be ’lone.” he whispers to himself, pulling his feet, covered in thick and woolly blue socks, closer to himself. ”Ah don’ wan’ t’ leave mah frien’s ‘lone either.” Then, lantern held close to his chest, he starts to recite something to himself. He stammers over the words, and his teeth chatter in the wind as he half-sings, half-recites what his mother used to say to him every night to put him to sleep: “Tamort nafce waz ain herzen weo zweer zelv padrevarz, ag ve zelv padrevarz ainsked lapaem: 'Papej! Zinsk aseretem ain soeng!' ag dak zinsker ve herzen: Tamort nafce waz ain herzen weo zweer zelv padrevarz, ag ve zelv padrevarz ainsked lapaem: 'Papej! Zinsk aseretem ain soeng!' ag dak zinsker ve herzen: Tamort nafce waz ain herzen weo zweer zelv padrevarz, ag ve zelv padrevarz ainsked lapaem: 'Papej! Zinsk aseretem ain soeng!' ag dak zinsker ve herzen:” The young teen’s voice fades as he curls up by the dying lantern, half-frozen tears staining his cheeks and pillow both, and the shivering fades as he slowly drifts off to sleep ((Translation))

IGN: Erilobar Character Name: Vorion Baruch Age: 41 Placw of residence/ Street Address: Petyr's Passage III Position: Maer

Reserved ;-;

Vorion watches Buck intricately fold paper after paper in their house. ”You’re sure this is necessary?” he says, not knowing anything about Buck news distribution as he pours himself a bowl of oats.

APPLICATION FOR THE 329-330 SEASON First Submission: Second Submission:

Vorion Baruch hears the news as he tends to the storefront on Baruch’s Bees with love and care. His eyes glaze over and he collapses to one knee, eyes gazing to nowhere in particular as he tries to come to terms. “Oh.. oh GODAN” he says, eyes welling up

Vorion frowns as he finds more food than normal in his house. He shrugs, assuming that his wife probably had just popped to he shops

Vorion furrows his brows as he sees Buck make all of the newspapers, starting to wonder if it was a bad idea to teach him to write...

Good Canonist Lady Wanted This could be you with the wonderful Buck Dirtgrub! Apply today! Nice canonist lady wanted to court the wonderful Buck Dirtgrub Must be: Under the age of thirty (Negotiable) Able to hold a sword. Not use, just hold. Not uncomfortable with mud/dirt, or rolling around/bathing in said mud/dirt Able to drink olive oil in significant quantities Neither allergic to nor scared of: dogs, cats, rats, frogs, donkeys, mules, pigs, or any other miscellaneous pack animals or household pets Good with Children Able to cook, or eat food while raw. If you believe you fit these criteria, contact Katharina or Vorion Baruch now! ooc info:

Vote Vorion A Maer That Cares A portrait of Vorion, made shortly after his return from the expedition to the ancient and mythical continent of Athera. WHAT WE WILL DO We will return Haense to prosperity, with streets filled with people, shops filled with goods, and hearts filled with joy! We will fill the calendar with well-organised, regular events to bring together the people of Haense after the strife, sweat, and toil we have faced throughout the whole Scyfling invasion. We will strive to reinforce and strengthen the great culture of Haense. We are a nation known for our arts, games, and traditions; together we will keep this love of our national identity strong ABOUT VORION Vorion ran the tavern in Haense for a decade, where it was bustling with activity every week Vorion delivered over 10,000 units of grain to the Volik refugees in their time of need, free of charge Vorion served among the soldiers of Haense, now moving to politics having received an injury serving his nation

IGN: Erilobar Character Name: Vorion Baruch Age: 35 Place of Residence / Street Address: 3 Petyr’s Passage Position: Maer

Robert Gant picks his nose while cleaning all the dirt off himself, since his mother forced him to.