Sarven

“UND IHR KREUZ BLINKT.” “AND THEIR CROSS' ARE FLASHING.” March of The Order of St. Tylos Compiled in the year of our Lord 1954 by Gottfried Barclay Composed by Yvian Ritter Galken Composed by the late Sir Yvian Ritter Galken during his latter years as Herrenmeister, following his coming age and his failing strength he never finished it before passing on. The song sings of the strong bonds of The Order of St Tylos, of their great code, and might. The song was later compiled and finally released by myself, Gottfried Barclay in the aftermath of the successful siege of Brasca Keep. Thus are the translated lyrics of the song, sung a new by the ritters old and new, of The Order of Saint Tylos in the Waldenic tognue: The iron fist on the lance shaft, The reins in the left, That's how Tylos' knighthood advances, And their cross' are flashing. Heja heja heja! Heja! And their cross' are flashing. Heja heja heja! Heja! And their cross' are flashing. The cross patte, in black it flies, Forwards on a background of green and white, Lost but undefeated, That's how it announces its message. Heja heja heja! Heja! That's how it announces its message. Heja heja heja! Heja! That's how it announces its message. It flutters bright in the morning breeze And greets the Franklands, Greets those who are our brethern, In spite of humilation, distress and shame. Heja heja heja! Heja! In spite of humilation, distress and shame. Heja heja heja! Heja! In spite of humilation, distress and shame. It flies ahead in the knight's cloak And encourages us to fight, For the lost glory, Therefore fly pennants, we ride. Heja heja heja! Heja! Therefore fly pennants, we ride. Heja heja heja! Heja! Therefore fly pennants, we ride. WER RASTET, DER ROSTET, His Grace, Gottfried Barclay von Kanunsberg Duke of Kanunsberg, Second Prince of the Grand Principality of Minitz His Former Excellency, Yvian Ritter Galken HMSTSR Herrenmeister of the Order of Saint Tylos, The Stallion of Reinmar, Kastellan of the Draussen, Hochgeehrte of Minitz

As Gottfried ran his blade through the fleeing man, he looked up upon the collapsing keep, "Victory once more, the up-starts shall soon be extinguished, they fight well however, I must commend them for that..."

As Gottfried prostrates before the altar, a few words escape his lips; "For GOTT is with us."

"It seems those long ears and years of life they got has endowed them with some sense, very good." Gottfried commented as he read missive, glancing to his sword for a moment before unsheathing it, "Blood of elves shall not spill upon the morrow... heretics however..."

Very well done, I ought to make a character later on)) +1

"To Arms once more my countrymen! The heretics shall be routed and pushed back from GOTT's lands!" Gottfried raises his fist in battle cry, to his fellow comrades of Minitz.

"GOTT is with us! Victory is with us!" the Duke of Kanunsberg of Minitz bellowed, raising his blade high with his fellow brethren.

"A most stellar retelling!" Gottfried grinned, recalling the great view from up top the ruined ramparts.

Yvian welcomed the father into the seven skies with open arms, the man who time and time again blessed his weapons and mended his spirits.

Where be the engineer?

"GOTT bless Numendil!" Gottfried proclaimed upon reading the missive, observing the Minitzian countryside below from his secluded residence with a smile upon his lips.

The Golden Gryphon Lowers its Blade Artistic Depiction of Yvian Ritter Galken, Dated; 1910 I.T. (114 S.A.) “Live by the words; 'Wer Rastet, Der Rostet', Be forever in humility by the words; 'Gott Mit Uns'” The elder looked upon the great keep as he sat down in the countryside, it's great spires pierced the heavens, its mighty walls and battlements surmounted by the banners of green and blue, the bulwark that shielded it. The man simply smiled and nodded; “I love Minitz” Thereafter seemingly collapsing unto the ground as he sprawled, his eyes affixed to the eagle that loomed overhead. It was black as ink, should it have been night it probably would be masked in the starry sky in near perfect stealth, Yvian mused. Its feathers, large and tattered, extended to a mighty span nearly that of a small messer knife, or perhaps more, as the old fool lacked the heavenly gift of flight, a simple squint of the eye and a guess was the best he could muster. The bird flew in a rather interesting pattern, as it soared in the blue, cloud barren heavens, its eye seemed to affix, something for the hunt? A predator honing in on its prey, the eagle began to spiral ever so slightly. Sitting up from his lounging, Yvian attempted to predict the where’s, who’s and what’s of the bird of prey’s hunt, using simple guesswork and though as futile or mis-used, the knowledge of what ballistics-work he knew from his times sundering Bold Blue with his comrades all those years ago. “Aha!” the gryphon-sigil-bearing man exclaimed, his eyes and rather exaggerated point, directed at the windmill. The question of what the bird was hunting for was quickly answered, a small squirrel had made a hidey-hole in one of the rather decently sized gaps in between the roof and the walls. Completely unaware as it was being silently observed by the various parties. Walls of White, Rooves of Orange, Banners of Green and Blue... Swoosh! The wind blew as the large bird snatched its prey and made its landing unto the clearing nearby, in a singular, swift motion. The poor critter stood no chance as the eagle made quick work of it, a great success for itself and its hatchlings, the bird made an abrupt motion and the critter was put out of its misery. Yvian pondered, though a completely detached event, the show of violence brought back memories of Atrus, the horrid times when the undead hounded the fair people of Balian for many a day. The speed of the hunt, the lighting reflexes of the bird and its prowl akin to unwaveringly brisk motion of a ballistae bolt. As the bird made its way to pick at the fresh carcase, his mind's thoughts raced from one moment to the next. The visceral killings done by the haunting Mori, to the brutality and cunning brought on by the Adrian, the Petran, his thoughts seemed to grow awash with the memories of blood, backstabbing and betrayal, the Roa’s, the Theonii, Heretics, Heathens and the enemies of the Inquisition, the- “Yvian! How are you? Admiring the countryside?” Yvian snapped out of whatever drivel his mind brought upon him, turning to the familiar face as they spoke. “Don’t suppose you’ve come here just to sulk, have you?” The veteran Reinmaren mused with some laughter, concluding with a small sigh, “It is a beautiful country. Let’s just hope that the Franks don’t capture it all back!” The Herrenmeister after Yvian jested, moving to his side. “I’ll start with good news. The Order of Saint Tylos is doing well, the order is once more revived!” The man rejoiced, a happy smile on his features, yet, it turned somber quite soon. “Things have changed. Ludwig, Eloisee, Saxton.. Abrielle. Their times have come and gone. Yet, there is always some light in life. Rakshasa, Roland, Barlord, they all returned! Rakshasa became blooded, his new name; Rafael. Roland formed himself a tribe and became the Warchief! And Barlord? Er, well.. He’s doing his own thing.” He’d break the somberness with a lighthearted chuckle. “Enjoying retirement, though?” The aging man offered a neutral gaze upwards at Peter, the bombardment of the various updates causing some mild confusion as he processed it. “Ja, I am, and it is good to hear that Minitz is prospering well.” Rising from the ground Yvian turned to the road, a cart in the distance making its way towards him as a smile grew on his face. As the creaking wood work grew more into view, Yvian offered a wave, then turning to his comrade. “It appears my ride has come, the final chapter in my journey…” his smile was melancholic, a sense of nostalgia about it. Opening his arms wide the man gave a brotherly embrace to his fellow man. “You have come far, I am proud of you, odd to think you used to be but one of my humble squires.” A grin flashed as he patted Peter on his shoulders and back. “You still haven’t lost your edge, Yvian.” Peter jested, “It’s been an honour serving the order under you. Your wisdom and guidance has made the man I am today, along with Robert, of course. Can’t discredit him.” He let out a brief, solemn laughter. Yvian simply nodded in response before stiffening his posture for a brief moment and offering a salute, thereafter pivoting on his heels and making his way to Lucia who was smiling gently, a soft yet firm grip upon the reins of the steeds that ferried the wagon. Peter stifled some tears as he thudded his chest to Yvian one final time; “Wer Rastet, Der Rostet. GOD be with you, Yvian.” “Wer Rastet, Der Rostet und GOTT Mit Uns, Peter” The pair waved a final goodbye as the cart suddenly jerked into motion, the wagon making its way down the road and across the bridge, more and more did the spires of Kanunsberg grow out of view, the mighty walls, the towers, eventually even the great banner of gold and scarlet victory of the Frankish wars, became but a blurry image on the horizon, Minitz, a cherished memory… Banners of Victory 'pon the setting Sun, Surmounting Mountains fading into Mist... And here ends the tale of Sir Yvian “The Gryphon” Galken Skilled Artilleryman, aiding in the ending of Bold Blue, the slayer of Undead, the Adrian, the Daft, et cetera Third Herrenmeister, Second Kastellan and of the numerous Ritter of the Order of Saint Tylos Hauptmann of the Warband of Theoderic Petty Officer of the Aaunic Royal Navy ~ Former Armourer and Weapon Smith of Minitz Most studious and ernest of Merchants Founder of the Industries of Saint Nicholas the Martyr Teacher Father Husband The Last Will and Testament of Sir Yvian “The Gryphon” Galken My family, couriers and earnest friends shall be the ones to execute my will; Those who read this, may GOTT bless you, may you never stray from his most holy light; To my comrades, friends and compatriots, Lord Robert Stroheim, Sir Peter Stroheim, Sir Brandt Barclay, Sir Leon Barclay, Siegfried Barclay, Sir Ludolf Barclay, Saxton Stroheim, Kato Oijin, Wilheim Barclay, Holly, Rohir, Gregarious Roa, Myrios, Raksasha, Safi, Barlord Bronzerock, Kristof Katzak as well as whatever other Barclays, Stroheims and other such most honoured friends I may or may not have forgotten. May GOTT bless you, may you never stray from his most holy light, may my departure hinder not your resolve. To my Apprentice and Son, Marcel Galken, I apologize for not being there much throughout your life, I fear I have failed you. You turned to those who besmirch Minitz and to that I simply pray for you not to fall to sin. Always seek great knowledge and experience and do not be hasty to meet me. To Oijin Kato and Siegfried Barclay, finish building those damn machines will you? My workshop is all yours, comrades. To Brandt Barclay, thank you, for letting me continue and end my service after the passing of your father, it was an honour. To my fellow Knights who have served me and to those who are left. I leave my utmost respect and gratitude, may your lances be forever sturdy, your crosses forever honed. Ser Adrielle, Sir Philip, Ser Garen, Sir Enrique, uphold the values of valour and chivalry in my stead and my blessings upon thee. To those who speak my name in shallow breaths with damnations and curses, may you all lick my arse, back stabbing and dishonourable Petrans, the deranged heretics of Adria and Veletzia, the rabid attention seeking Ferrymen and the cowardly snake-tongued Theonii, who cannot speak one on one, oh and lastly the weird stuck ups of Ceila’nor, licking Petran boots and kissing Adrian arses, also bowing to Darkstalkers and Spooks is weird. You may write your pissy responses, to my grave stone. To the people of Minitz, I leave my utmost respect and gratitude to all of you who are fine men and women and it is thanks to you, that I was able to find my place in this world. A few names that come to my mind… Saxton, Ludwig, Cisyn, Eloisee and many others. My possessions are hence forth given to the Barclay's of Minitz. Sir Yvian ‘The Gryphon” Galken, Hauptmann and Third Herrenmeister of Minitz 1875 I.T. - 1952 I.T. OOC

The aging Yvian dipped his head in respect to Brandt "It was an honour to serve your father, and you as well and you both dually deserve some much needed rest, GOTT MIT UNS!" Gottfried signed the lorraine as he observed Brandt speak with the holy man, honoured to have had a father such as him. "Wer Rastet, Der Rostet.."

This, just this 110% Streamlining of player to player conflict resolution to make it less painful. A proper roll based CRP system that is not filled to the brim with people malding for ten years on the copium of "my armour stops u cuz I said so" and other things along those lines (like magic, etc). Would be perfect as another avenue for resolving conflict effectively from just spamming LMB, which just favours PVP'ers who can try hard as opposed to more casual players. What Unwillingly said prior regarding the server, I feel encapsulates this quite well in a way. When conflict is this difficult/frustrating to all parties to resolve then it basically deters any want for it from the side of the RP community as a whole (pvp goons excluded).

Me when roll crp is still pure rng

Pausing for a moment from his ravings about backstabbing Petrans, Yvian gave a staunch nod of approval and a grand thumbs up to the good work of his successors.

"The prattling's of heretics! Heathens I say!" Yvian proclaimed in a wild flurry to the passerby next to him "They harboured darkspawn! There is no excuse for such a crime! They must atone through penance!"

Yvian looked on at his battle brothers as they sat about the round table, its been along twenty-seven years, many squires have come and gone, many great men such as Sir Robert and Sir Peter of the Stroheims, Sir Ludolf, Ludwig and Brandt of the Barclays, those of commoners Sir Maxwell ad Landren or Sir Myrios of Veile. His fellow graduates, Sir Wilhelm and Teft and many others. All would be remembered within the mind of the aging man, for his prime years were behind him, but the memories would not be forgotten.

"May the mongrels be forever cleansed of canondom und GOTT's lands!" the aging inquisitor signed the cross over his breastplate, pondering thereafter. "Ich knew they were heathens... heretics the lot of them..." pausing a moment to think the man turned to his forge with a faint smirk "Ah, right... yes thats what I was doing."

Yvian lofted a brow at the missive, pondering a moment before thereafter dismissing his initial thoughts as he gave a staunch nod of approval and smiled faintly. "A step closer to peace." the inquisitor muttered, "May we all as gut men of GOTT bring the sword to their necks in swift action, Moggs shall smited and the others will too."

What has kept you engaged and still around for these ten years?

Haru nodded in understanding, reaching for her shamisen she began to compose a tune.

Sir Marcus Erhdhart rises spontaneously from his grave back in Arcas, to get the latest edition of buk noos

"Mein GOTT, it took du long enough! Ich already have a daughter und son of twenty one!" Yvian exclaimed upon hearing the news.